CHAPTER XXXIV
DESOLATION
Waverley riding post, as was the usual fashion of the period, without any
adventure save one or two queries, which the talisman of his passport
sufficiently answered, reached the borders of Scotland. Here he heard the
tidings of the decisive battle of Culloden. It was no more than he had
long expected, though the success at Falkirk had thrown a faint and
setting gleam over the arms of the Chevalier. Yet it came upon him like a
shock, by which he was for a time altogether unmanned. The generous, the
courteous, the noble-minded adventurer was then a fugitive, with a price
upon his head; his adherents, so brave, so enthusiastic, so faithful,
were dead, imprisoned, or exiled. Where, now, was the exalted and
high-souled Fergus, if, indeed, he had survived the night at Clifton?
Where the pure-hearted and primitive Baron of Bradwardine, whose foibles
seemed foils to set off the disinterestedness of his disposition, the
genuine goodness of his heart, and his unshaken courage? Those who clung
for support to these fallen columns, Rose and Flora, where were they to
be sought, and in what distress must not the loss of their natural
protectors have involved them? Of Flora he thought with the regard of a
brother for a sister; of Rose with a sensation yet more deep and tender.
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