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.

It might be still his fate to supply the want of those guardians they had lost.

Agitated by these thoughts, he precipitated his journey.
When he arrived in Edinburgh, where his inquiries must necessarily commence, he felt the full difficulty of his situation.

Many inhabitants of that city had seen and known him as Edward Waverley; how, then, could he avail himself of a passport as Francis Stanley?
He resolved, there-fore, to avoid all company, and to move northward as soon as possible.

He was, however, obliged to wait a day or two in expectation of a letter from Colonel Talbot, and he was also to leave his own address, under his feigned character, at a place agreed upon.