efer the
matter entirely to her own inclinations.

When these news reached me, I frankly told the state of my affections to
my father, who was not a little startled at the idea of my marrying a
Roman Catholic. But he was very desirous to see me "settled in life," as
he called it; and he was sensible that, in joining him with heart and
hand in his commercial labours, I had sacrificed my own inclinations.
After a brief hesitation, and several questions asked and answered to his
satisfaction, he broke out with--"I little thought a son of mine should
have been Lord of Osbaldistone Manor, and far less that he should go to a
French convent for a spouse. But so dutiful a daughter cannot but prove a
good wife. You have worked at the desk to please me, Frank; it is but
fair you should wive to please yourself."

How I sped in my wooing, Will Tresham, I need not tell you. You know,
too, how long and happily I lived with Diana. You know how I lamented
her; but you do not--cannot know, how much she deserved her husband's
sorrow.

I have no more of romantic adventure to tell, nor, indeed, anything to
communicate farther, since the latter incidents of my life are so well
known to one who has shared, with the most friendly sympathy, the joys,
as well as the sorrows, by which its scenes have been chequered. I often
visited Scotland, but never again saw the bold Highlander who had such an
influence on the early events of my life. I learned, however, from time
to time, that he continued to maintain his ground among the mountains of
Loch Lomond, in despite of his powerful enemies, and that he even
obtained, to a certain degree, the connivance of Government to his
self-elected office of protector of the Lennox, in virtue of which he
levied black-mail with as much regularity as the proprietors did their
ordinary rents. It seemed impossible that his life should have concluded
without a violent end. Nevertheless he died in old age and by a peaceful
death, some time about the year 1733, and is still remembered in his
country as the Robin Hood of Scotland--the dread of the wealthy, but the
friend of the poor--and possessed of many qualities, both of head and
heart, which would have graced a less equivocal profession than that to
which his fate condemned him.

Old Andrew Fairservice used to say, that "There were many things ower bad
for blessing, and ower gude for banning, like Rob Roy."

_Here the original manuscript ends somewhat abruptly.