The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

ROB ROY. 147
Osbaldistone-Hall to dress and saddle my own horse, and in a few minutes
I was mounted and ready for my sally.
As I paced up the old avenue, on which the waning moon threw its light
with a pale and whitish tinge, I looked back with a deep and boding sigh
towards the walls which contained Diana Vernon, under the despondent
impression that we had probably parted to meet no more. It was impossible, among the long and irregular lines of Gothic casements, which now
looked ghastly white in the moonlight, to distinguish that of the apartment:
which she inhabited. " She is lost to me already," thought I, as my eye
wandered over the dim and indistinguishable intricacies of architecture
offered by the moonlight view of Osbaldistone-Hall - " She is lost to me
already, ere I have left the place which she inhabits! What hope is there
of my maintaining any correspondence with her, when leagues shall lie
between?"
While I paused in a reverie of no very pleasing nature, the'" iron tongue
of time told three upon the drowsy ear of night," and reminded me of the
necessity of keeping my appointment with a person of a less interesting
description and appearance-Andrew Fairservice.
At the gate of the avenue I found a horseman stationed in the shadow
of the wall, but it was not until I had coughed twice, and then called " Andrew," that the horticulturist replieds "I'se warrant it's Andrew."
" Lead the way, then," said I, " and be silent if you can, till we are past
the hamlet in the valley."
Andrew led the way accordingly, and at a much brisker pace than I
would have recommended; —and so well did he obey my injunctions of
keeping silence, that he would return no answer to my repeated inquiries
into the cause of such unnecessary haste. Extricating ourselves by short
cuts, known to Andrew, from the numerous stony lanes and by-paths which
intersected each other in the vicinity of the Hall, we reached the open
heath; and riding swiftly across it, took our course among the barren hills
which divide England from Scotland on what are called the Middle Marches.
The way, or rather the broken track which we occupied, was a happy interchange of bog and shingles; nevertheless, Andrew relented nothing of
his speed, but trotted manfully forward at the rate of eight or ten miles an
hour. I was both surprised and provoked at the fellow's obstinate persistence, for we made abrupt ascents and descents over ground of a very breakneck character, and traversed the edge of precipices, where a slip of thehorse's feet would have consigned the rider to certain death. The moon, at
best, afforded a dubious and imperfect light; but in some places we were
so much under the shade of the mountain as to be in total darkness,' and
then I could only trace Andrew by the clatter of his horse's feet, and the
fire which they struck from the flints. At first, this rapid motion, and the
attention which, for the sake of personal safety, I was compelled to give to
the conduct of my horse, was of service, by forcibly diverting my thoughts
from the various painful reflections which must otherwise have pressed on
my mind. But at length, after hallooing repeatedly to Andrew to ride
slower, I became seriously incensed at his impudent perseverance in refusing either to obey or to reply to me. My anger was, however, quite
impotent. I attempted once or twice to get up along-side of my self-willed
guide, with the purpose of knocking him off his horse with the butt-end of
my whip; but Andrew was better mounted than I, and either the spirit of
the animal which he bestrode, or more probably some presentiment of my
kind intentions towards him, induced him to quicken his pace whenever I
attempted to make up to him. On the other hand, I was compelled to exert
my spurs to keep him in sight, for without his guidance I was too well
aware that I should never find my way through the howling wilderness
which we now traversed at such an. unwonted pace. I was so angry at
length, that I threatened to have recourse to my pistols, and send a bullet