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.

510 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
criminality, and stood free of. assaults upon personal property, but now I
felt a wild pleasure in disgracing myself as much as possible.
"The plunder was no object to me. I abandoned that to my comrades,
and only asked the post of danger. I remember well, that when I stood
with my drawn sword guarding the door while they. committed the felony,
I had not a thought of my own safety. I was only meditating on my sense
of supposed wrong from my family, my impotent thirst of vengeance, and
how it would sound in the haughty ears of the family of Willingham, that
one of their descendants, and the heir apparent of their honours, should
perish by the hands of the hangman for robbing a Scottish gauger of a
sum not equal to one-fifth part of the money I had in my pocket-book.
We were taken-I expected no less. We were condemned-that also I
looked for. But Death, as he approached nearer, looked grimly; and the
recollection of your sister's destitute condition determined me on an effort
to save my life. -I forgot to tell you, that in Edinburgh I again met the
woman Murdockson and her daughter. She had followed the camp when
young,, and had now, under pretence of a trifling traffic, resumed predatory
habits, with which she had already been too familiar. Our first meeting
was stormy; but I was liberal of what money I had, and she forgot, or
seemed to forget, the injury her daughter had received. The unfortunate
girl herself seemed hardly even to know her seducer, far less to retain any
sense of the injury she had received. Her mind is totally alienated, which,
according to her mother's account, is sometimes the consequence of an
unfavourable confinement. But it was my doing. Here was another stone
knitted round my neck to sink me into the pit of perdition. Every lookevery word of this poor creature- her false spirits —her imperfect recollections-her allusions to things which she had forgotten, but which were
recorded in my conscience, were stabs of a poniard-stabs did I say? —
they were tearing with hot pincers, and scalding the raw wound with burning sulphur-they were to be endured, however, and they were endured.I return to my prison thoughts.
"It was not the least miserable of them that your sister's time approached. I knew her dread of you and of her father. She often said she
would die a thousand deaths ere you should know her shame-yet her
confinement must be provided for. I knew this woman Murdockson was
an infernal hag, but I thought she loved me, and that money would make
her true. She had procured a file for Wilson, and a spring-saw for me;
and she undertook readily to take charge of Effie during her illness, in
which she had skill enough to give the necessary assistance. I gave her
the money which my father had sent me. It was settled that she should
receive Effie into her house in the meantime, and wait for further directions from me, when I should effect my escape. I communicated this purpose, and recommended the old hag to poor Effie by a letter, in which I
recollect that I endeavoured to support the character of Macheath under
condemnation-a fine, gay, bold-faced ruffian, who is game to the last. Such,
and so wretchedly poor, was my ambition! Yet I had resolved to forsake
the courses I had been engaged in, should I be so fortunate as to escape the
gibbet. My design was to marry your sister, and go over to the West
Indies. I had still a considerable sum of money left, and I trusted to be
able, in one way or other, to provide for myself and my wife.
"We made the attempt to escape, and by the obstinacy of Wilson, who
insisted upon going first, it totally miscarried. The undaunted and selfdenied manner in which he sacrificed himself to redeem his error, and
accomplish my escape from the Tolbooth Church, you must have heard ofall Scotland rang with it. It was a gallant and extraordinary deed-All
men spoke of it-all men, even those who most condemned the habits and
crimes of this self-devoted man, praised the heroism of his friendship. I
havo many vices, but cowardice, or want of gratitude, are none of the