Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Such unanimous applause could not be extorted but by acknowledged merit;
and Rose Bradwardine not only deserved it, but also the approbation
of much more rational persons than the Bautherwhillery Club could have
mustered, even before discussion of the first MAGNUM. She was indeed a
very pretty girl of the Scotch cast of beauty, that is, with a profusion
of hair of paley gold, and a skin like the snow of her own mountains in
whiteness. Yet she had not a pallid or pensive cast of countenance;
her features, as well as her temper, had a lively expression; her
complexion, though not florid, was so pure as to seem transparent, and
the slightest emotion sent her whole blood at once to her face and neck.
Her form, though under the common size, was remarkably elegant, and her
motions light, easy, and unembarrassed. She came from another part
of the garden to receive Captain Waverley, with a manner that hovered
between bashfulness and courtesy.
The first greetings past, Edward learned from her that the dark hag,
which had somewhat puzzled him in the butler's account of his master's
avocations, had nothing to do either with a black cat or a broomstick,
but was simply a portion of oak copse which was to be felled that day.
She offered, with diffident civility, to show the stranger the way to
the spot, which, it seems, was not far distant; but they were prevented
by the appearance of the Baron of Bradwardine in person, who, summoned
by David Gellatley, now appeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent,'
clearing the ground at a prodigious rate with swift and long strides,
which reminded Waverley of the seven-league boots of the nursery fable.
He was a tall, thin, athletic figure; old indeed, and grey-haired, but
with every muscle rendered as tough as whip-cord by constant exercise.
He was dressed carelessly, and more like a Frenchman than an Englishman
of the period, while, from his hard features and perpendicular rigidity
of stature, he bore some resemblance to a Swiss officer of the guards,
who had resided some time at Paris, and caught the costume, but not the
ease or manner of its inhabitants. The truth was, that his language and
habits were as heterogeneous as his external appearance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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