'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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