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.

THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL. 231
the friend that let me in; and as to my father-I would not he knew where
I now am for all the wealth in London!"
" But you do not expect," said Nligel, "that they will dismiss you, till
you let them know who and what you are?"
"What good will it do them to keep so useless a creature as myself?"
said the boy; " they must let me go, were it but out of shame."
" Do not trust to that-tell me your name and station-I will communicate them to the Lieutenant - he is a man of quality and honour, and will
not only be willing to procure your liberation, but also, I have no doubt,
will intercede with your father. I am partly answerable for such poor aid
as I can afford, to get you out of this embarrassment, since I occasioned
the alarm owing to which you were arrested; so tell me your name, and
your father's name."
" My name to yozu? Oh, never, never!" answered the boy, in a tone of
deep emotion, the cause of which Nigel could not comprehend.
" Are you so much afraid of me, young man," he replied, " because I am
here accused and a prisoner? Consider, a man may be both, and deserve
neither suspicion nor restraint. Why should you distrust me? You seem
friendless, and I am myself so much in the same circumstances, that I
cannot but pity your situation when I reflect on my own. Be wise; I have
spoken kindly to you-I mean as kindly as I speak."
" Oh, I doubt it not, I doubt it not, my lord," said the boy, " and I could
tell you all-that is, almost all."
"' Tell me nothing, my young friend, excepting what may assist me in
being useful to you," said Nigel.
"You are generous, my lord," said the boy; " and I am sure-Oh, sure,
I might safely trust to your honour-But yet-but yet-I am so sore beset
I have been so rash, so unguarded - I- can never tell you of my folly.
Besides, I have already told too much to one whose heart I thought I had
moved-yet I find myself here."
" To whom did you make this disclosure?" said Nigel.
"I dare not tell," replied the youth.
"Tl'here is something singular about you, my young friend," said Lord
Glenvarloch, withdrawing with a, gentle degree of compulsion the hand
with which the boy had again covered his eyes; " do not pain yourself with
thinking on your situation just at present- your pulse is high, and your
hand feverish —lay yourself on yonder pallet, and try to compose yourself
to sleep. It is the readiest and best remedy for the fancies with which you
are worrying yourself."
"I thank you for your considerate kindness, my lord," said the boy;
" with your leave I will remain for a little space cquiet in this chair-I am
better thus than on the couch. I can think undisturbedly on what I have
done, and have still to do; and if God sends slumber to a creature so exhausted, it shall be most welcome."
So saying, the boy drew his hand from Lord Nigel's, and, drawing around
him and partly over his face the folds of his ample cloak, he resigned himself to sleep or meditation, while his companion, notwithstanding the exhausting, scenes of this and the preceding day, continued his pensive walk
up and down the apartment.
Every reader has experienced, that times occur, when, far from being
lords of external circumstances, man is unable to rule even the wayward
realm of his own thoughts. It was Nigel's natural wish to consider his own
situation coolly, and fix on the course which it became him as a man of
sense and courage to adopt; and yet, in spite of himselfl, and notwithstanding the deep interest of the critical state in which he was placed, it did so
happen that his fellow-prisoner's situation occupied more of his thoughts
than did his own. There was no accounting for this wandering of the
imagination, but also there was no striving with it. The pleading tones of