'Miss Flora Mac-Ivor,' the letter bore, 'could not refuse
to see the dearest friend of her dear brother, even in her present
circumstances of unparalleled distress.'
When Edward reached Miss Mac-Ivor's present place of abode he was
instantly admitted. In a large and gloomy tapestried apartment Flora was
seated by a latticed window, sewing what seemed to be a garment of white
flannel. At a little distance sat an elderly woman, apparently a
foreigner, and of a religious order. She was reading in a book of
Catholic devotion, but when Waverley entered laid it on the table and
left the room. Flora rose to receive him, and stretched out her hand, but
neither ventured to attempt speech. Her fine complexion was totally gone;
her person considerably emaciated; and her face and hands as white as the
purest statuary marble, forming a strong contrast with her sable dress
and jet-black hair. Yet, amid these marks of distress there was nothing
negligent or ill-arranged about her attire; even her hair, though totally
without ornament, was disposed with her usual attention to neatness. The
first words she uttered were, 'Have you seen him?'
'Alas, no,' answered Waverley, 'I have been refused admittance.
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