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.

WOODSTOCK. 245
lover, and induced him anxiously to watch for a time and place, in which
he might plead his suit with an energy that should command attention.
Fortune, that malicious goddess, who so often ruins us by granting the very
object of our vows, did at length procure him such an opportunity as he
had long coveted.
It was about sunset, or shortly after, when Phoebe, upon whose activity
much of the domestic arrangements depended, went as far as fair Rosamond's spring to obtain water for the evening meal, or rather to gratify
the prejudice of the old knight, who believed that celebrated fountain
afforded the choicest supplies of the necessary element. Such was the
respect in which he was held by his whole family, that to neglect any of
his wishes that could be gratified, though with inconvenience to themselves,
would, in their estimation, have been almost equal to a breach of religious
duty.
To fill the pitcher had, we know, been of late a troublesome task; but
Joceline's ingenuity had so far rendered it easy, by repairing rudely a part
of the ruined front of the ancient fountain, that the water was collected,
and trickling along a wooden spout, dropped from a height of about two
feet. A damsel was thereby enabled to place her pitcher under the slowly
dropping supply, and, without toil to herself, might wait till her vessel was
filled.
Phoebe Mayflower, on the evening we allude to, saw, for the first time,
this little improvement; and, justly considering it as a piece of gallantry
of her silvan admirer, designed to save her the trouble of performing her
task in a more inconvenient manner, she gratefully employed the minutes
of ease which the contrivance procured her, in reflecting on the good-nature
and ingenuity of the obliging engineer, and perhaps in thinking he might
have done as wisely to have waited till she came to the fountain, that he
might have secured personal thanks for the trouble he had taken. But then
she knew he was detained in the buttery with that odious Tomkins, and
rather than have seen the Independent along with him, she would have
renounced the thought of meeting Joceline.
As she was thus reflecting, Fortune was malicious enough to send Tomkins to the fountain, and without Joceline. When she saw his figure
darken the path up which he came, an anxious reflection came over the
poor maiden's breast, that she was alone, and within the verge of the forest,
where in general persons were prohibited to come during the twilight, for
fear of disturbing the deer settling to their repose. She encouraged herself,
however, and resolved to show no sense of fear, although, as the steward
approached, there was something in the man's look and eye no way calculated to allay her apprehensions.
"The blessings of the evening upon you, my pretty maiden," he said.
" I meet you even as the chief servant of Abraham, who was a steward like
myself, met Rebecca, the daughter of Bethuel, the son of Milcah, at the
well of the city of Nahor, in Mesopotamia. Shall I not, therefore, say to
you, set down thy pitcher that I may drink?"
" The pitcher is at your service, Master Tomkins," she replied, " and you
may drink as much as you will; but you have, I warrant, drank better
liquor, and that not long since."
It was, indeed, obvious that the steward had arisen from a revel, for his
features were somewhat flushed, though he had stopped far short of intoxication. But Phoebe's alarm at his first appearance was rather increased
when she observed how he had been lately employed.
" I do but use my privilege, my pretty Rebecca; the earth is given to the
saints, and the fulness thereof. They shall occupy and enjoy it, both the
riches of the mine, and the treasures of the vine; and they shall rejoice,
and their hearts be merry within them. Thou hast yet to learn the privileges of the saints, my Rebecca."
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