The Antiquary — Complete by Walter Scott (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

“Hector,” said his uncle to Captain M’Intyre, in the course of their walk homeward, “I am sometimes inclined to suspect that, in one respect, you are a fool.”

“If you only think me so in one respect, sir, I am sure you do me more grace than I expected or deserve.”

“I mean in one particular par excellence,” answered the Antiquary. “I have sometimes thought that you have cast your eyes upon Miss Wardour.”

“Well, sir,” said M’Intyre, with much composure.

“Well, sir,” echoed his uncle—“Deuce take the fellow! he answers me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, that he, a captain in the army, and nothing at all besides, should marry the daughter of a baronet.”

“I presume to think, sir,” said the young Highlander, “there would be no degradation on Miss Wardour’s part in point of family.”

“O, Heaven forbid we should come on that topic!—No, no, equal both—both on the table-land of gentility, and qualified to look down on every roturier in Scotland.”

“And in point of fortune we are pretty even, since neither of us have got any,” continued Hector. “There may be an error, but I cannot plead guilty to presumption.”

“But here lies the error, then, if you call it so,” replied his uncle: “she won’t have you, Hector.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“It is very sure, Hector; and to make it double sure, I must inform you that she likes another man. She misunderstood some words I once said to her, and I have since been able to guess at the interpretation she put on them. At the time I was unable to account for her hesitation and blushing; but, my poor Hector, I now understand them as a death-signal to your hopes and pretensions. So I advise you to beat your retreat and draw off your forces as well as you can, for the fort is too well garrisoned for you to storm it.”

“I have no occasion to beat any retreat, uncle,” said Hector, holding himself very upright, and marching with a sort of dogged and offended solemnity; “no man needs to retreat that has never advanced. There are women in Scotland besides Miss Wardour, of as good family”—

“And better taste,” said his uncle; “doubtless there are, Hector; and though I cannot say but that she is one of the most accomplished as well as sensible girls I have seen, yet I doubt, much of her merit would be cast away on you. A showy figure, now, with two cross feathers above her noddle—one green, one blue; who would wear a riding-habit of the regimental complexion, drive a gig one day, and the next review the regiment on the grey trotting pony which dragged that vehicle, hoc erat in votis;—these are the qualities that would subdue you, especially if she had a taste for natural history, and loved a specimen of a phoca.”

“It’s a little hard, sir,” said Hector, “I must have that cursed seal thrown into my face on all occasions—but I care little about it—and I shall not break my heart for Miss Wardour. She is free to choose for herself, and I wish her all happiness.”

“Magnanimously resolved, thou prop of Troy! Why, Hector, I was afraid of a scene. Your sister told me you were desperately in love with Miss Wardour.”

“Sir,” answered the young man, “you would not have me desperately in love with a woman that does not care about me?”

“Well, nephew,” said the Antiquary, more seriously, “there is doubtless much sense in what you say; yet I would have given a great deal, some twenty or twenty-five years since, to have been able to think as you do.”

“Anybody, I suppose, may think as they please on such subjects,” said Hector.

“Not according to the old school,” said Oldbuck; “but, as I said before, the practice of the modern seems in this case the most prudential, though, I think, scarcely the most interesting. But tell me your ideas now on this prevailing subject of an invasion. The cry is still, They come.”

Hector, swallowing his mortification, which he was peculiarly anxious to conceal from his uncle’s satirical observation, readily entered into a conversation which was to turn the Antiquary’s thoughts from Miss Wardour and the seal. When they reached Monkbarns, the communicating to the ladies the events which had taken place at the castle, with the counter-information of how long dinner had waited before the womankind had ventured to eat it in the Antiquary’s absence, averted these delicate topics of discussion.

The next morning the Antiquary arose early, and, as Caxon had not yet made his appearance, he began mentally to feel the absence of the petty news and small talk of which the ex-peruquier was a faithful reporter, and which habit had made as necessary to the Antiquary as his occasional pinch of snuff, although he held, or affected to hold, both to be of the same intrinsic value. The feeling of vacuity peculiar to such a deprivation, was alleviated by the appearance of old Ochiltree, sauntering beside the clipped yew and holly hedges, with the air of a person quite at home. Indeed, so familiar had he been of late, that even Juno did not bark at him, but contented herself with watching him with a close and vigilant eye. Our Antiquary stepped out in his night-gown, and instantly received and returned his greeting.

“They are coming now, in good earnest, Monkbarns. I just cam frae Fairport to bring ye the news, and then I’ll step away back again. The Search has just come into the bay, and they say she’s been chased by a French fleet.

“The Search?” said Oldbuck, reflecting a moment. “Oho!”

“Ay, ay, Captain Taffril’s gun-brig, the Search.”

“What? any relation to Search, No. II.?” said Oldbuck, catching at the light which the name of the vessel seemed to throw on the mysterious chest of treasure.

The mendicant, like a man detected in a frolic, put his bonnet before his face, yet could not help laughing heartily.—“The deil’s in you, Monkbarns, for garring odds and evens meet. Wha thought ye wad hae laid that and that thegither? Od, I am clean catch’d now.”

“I see it all,” said Oldbuck, “as plain as the legend on a medal of high preservation—the box in which the’ bullion was found belonged to the gun-brig, and the treasure to my phoenix?”—(Edie nodded assent),—“and was buried there that Sir Arthur might receive relief in his difficulties?”

“By me,” said Edie, “and twa o’ the brig’s men—but they didna ken its contents, and thought it some bit smuggling concern o’ the Captain’s. I watched day and night till I saw it in the right hand; and then, when that German deevil was glowering at the lid o’ the kist (they liked mutton weel that licked where the yowe lay), I think some Scottish deevil put it into my head to play him yon