Rob Roy

Chapter 18

A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate;

I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes,--

I've heard the last sound of her blessed voice,--

I've seen her fair form from my sight depart;

My doom is closed.

Count Basil.

"I ken not what to make of you, Mr. Osbaldistone," said MacGregor, as he

pushed the flask towards me. "You eat not, you show no wish for rest; and

yet you drink not, though that flask of Bourdeaux might have come out of

Sir Hildebrand's ain cellar. Had you been always as abstinent, you would

have escaped the deadly hatred of your cousin Rashleigh."

"Had I been always prudent," said I, blushing at the scene he recalled to

my recollection, "I should have escaped a worse evil--the reproach of my

own conscience."

MacGregor cast a keen and somewhat fierce glance on m