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.

162 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
walk on the shores of the Clyde in solemn silence, broken only by the tolling of the successive.hours from the steeples of the churches.
But as the night advanced, my impatience at the uncertainty of the situation in which I was placed increased every moment, and became nearly
ungovernable. I began to question whether I had been imposed upon by
the trick of a fool, the raving of a madman, or the studied machinations of
a villain, and paced the little quay or pier adjoining the entrance to the
bridge, in a state of incredible anxiety and vexation. At length the hour
of twelve o'clock swung its summons over the city from the belfry of the
metropolitan church of St.: Mungo, and was answered and vouched by all
the others like dutiful diocesans. The echoes had scarcely ceased to repeat
the last sound, when a human form-the first I had seen for two hoursappeared passing along the bridge from the southern shore of the river. I
advanced to meet him with a feeling as if my fate depended on the result
of the interview, so much had my anxiety been wound up by protracted expectation. All that I could remark of the passenger as we advanced towards
each other was, that his frame was rather beneath than above the middle
size,/but apparently strong, thick-set, and muscular; his dress a horseman's
wrapping coat. I slackened my pace, and almost paused as I advanced in
expectation that he would address me. Butto my inexpressible disappointment, he passed without speaking, and I had no pretence for being the first
to address one who, notwithstanding his appearance at the very hour of
appointment, might nevertheless be an absolute stranger. I stopped when
he had passed me, and looked after him, uncertain whether I ought not to
follow him. The stranger walked on till near the northern end of the bridge,
then paused, looked back, and turning round, again advanced towards me.
I resolved that this time he should not have the apology for silence proper
to apparitions, who, it is vulgarly supposed, cannot speak until they are
spoken to. "You walk late, sir," said I, as we met a second time.
"I bide tryste," was the reply; "and so I think do you, Mr. Osbaldistone."
"You are then the person who requested to meet me here at this unusual
hour?"
" I am," he replied. " Follow me, and you shall know my reasons."
"Before following you, I must know your name and purpose," I answered.' I am a man," was the reply; " and my purpose is friendly to you."
" A man!" I repeated;-" that is a very brief description."
" It will serve for one who has no other to give," said the stranger. "He
that is without name, without friends, without coin, without country, is still
at least a man; and he that has all these is no more."
"Yet this is still too general an account of yourself, to say the least of it,
to establish your credit with a stranger."
"It is all I mean to give, howsoe'er; you may choose to follow me, or to
remain without the information I desire to afford you."
" Can you not give me that information here?" I demanded.
"You must receive it from your eyes, not from my tongue -you must
follow me, or remain in ignorance of the information which I have to give
you."
There was something short, determined, and even stern, in the man's
manner, not certainly well calculated to conciliate undoubting confidence.
"What is it you fear?" he said, impatiently. " To whom, think ye, is
your life of such consequence, that they should seek to bereave ye of it?"
"I fear nothing," I replied, firmly though somewhat hastily. "Walk
on —I attend you."
We proceeded, contrary to my expectation, to re-enter the town, and
glided like mute spectres, side by side, up its empty and silent streets. The
high and gloomy stone fronts, with the variegated ornaments and pediments
of the windows, looked yet taller and more sable by the imperfect moon