Waverley
by
Walter Scott

Part 9 out of 11

to procure admittance, but at length was shown into an apartment
where the Colonel was at table. Lady Emily, whose very beautiful
features were still pallid from indisposition, sat opposite to
him. The instant he heard Waverley's voice, he started up and
embraced him. 'Frank Stanley, my dear boy, how d'ye do?--Emily,
my love, this is young Stanley.'

The blood started to the lady's cheek as she gave Waverley a
reception, in which courtesy was mingled with kindness, while her
trembling hand and faltering voice showed how much she was
startled and discomposed. Dinner was hastily replaced, and while
Waverley was engaged in refreshing himself, the Colonel
proceeded--'I wonder you have come here, Frank; the doctors tell
me the air of London is very bad for your complaints. You should
not have risked it. But I am delighted to see you, and so is
Emily, though I fear we must not reckon upon your staying long.'

'Some particular business brought me up,' muttered Waverley.

'I supposed so, but I sha'n't allow you to stay long.--Spontoon'
(to an elderly military-looking servant out of livery), 'take
away these things, and answer the bell yourself, if I ring.
Don't let any of the other fellows disturb us.--My nephew and I
have business to talk of.'

When the servants had retired, 'In the name of God, Waverley,
what has brought you here? It may be as much as your life is
worth.'

'Dear Mr. Waverley,' said Lady Emily,' to whom I owe so much more
than acknowledgements can ever pity, how could you be so rash?'

'My father--my uncle--this paragraph,'--he handed the paper to
Colonel Talbot.

'I wish to Heaven' these scoundrels were condemned to be squeezed
to death in their own presses,' said Talbot. 'I am told there
are not less than a dozen of their papers now published in town,
and no wonder that they are obliged to invent lies to find sale
for their journals. It is true, however, my dear Edward, that
you have lost your father; but as to this flourish of his
unpleasant situation having grated upon his spirits, and hurt his
health--the truth is--for though it is harsh to say so now, yet
it will relieve your mind from the idea of weighty
responsibility--the truth then is, that Mr. Richard Waverley,
through this whole business, showed great want of sensibility,
both to your situation and that of your uncle; and the last time
I saw him, he told me, with great glee, that, as I was so good as
to take charge of your interests, he had thought it best to patch
up a separate negotiation for himself, and make his peace with
Government through some channels which former connexions left
still open to him.'

'And my uncle--my dear uncle?'

'Is in no danger whatever. It is true' (looking at the date of
the paper) 'there was a foolish report some time ago to the
purport here quoted, but it is entirely false. Sir Everard is
gone down to Waverley-Honour, freed from all uneasiness, unless
upon your own account. But you are in peril yourself--your name
is in every proclamation--warrants are out to apprehend you. How
and when did you come here?'

Edward told his story at length, suppressing his quarrel with
Fergus; for being himself partial to Highlanders, he did not wish
to give any advantage to the Colonel's national prejudice against
them.

'Are you sure it was your friend Glen's footboy you saw dead in
Clifton Moor?'

'Quite positive.'

'Then that little limb of the devil has cheated the gallows, for
cut-throat was written in his face; though' (turning to Lady
Emily) 'it was a very handsome face too.--But for you, Edward, I
wish you would go down again to Cumberland, or rather I wish you
had never stirred from thence, for there is an embargo on all the
seaports, and a strict search for the adherents of the Pretender;
and the tongue of that confounded woman will wag in her head like
the clack of a mill, till somehow or other she will detect
Captain Butler to be a feigned personage,'

'Do you know anything,' asked Waverley, 'of my fellow traveller?'

'Her husband was my sergeant-major for six years; she was a buxom
widow, with a little money--he married her--was steady, and got
on by being a good drill. I must send Spontoon to see what she
is about; he will find her out among the old regimental
connexions. To-morrow you must be indisposed, and keep your room
from fatigue. Lady Emily is to be your nurse, and Spontoon and I
your attendants. You bear the name of a near relation of mine,
whom none of my present people ever saw, except Spontoon; so
there will be no immediate danger. So pray feel your head ache
and your eyes grow heavy as soon as possible, that you may be put
upon the sick list; and, Emily, do you order an apartment for
Frank Stanley, with all the attention which an invalid may
require.'

In the morning the Colonel visited his guest.--'Now,' said he, 'I
have some good news for you. Your reputation as a gentleman and
officer is effectually cleared of neglect of duty, and accession
to the mutiny in Gardiner's regiment. I have had a
correspondence on this subject with a very zealous friend of
yours, your Scottish parson, Morton; his first letter was
addressed to Sir Everard; but I relieved the good Baronet of the
trouble of answering it. You must know, that your freebooting
acquaintance; Donald of the Cave, has at length fallen into the
hands of the Philistines. He was driving off the cattle of a
certain proprietor, called Killan--something or other--'

'Killancureit?'

'The same. Now, the gentleman being, it seems, a great farmer,
and having a special value for his breed of cattle--being,
moreover, rather of a timid disposition, had got a party of
soldiers to protect his property. So Donald ran his head
unawares into the lion's mouth, and was defeated and made
prisoner. Being ordered for execution, his conscience was
assailed on the one hand by a Catholic priest,--on the other by
your friend Morton. He repulsed the Catholic chiefly on account
of the doctrine of extreme unction, which this economical
gentleman considered as an excessive waste of oil. So his
conversion from a state of impenitence fell to Mr. Morton's
share, who, I dare say, acquitted himself excellently, though, I
suppose, Donald made but a queer kind of Christian after all. He
confessed, however, before a magistrate--one Major Melville, who
seems to have been a correct, friendly sort of person--his full
intrigue with Houghton, explaining particularly how it was
carried on, and fully acquitting you of the least accession to
it. He also mentioned his rescuing you from the hands of the
volunteer officer, and sending you, by orders of the Pret--
Chevalier, I mean as a prisoner to Doune, from whence he
understood you were carried prisoner to Edinburgh. These are
particulars which cannot but tell in your favour. He hinted that
he had been employed to deliver and protect you, and rewarded for
doing so; but he would not confess by whom, alleging, that,
though he would not have minded breaking any ordinary oath to
satisfy the curiosity of Mr. Morton, to whose pious admonitions
he owed so much, yet in the present case he had been sworn to
silence upon the edge of his dirk, [See Note 33.] which, it
seems, constituted, in his opinion, an inviolable obligation.'

'And what has become of him?'

'Oh, he was hanged at Stirling after the rebels raised the siege,
with his lieutenant, and four plaids besides; he having the
advantage of a gallows more lofty than his friends.'

'Well, I have little cause either to regret or rejoice at his
death; and yet he has done me both good and harm to a very
considerable extent.'

His confession, at least, will serve you materially, since it
wipes from your character all those suspicions which gave the
accusation against you a complexion of a nature different from
that with which so many unfortunate gentlemen, now or lately in
arms against the Government, may be justly charged. Their
treason--I must give it its name, though you participate in its
guilt--is an action arising from mistaken virtue, and therefore
cannot be classed as a disgrace, though it be doubtless highly
criminal. Where the guilty are so numerous, clemency must be
extended to far the greater number; and I have little doubt of
procuring a remission for you, provided we can keep you out of
the claws of justice till she has selected and gorged upon her
victims; for in this, as in other cases, it will be according to
the vulgar proverb, 'First come, first served.' Besides,
Government are desirous at present to intimidate the English
Jacobites, among whom they can find few examples for punishment.
This is a vindictive and timid feeling which will soon wear off,
for, of all nations, the English are least bloodthirsty by
nature. But it exists at present, and you must therefore be kept
out of the way in the meantime.'

Now entered Spontoon with an anxious countenance. By his
regimental acquaintances he had traced out Madam Nosebag, and
found her full of ire, fuss, and fidget, at discovery of an
impostor, who had travelled from the north with her under the
assumed name of Captain Butler of Gardiner's dragoons. She was
going to lodge an information on the subject, to have him sought
for as an emissary of the Pretender; but Spontoon (an old
soldier), while he pretended to approve, contrived to make her
delay her intention. No time, however, was to be lost: the
accuracy of this good dame's description might probably lead to
the discovery that Waverley was the pretended Captain Butler; an
identification fraught with danger to Edward, perhaps to his
uncle, and even to Colonel Talbot. Which way to direct his
course was now, therefore, the question.

'To Scotland,' said Waverley.

'To Scotland!' said the Colonel; 'with what purpose?--not to
engage again with the rebels, I hope?'

'No--I considered my campaign ended, when, after all my efforts,
I could not rejoin them; and now, by all accounts, they are gone
to make a winter campaign in the Highlands, where such adherents
as I am would rather be burdensome than useful. Indeed, it seems
likely that they only prolong the war to place the Chevalier's
person out of danger, and then to make some terms for themselves.
To burden them with my presence would merely add another party,
whom they would not give up, and could not defend. I understand
they left almost all their English adherents in garrison at
Carlisle, for that very reason: and on a more general view,
Colonel, to confess the truth, though it may lower me in your
opinion, I am heartily tired of the trade of war, and am, as
Fletcher's Humorous Lieutenant says, "even as weary of this
fighting"--'

'Fighting! pooh, what have you seen but a skirmish or two?-Ah!
if you saw war on the grand scale--sixty or a hundred thousand
men in the field on each side!'

'I am not at all curious, Colonel.--"Enough," says our homely
proverb, "is as good as a feast." The plumed troops and the big
war used to enchant me in poetry; but the night marches, vigils,
couched under the wintry sky, and such accompaniments of the
glorious trade, are not at all to my taste in practice:--then for
dry blows, I had my fill of fighting at Clifton, where I escaped
by a hair's-breadth half a dozen times; and you, I should think
--' He stopped.

'Had enough of it at Preston? you mean to say,' answered the
Colonel, laughing; 'but, "'tis my vocation, Hal."'

'It is not mine, though,' said Waverley; 'and having honourably
got rid of the sword, which I drew only as a volunteer, I am
quite satisfied with my military experience, and shall be in no
hurry to take it up again.'

'I am very glad you are of that mind--but then, what would you do
in the North?'

'In the first place, there are some seaports on the eastern coast
of Scotland still in the hands of the Chevalier's friends; should
I gain any of them, I can easily embark for the Continent.'

'Good--your second reason?'

'Why, to speak the very truth, there is a person in Scotland upon
whom I now find my happiness, depends more than I was always
aware, and about whose situation I am very anxious.'

'Then Emily was right, and there is a love affair in the case
after all?--And which of these two pretty Scotchwomen, whom you
insisted upon my admiring, is the distinguished fair?--not Miss
Glen--I hope.'

'No.'

'Ah, pass for the other: simplicity may be improved, but pride
and conceit never. Well, I don't discourage you; I think it will
please Sir Everard, from what he said when I jested with him
about it; only I hope that intolerable papa, with his brogue, and
his snuff, and his Latin, and his insufferable long stories about
the Duke of Berwick, will find it necessary hereafter to be an
inhabitant of foreign parts. But as to the daughter, though I
think you might find as fitting a match in England, yet if your
heart be really set upon this Scotch rosebud, why, the Baronet
has a great opinion of her father and of his family, and he
wishes much to see you married and settled, both for your own
sake and for that of the three ermines passant, which may
otherwise pass away altogether. But I will bring you his mind
fully upon the subject, since you are debarred correspondence for
the present, for I think you will not be long in Scotland before
me.

Indeed! and what can induce you to think of returning to
Scotland? No relenting longings towards the land of mountains
and floods, I am afraid.'

'None, on my word; but Emily's health is now, thank God, re-
established, and, to tell you the truth, I have little hopes of
concluding the business which I have at present most at heart,
until I can have a personal interview with his Royal Highness the
Commander-in-Chief; for, as Fluellen says, "The duke doth love me
well, and I thank Heaven I have deserved some love at his hands."
I am now going out for an hour or two to arrange matters for your
departure; your liberty extends to the next room, Lady Emily's
parlour, where you will find her when you are disposed for music,
reading, or conversation. We have taken measures to exclude all
servants but Spontoon, who is as true as steel.'

In about two hours Colonel Talbot returned, and found his young
friend conversing with his lady; she pleased with his manners and
information, and he delighted at being restored, though but for a
moment, to the society of his own rank, from which he had been
for some time excluded.'

'And now,' said the Colonel, 'hear my arrangements, for there is
little time to lose. This youngster, Edward Waverley, ALIAS
Williams, ALIAS Captain Butler, must continue to pass by his
fourth ALIAS of Francis Stanley, my nephew: he shall set out
to-morrow for the North, and the chariot shall take him the first
two stages.' Spontoon shall then attend him; and they shall ride
post as far as Huntingdon; and the presence of Spontoon, well
known on the road as my servant, will check all disposition to
inquiry. At Huntingdon you will meet the real Frank Stanley. He
is studying at Cambridge; but, a little while ago, doubtful if
Emily's health would permit me to go down to the North myself, I
procured him a passport from the Secretary of State's office to
go in my stead. As he went chiefly to look after you, his
journey is now unnecessary. He knows your story; you will dine
together at Huntingdon; and perhaps your wise heads may hit upon
some plan for removing or diminishing the danger of your further
progress northward. And now' (taking out a morocco case), 'let
me put you in funds for the campaign.'

'I am ashamed, my dear Colonel,--'

'Nay,' said Colonel Talbot, 'you should command my purse in any
event; but this money is your own. Your father, considering the
chance of your being attainted, left me his trustee for your
advantage. So that you are worth above L15,000, besides
Brerewood Lodge--a very independent person, I promise you. There
are bills here for L200; any larger sum you may have, or credit
abroad, as soon as your motions require it.'

The first use which occurred to Waverley of his newly-acquired
wealth, was to write to honest Farmer Jopson, requesting his
acceptance of a silver tankard on the part of his friend
Williams, who had not forgotten the night of the eighteenth
December last. He begged him at the same time carefully to
preserve for him his Highland garb and accoutrements,
particularly the arms--curious in themselves, and to which the
friendship of the donors gave additional value. Lady Emily
undertook to find some suitable token of remembrance, likely to
flatter the vanity and please the taste of Mrs. Williams; and the
Colonel, who was a kind of farmer, promised to send the Ullswater
patriarch an excellent team of horses for cart and plough.

One happy day Waverley spent in London; and, travelling in the
manner projected, he met with Frank Stanley at Huntingdon. The
two young men were acquainted in a minute.

'I can read my uncle's riddle,' said Stanley. 'The cautious old
soldier did not care to hint to me that I might hand over to you
this passport, which I have no occasion for; but if it should
afterwards come out as the rattlepated trick of a young Cantab,
CELA NE TIRE A RIEN. You are therefore to be Francis Stanley,
with this passport.' This proposal appeared in effect to
alleviate a great part of the difficulties which Edward must
otherwise have encountered at every turn; and accordingly he
scrupled not to avail himself of it, the more especially as he
had discarded all political purposes from his present journey,
and could not be accused of furthering machinations against the
Government while travelling under protection of the Secretary's
passport.

The day passed merrily away. The young student was inquisitive
about Waverley's campaigns, and the manners of the Highlands; and
Edward was obliged to satisfy his curiosity by whistling a
pibroch, dancing a strathspey, and singing a Highland song. The
next morning Stanley rode a stage northward with his new friend,
and parted from him with great reluctance, upon the remonstrances
of Spontoon, who, accustomed to submit to discipline, was rigid
in enforcing it.

CHAPTER LXIII

DESOLATION

Waverly riding post, as was the usual fashion of the period,
without any adventure save one or two queries, which the talisman
of his passport sufficiently answered, reached the borders of
Scotland. Here he heard the tidings of the decisive battle of
Culloden. It was no more than he had long expected, though the
success at Falkirk had thrown a faint and setting gleam over the
arms of the Chevalier. Yet it came upon him like a shock, by
which he was for a time altogether unmanned. The generous, the
courteous, the noble-minded Adventurer, was then a fugitive, with
a price upon his head; his adherents, so brave, so enthusiastic,
so faithful, were dead, imprisoned, or exiled. 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. With this
latter purpose he sallied out in the dusk through the well-known
streets, carefully shunning observation,--but in vain: one of
the first persons whom he met at once recognized him, It was Mrs.
Flockhart, Fergus Mac-Ivor's good-humoured landlady.

'Gude guide us, Mr. Waverley, is this you?--na, ye needna be
feared for me--I wad betray nae gentleman in your circumstances.
Eh, lack-a-day! lack-a-day! here's a change o' markets! how
merry Colonel Mac-Ivor and you used to be in our house!' And the
good-natured widow shed a few natural tears. As there was no
resisting her claim of acquaintance, Waverley acknowledged it
with a good grace, as well as the danger of his own situation.
'As it's near the darkening, sir, wad ye just step in by to our
house, and tak a dish o' tea? and I am sure, if ye like to sleep
in the little room, I wad tak care ye are no disturbed, and
naebody wad ken ye; for Kate and Matty, the limmers, gaed aff wi'
twa o' Hawley's dragoons, and I hae twa new queans instead o'
them.'

Waverley accepted her invitation, and engaged her lodging for a
night or two, satisfied he should be safer in the house of this
simple creature than anywhere else. When he entered the parlour,
his heart swelled to see Fergus's bonnet, with the white cockade,
hanging beside the little mirror.

'Aye,' said Mrs. Flockhart, sighing, as she observed the
direction of his eyes, 'the puir Colonel bought a new ane just
the day before they marched, and I winna let them tak that ane
doun, but just to brush it ilka day mysell; and whiles I look at
it till I just think I hear him cry to Callum to bring him his
bonnet, as he used to do when he was ganging out.--It's unco
silly--the neighbours ca' me a Jacobite--but they may say their
say--I am sure it's no for that--but he was as kind-hearted a
gentleman as ever lived, and as weel-fa'rd too. Oh, d'ye ken,
sir, when he is to suffer?'

'Suffer! Good heaven!--Why, where is he?'

'Eh, Lord's sake! d'ye no ken? The poor Hieland body, Dugald
Mahoney, cam here a while syne, wi' ane o' his arms cuttit off,
and a sair clour in the head--ye'll mind Dugald? he carried aye
an axe on his shouther--and he cam here just begging, as I may
say, for something to eat. Aweel, he tauld us the Chief, as they
ca'd him (but I aye ca' him the Colonel), and Ensign Maccombich,
that ye mind weel, were ta'en somewhere beside the English
border, when it was sae dark that his folk never missed him till
it was ower late, and they were like to gang clean daft. And he
said that little Callum Beg (he was a bauld mischievous callant
that), and your honour, were killed that same night in the
tuilzie, and mony mae braw men. But he grat when he spak o' the
Colonel, ye never saw tie like. And now the word gangs, the
Colonel is to be tried, and to suffer wi' them that were ta'en at
Carlisle.'

'And his sister?'

'Aye, that they ca'd the Lady Flora--weel, she's away up to
Carlisle to him, and lives wi' some grand Papist lady
thereabouts, to be near him.'

'And,' said Edward, 'the other young lady?'

'Whilk other? I ken only of ae sister the Colonel had.'

'I mean Miss Bradwardine,' said Edward.

'Ou aye, the laird's daughter,' said his landlady. 'She was a
very bonny lassie, poor thing, but far shyer than Lady Flora.'

'Where is she, for God's sake?'

'Ou, wha kens where ony o' them is now? Puir things, they're
sair ta'en doun for their white cockades and their white roses;
but she gaed north to her father's in Perthshire, when the
Government troops cam back to Edinbro'. There was some pretty
men amang them, and ane Major Whacker was quartered on me, a very
ceevil gentleman,--but oh, Mr. Waverley, he was naething sae
weel-fa'rd as the puir Colonel.'

'Do you know what is become of Miss Bradwardine's father?'

'The auld laird?--na, naebody kens that; but they say he fought
very hard in that bluidy battle at Inverness; and Deacon Clark,
the white-iron smith, says, that the Government folk are sair
agane him for having been OUT twice; and troth he might hae ta'en
warning,--but there's nae fule like an auld fule--the puir
Colonel was only out ance.'

Such conversation contained almost all the good-natured widow
knew of the fate of her late lodgers and acquaintances; but it
was enough to determine Edward at all hazards to proceed
instantly to Tully-Veolan, where he concluded he should see, or
at least hear, something of Rose. He therefore left a letter for
Colonel Talbot at the place agreed upon, signed by his assumed
name, and giving for his address the post-town next to the
Baron's residence.

From Edinburgh to Perth he took post-horses, resolving to make
the rest of his journey on foot--a mode of travelling to which he
was partial, and which had the advantage of permitting a
deviation from the road when he saw parties of military at a
distance. His campaign had considerably strengthened his
constitution, and improved his habits of enduring fatigue. His
baggage he sent before him as opportunity occurred.

As he advanced northward, the traces of war became visible.
Broken carriages, dead horses, unroofed cottages, trees felled
for palisades, and bridges destroyed, or only partially
repaired,--all indicated the movements of hostile armies. In
those places where the gentry were attached to the Stuart cause,
their houses seemed dismantled or deserted, the usual course of
what may be called ornamental labour was totally interrupted, and
the inhabitants were seen gliding about, with fear, sorrow, and
dejection on their faces.

It was evening when he approached the village of Tully-Veolan,
with feelings and sentiments--how different from those which
attended his first entrance! Then, life was so new to him, that
a dull or disagreeable day was one of the greatest misfortunes
which his imagination anticipated, and it seemed to him that his
time ought only to be consecrated to elegant or amusing study,
and relieved by social or youthful frolic. Now, how changed!
how saddened, yet how elevated was his character, within the
course of a very few months! Danger and misfortune are rapid,
though severe teachers. 'A sadder and a wiser man,' he felt, in
internal confidence and mental dignity, a compensation for the
gay dreams which, in his case, experience had so rapidly
dissolved.

As he approached the village, he saw, with surprise and anxiety,
that a party of soldiers were quartered near it, and, what was
worse, that they seemed stationary there. This he conjectured
from a few tents which he beheld glimmering upon what was called
the Common Moor. To avoid the risk of being stopped and
questioned in a place where he was so likely to be recognized, he
made a large circuit, altogether avoiding the hamlet, and
approaching the upper gate of the avenue by a by-path well known
to him. A single glance announced that great changes had taken
place. One half of the gate, entirely destroyed and split up for
firewood, lay in piles, ready to be taken away; the other swung
uselessly about upon its loosened hinges. The battlements above
the gate were broken and thrown down, and the carved Bears, which
were said to have done sentinel's duty upon the top for
centuries, now, hurled from their posts, lay among the rubbish.
The avenue was cruelly wasted. Several large trees were felled
and left lying across the path; and the cattle of the villagers,
and the more rude hoofs of dragoon horses, had poached into black
mud the verdant turf which Waverley had so much admired.

Upon entering the courtyard, Edward saw the fears realized which
these circumstances had excited. The place had been sacked by
the King's troops, who, in wanton mischief, had even attempted to
burn it; and though the thickness of the walls had resisted the
fire, unless to a partial extent, the stables and out-houses were
totally consumed. The towers and pinnacles of the main building
were scorched and blackened; the pavement of the court broken and
shattered; the doors torn down entirely, or hanging by a single
hinge; the windows dashed in and demolished; and the court
strewed with articles of furniture broken into fragments. The
accessories of ancient distinction, to which the Baron, in the
pride of his heart, had attached so much importance and
veneration, were treated with peculiar contumely. The fountain
was demolished, and the spring which had supplied it now flooded
the courtyard. The stone basin seemed to be destined for a
drinking-trough for cattle, from the manner in which it was
arranged upon the ground. The whole tribe of Bears, large and
small, had experienced as little favour as those at the head of
the avenue; and one or two of the family pictures, which seemed
to have served as targets for the soldiers, lay on the ground in
tatters. With an aching heart, as may well be imagined, Edward
viewed this wreck of a mansion so respected. But his anxiety to
learn the fate of the proprietors, and his fears as to what that
fate might be, increased with every step. When he entered upon
the terrace, new scenes of desolation were visible. The
balustrade was broken down, the walls destroyed, the borders
overgrown with weeds, and the fruit-trees cut down or grubbed up.
In one compartment of this old-fashioned garden were two immense
horse-chestnut trees, of whose size the Baron was particularly
vain: too lazy, perhaps, to cut them down, the spoilers, with
malevolent ingenuity, had mined them, and placed a quantity of
gunpowder in the cavity. One had been shivered to pieces by the
explosion, and the fragments lay scattered around, encumbering
the ground it had so long shadowed. The other mine had been more
partial in its effect. About one-fourth of the trunk of the tree
was torn from the mass, which, mutilated and defaced on the one
side, still spread on the other its ample and undiminished
boughs. [A pair of chestnut trees, destroyed, the one entirely,
and the other in part, by such a mischievous and wanton act of
revenge, grew at Invergarry Castle, the fastness of Macdonald of
Glengarry.]

Amid these general marks of ravage, there were some which more
particularly addressed the feelings of Waverley. Viewing the
front of the building, thus wasted and defaced, his eyes
naturally sought the little balcony which more properly belonged
to Rose's apartment--her TROISIEME, or rather CINQUIEME ETAGE.
It was easily discovered, for beneath it lay the stage-flowers
and shrubs with which it was her pride to decorate it, and which
had been hurled from the bartizan: several of her books were
mingled with broken flower-pots and other remnants. Among these,
Waverley distinguished one of his own, a small copy of Ariosto,
and gathered it as a treasure, though wasted by the wind and
rain.

While, plunged in the sad reflections which the scene excited, he
was looking around for some one who might explain the fate of the
inhabitants, he heard a voice from the interior of the building
singing, in well-remembered accents, an old Scottish song:

They came upon us in the night,
And brake my bower and slew my knight:
My servants a' for life did flee,
And left us in extremitie,

They slew my knight, to me sae dear;
They slew my knight, and drave his gear;
The moon may set, the sun may rise,
But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes.
[The first three couplets are from an old ballad, called the
Border Widow's Lament.]

'Alas!' thought Edward, 'is it thou? Poor helpless being, art
thou alone left, to gibber and moan, and fill with thy wild and
unconnected scraps of minstrelsy the halls that protected thee?'
--He then called, first low, and then louder, 'Davie--Davie
Gellatley!'

The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins of a sort
of greenhouse, that once terminated what was called the Terrace-
walk, but at first sight of a stranger retreated, as if in
terror. Waverley, remembering his habits, began to whistle a
tune to which he was partial, which Davie had expressed great
pleasure in listening to, and had picked up from him by the ear.
Our hero's minstrelsy no more equalled that of Blondel, than poor
Davie resembled Coeur de Lion; but the melody had the same effect
of producing recognition. Davie again stole from his lurking-
place, but timidly, while Waverley, afraid of frightening him,
stood making the most encouraging signals he could devise.--'It's
his ghaist,' muttered Davie; yet, coming nearer, he seemed to
acknowledge his living acquaintance. The poor fool himself
appeared the ghost of what he had been. The peculiar dress in
which he had been attired in better days, showed only miserable
rags of its whimsical finery, the lack of which was oddly
supplied by the remnants of tapestried hangings, window-curtains,
and shreds of pictures, with which he had bedizened his tatters.
His face, too, had lost its vacant and careless air, and the poor
creature looked hollow-eyed, meagre, half-starved, and nervous to
a pitiable degree.--After long hesitation, he at length
approached Waverley with some confidence, stared him sadly in the
face, and said, 'A' dead and gane--a' dead and gane!'

'Who are dead?' said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity of
Davie to hold any connected discourse.

'Baron--and Bailie and Saunders Saunderson and Lady Rose, that
sang sae sweet--A' dead and gane--dead and gane!

But follow, follow me,
While glow-worms light the lea;
I'll show you where the dead should be--
Each in his shroud,
While winds pipe loud,
And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud.
Follow, follow me;
Brave should he be
That treads by night the dead man's lea.'

With these' words, chanted in a wild and earnest tone, he made a
sign to Waverley to follow him, and walked rapidly towards the
bottom of the garden, tracing the bank of the stream, which, it
may be remembered, was its eastern boundary. Edward, over whom
an involuntary shuddering stole at the import of his words,
followed him in some hope of an explanation. As the house was
evidently deserted, he could not expect to find among the ruins
any more rational informer.

Davie, walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the
garden, and scrambled over the ruins of the wall that once had
divided it from the wooded glen in which the old Tower of Tully-
Veolan was situated. He then jumped down into the bed of the
stream, and, followed by Waverley, proceeded at a great pace,
climbing over some fragments of rock, and turning with difficulty
round others. They passed beneath the ruins of the castle;
Waverley followed, keeping up with his guide with difficulty, for
the twilight began to fall. Following the descent of the stream
a little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling light, which
he now discovered among the tangled copse-wood and bushes, seemed
a surer guide. He soon pursued a very uncouth path; and by its
guidance at length reached the door of a wretched hut. A fierce
barking of dogs was at first heard, but it stilled at his
approach. A voice sounded from within, and he held it most
prudent to listen before he advanced.

'Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain, thou?' said
an old woman, apparently in great indignation. He heard Davie
Gellatley, in answer, whistle a part of the tune by which he had
recalled himself to the simpleton's memory, and had now no
hesitation to knock at the door. There was a dead silence
instantly within, except the deep growling of the dogs; and he
next heard the mistress of the hut approach the door, not
probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of fastening a
bolt. To prevent this, Waverley lifted the latch himself.

In front was an old wretched-looking woman, exclaiming, 'Wha
comes into folk's houses in this gate, at this time o' the
night?' On one side, two grim and half-starved deer greyhounds
laid aside their ferocity at his appearance, and seemed to
recognize him. On the other side, half concealed by the open
door, yet apparently seeking that concealment reluctantly, with a
cocked pistol in his right hand, and his left in the act of
drawing another from his belt, stood a tall bony gaunt figure in
the remnants of a faded uniform, and a beard of three weeks'
growth.

It was the Baron of Bradwardine. It is unnecessary to add, that
he threw aside his weapon, and greeted Waverley with a hearty
embrace.

CHAPTER LXIV

COMPARING OF NOTES

The Baron's story was short, when divested of the adages and
commonplaces, Latin, English, and Scotch, with which his
erudition garnished it. He insisted much upon his grief at the
loss of Edward and of Glennaquoich, fought the fields of Falkirk
and Culloden, and related how, after all was lost in the last
battle, he had returned home, under the idea of more easily
finding shelter among his own tenants, and on his own estate,
than elsewhere. A party of soldiers had been sent to lay waste
his property, for clemency was not the order of the day. Their
proceedings, however, were checked by an order from the civil
court. The estate, it was found, might not be forfeited to the
crown, to the prejudice of Malcolm Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit,
the heir-male, whose claim could not be prejudiced by the Baron's
attainder, as deriving no right through him, and who, therefore,
like other heirs of entail in the same situation, entered upon
possession. But, unlike many in similar circumstances, the new
laird speedily showed that he intended utterly to exclude his
predecessor from all benefit or advantage in the estate, and that
it was his purpose to avail himself of the old Baron's evil
fortune to the full extent. This was the more ungenerous, as it
was generally known, that, from a romantic idea of not
prejudicing this young man's right as heir-male, the Baron had
refrained from settling his estate on his daughter.

This selfish injustice was resented by the country people, who
were partial to their old master, and irritated against his
successor. In the Baron's own words, 'The matter did not
coincide with the feelings of the commons of Bradwardine, Mr.
Waverley; and the tenants were slack and repugnant in payment of
their mails and duties; and when my kinsman came to the village
wi' the new factor, Mr. James Howie, to lift the rents, some
wanchancy person--I suspect John Heatherblutter, the auld
gamekeeper, that was out wi' me in the year fifteen--fired a shot
at him in the gloaming, whereby he was so affrighted, that I may
say with Tullius in Catilinam, ABIIT, EVASIT, ERUPIT, EFFUGIT.
He fled, sir, as one may say, incontinent to Stirling. And now
he hath advertised the estate for sale, being himself the last
substitute in the entail. And if I were to lament about sic
matters, this would grieve me mair than its passing from my
immediate possession, whilk, by the course of nature, must have
happened in a few years. Whereas now it passes from the lineage
that should have possessed it in SAECULA SAECULORUM. But God's
will be done, HUMANA PERPESSI SUMUS. Sir John of Bradwardine--
Black Sir John, as he is called--who was the common ancestor of
our house and the Inch-Grabbits, little thought such a person
would have sprung from his loins. Meantime, he has accused me to
some of the primates, the rulers for the time, as if I were a
cut-throat, and an abettor of bravoes and assassinates, and
coupe-jarrets. And they have sent soldiers here to abide on the
estate, and hunt me like a partridge upon the mountains, as
Scripture says of good King David, or like our valiant Sir
William Wallace,--not that I bring myself into comparison with
either.--I thought, when I heard you at the door, they had driven
the auld deer to his den at last; and so I e'en proposed to die
at bay, like a buck of the first head.--But now, Janet, canna ye
gie us something for supper?'

'Ou aye, sir, I'll brander the moor-fowl that John Heatherblutter
brought in this morning; and ye see puir Davie's roasting the
black hen's eggs.--I daur say, Mr. Wauverley, ye never kend that
a' the eggs that were sae weel roasted at supper in the Ha'-house
were aye turned by our Davie?--there's no the like o' him ony
gate for powtering wi' his fingers amang the het peat-ashes, and
roasting eggs. Davie all this while lay with his nose almost in
the fire, nuzzling among the ashes, kicking his heels, mumbling
to himself, turning the eggs as they lay in the hot embers, as if
to confute the proverb, that 'there goes reason to roasting of
eggs,' and justify the eulogium which poor Janet poured out upon

Him whom she loved, her idiot boy.

Davie's no sae silly as folk tak him for, Mr. Wauverley; he wadna
hae brought you here unless he had kend ye was a friend to his
Honour--indeed the very dogs kend ye, Mr. Wauverley, for ye was
aye kind to beast and body.--I can tell you a story o' Davie, wi'
his Honour's leave: His Honour, ye see, being under hiding in
thae sair times--the mair's the pity--he lies a' day, and whiles
a' night, in the cove in the dern hag; but though it 's a bieldy
eneugh bit, and the auld gudeman o' Corse-Cleugh has panged it
wi' a kemple o' strae amaist, yet when the country's quiet, and
the night very cauld, his Honour whiles creeps doun here to get a
warm at the ingle, and a sleep amang the blankets, and gangs awa
in the morning. And so, ae morning, siccan a fright as I got!
Twa unlucky red-coats were up for black-fishing, or some siccan
ploy--for the neb o' them's never out o' mischief--and they just
got a glisk o' his Honour as he gaed into the wood, and banged
aff a gun at him, I out like a jer-falcon, and cried,--"Wad they
shoot an honest woman's poor innocent bairn?" And I fleyt at
them, and threepit it was my son; and they damned and swuir at me
that it was the auld rebel, as the villains ca'd his Honour; and
Davie was in the wood, and heard the tuilzie, and he, just out o'
his ain head, got up the auld grey mantle that his Honour had
flung off him to gang the faster, and he cam out o' the very same
bit o' the wood, majoring and looking about sae like his Honour,
that they were clean beguiled, and thought they had letten aff
their gun at crack-brained Sawney, as they ca'd him; and they gae
me saxpence, and twa saumon fish, to say naething about it.--Na,
na; Davie's no just like other folk, puir fallow; but he's no sae
silly as folk tak him for.--But, to be sure, how can we do eneugh
for his Honour, when we and ours have lived on his ground this
twa hundred years; and when he keepit my puir Jamie at school and
college, and even at the Ha'-house, till he gaed to a better
place; and when he saved me frae being ta'en to Perth as a witch
--lord forgi'e them that would touch sic a puir silly auld body!
--and has maintained puir Davie at heck and manger maist feck o'
his life?'

Waverley at length found an opportunity to interrupt Janet's
narrative, by an inquiry after Miss Bradwardine.

'She's weel and safe, thank God! at the Duchran,' answered the
Baron. 'The laird's distantly related to us, and more nearly to
my chaplain, Mr. Rubrick; and, though he be of Whig principles,
yet he's not forgetful of auld friendship at this time. The
Bailie's doing what he can to save something out of the wreck for
puir Rose; but I doubt, I doubt, I shall never see her again, for
I maun lay my banes in some far country.'

'Hout na, your Honour,' said old Janet; 'ye were just as ill aff
in the feifteen, and got the bonnie baronie back, an' a'.--And
now the eggs is ready, and the muir-cock's brandered, and there's
ilk ane a trencher and some saut, and the heel o' the white loaf
that cam frae the Bailie's; and there's plenty o' brandy in the
greybeard that Luckie Maclearie sent doun; and winna ye be
suppered like princes?'

'I wish one Prince, at least, of our acquaintance, may be no
worse off,' said the Baron to Waverley, who joined him in cordial
hopes for the safety of the unfortunate Chevalier.

They then began to talk of their future prospects. The Baron's
plan was very simple. It was, to escape to France, where, by the
interest of his old friends, he hoped to get some military
employment, of which he still conceived himself capable. He
invited Waverley to go with him, a proposal in which he
acquiesced, providing the interest of Colonel Talbot should fail
in procuring his pardon. Tacitly he hoped the Baron would
sanction his addresses to Rose, and give him a right to assist
him in his exile; but he forbore to speak on this subject until
his own fate should be decided. They then talked of
Glennaquoich, for whom the Baron expressed great anxiety,
although, he observed, he was 'the very Achilles of Horatius
Flaccus,--

Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer.

Which,' he continued, 'has been thus rendered (vernacularly) by
Struan Robertson:

A fiery etter-cap, a fractious chiel,
As het as ginger, and as stieve as steel.'

Flora had a large and unqualified share of the good old man's
sympathy.

It was now wearing late. Old Janet got into some kind of kennel
behind the hallan. Davie had been long asleep and snoring
between Ban and Buscar. These dogs had followed him to the hut
after the mansion-house was deserted, and there constantly
resided; and their ferocity, with the old woman's reputation of
being a witch, contributed a good deal to keep visitors from the
glen. With this view, Bailie Macwheeble provided Janet underhand
with meal for their maintenance, and also with little articles of
luxury for their patron's use, in supplying which much precaution
was necessarily used. After some compliments, the Baron occupied
his usual couch, and Waverley reclined in an easy-chair of
tattered velvet, which had once garnished the state bed-room of
Tully-Veolan (for the furniture of this mansion was now scattered
through all the cottages in the vicinity), and went to sleep as
comfortably as if he had been in a bed of down.

CHAPTER LXV

MORE EXPLANATION

With the first dawn of the day, old Janet was scuttling about the
house to wake the Baron, who usually slept sound and heavily.

'I must go back,' he said to Waverley, to my cove: will you walk
down the glen wi' me?'

They went out together, and followed a narrow and entangled
footpath, which the occasional passage of anglers, or wood-
cutters, had traced by the side of the stream. On their way, the
Baron explained to Waverley, that he would be under no danger in
remaining a day or two at Tully-Veolan, and even in being seen
walking about, if he used the precaution of pretending that he
was looking at the estate as agent or surveyor for an English
gentleman, who designed to be purchaser. With this view, he
recommended to him to visit the Bailie, who still lived at the
factor's house, called Little Veolan, about a mile from the
village, though he was to remove at next term. Stanley's
passport would be an answer to the officer who commanded the
military; and as to any of the country people who might recognize
Waverley the Baron assured him that he was in no danger of being
betrayed by them.

'I believe,' said the old man, 'half the people of the barony
know that their poor auld laird is somewhere hereabout; for I see
they do not suffer a single bairn to come here a bird-nesting--a
practice whilk, when I was in full possession of my power as
baron, I was unable totally to inhibit. Nay, I often find bits
of things in my way, that the poor bodies, God help them! leave
there, because they think they may be useful to me. I hope they
will get a wiser master, and as kind a one as I was.'

A natural sigh closed the sentence; but the quiet equanimity with
which the Baron endured his misfortunes, had something in it
venerable, and even sublime. There was no fruitless repining, no
turbid melancholy; he bore his lot, and the hardships which it
involved, with a good-humoured, though serious composure, and
used no violent language against the prevailing party.

'I did what I thought my duty,' said the good old man, 'and
questionless they are doing what they think theirs. It grieves
me sometimes to look upon these blackened walls of the house of
my ancestors; but doubtless officers cannot always keep the
soldier's hand from depredation and spuilzie; and Gustavus
Adolphus himself, as ye may read in Colonel Munro his Expedition
with the worthy Scotch regiment called Mackay's regiment, did
often permit it.--Indeed I have myself seen as sad sights as
Tully-Veolan now is, when I served with the Mareschal Duke of
Berwick. To be sure, we may say with Virgilius Maro, FUIMUS
TROES--and there's the end of an auld sang. But houses and
families and men have a' stood lang eneugh when they have stood
till they fall with honour; and now I hae gotten a house that is
not unlike a DOMUS ULTIMA'--they were now standing below a steep
rock. 'We poor Jacobites,' continued the Baron, looking up, 'are
now like the conies in Holy Scripture (which the great traveller
Pococke calleth Jerboa), a feeble people, that make our abode in
the rocks. So, fare you well, my good lad, till we meet at
Janet's in the even; for I must get into my Patmos, which is no
easy matter for my auld still limbs.'

With that he began to ascend the rock, striding, with the help of
his hands, from one precarious footstep to another, till he got
about half-way up, where two or three bushes concealed the mouth
of a hole, resembling an oven, into which the Baron insinuated,
first his head and shoulders, and then, by slow gradation, the
rest of his long body; his legs and feet finally disappearing,
coiled up like a huge snake entering his retreat, or a long
pedigree introduced with care and difficulty into the narrow
pigeon-hole of an old cabinet. Waverley had the curiosity to
clamber up and look in upon him in his den, as the lurking-place
might well be termed. Upon the whole, he looked not unlike that
ingenious puzzle, called a reel in a bottle, the marvel of
children (and of some grown people too, myself for one), who can
neither comprehend the mystery how it was got in, or how it is to
be taken out. The cave was very narrow, too low in the roof to
admit of his standing, or almost of his sitting up, though he
made some awkward attempts at the latter posture. His sole
amusement was the perusal of his old friend Titus Livius, varied
by occasionally scratching Latin proverbs and texts of Scripture
with his knife on the roof and walls of his fortalice, which were
of sandstone. As the cave was dry, and filled with clean straw
and withered fern, 'it made,' as he said, coiling himself up with
an air of snugness and comfort which contrasted strangely with
his situation, 'unless when the wind was due north, a very
passable GITE for an old soldier.' Neither, as he observed, was
he without sentries for the purpose of reconnoitring. Davie and
his mother were constantly on the watch, to discover and avert
danger; and it was singular what instances of address seemed
dictated by the instinctive attachment of the poor simpleton,
when his patron's safety was concerned.

With Janet, Edward now sought an interview. He had recognized
her at first sight as the old woman who had nursed him during his
sickness after his delivery from Gifted Gilfillan. The hut,
also, though a little repaired, and somewhat better furnished,
was certainly the place of his confinement; and he now
recollected on the common moor of Tully-Veolan the trunk of a
large decayed tree, called the TRYSTING-TREE, which he had no
doubt was the same at which the Highlanders rendezvoused on that
memorable night. All this he had combined in his imagination the
night before; but reasons, which may probably occur to the
reader, prevented him from catechizing Janet in the presence of
the Baron.

He now commenced the task in good earnest; and the first question
was, Who was the young lady that visited the hut during his
illness? Janet paused for a little; and then observed, that to
keep the secret now, would neither do good nor ill to anybody.
'It was just a leddy that hasna her equal in the world--Miss Rose
Bradwardine.'

'Then Miss Rose was probably also the author of my deliverance,'
inferred Waverley, delighted at the confirmation of an idea which
local circumstances had already induced him to entertain.

'I wot weel, Mr. Wauverley, and that was she e'en; but sair, sair
angry and affronted wad she hae been, puir thing, if she had
thought ye had been ever to ken a word about the matter; for she
gar'd me speak aye Gaelic when ye was in hearing, to mak ye trow
we were in the Hielands. I can speak it well eneugh, for my
mother was a Hieland woman.'

A few more questions now brought out the whole mystery respecting
Waverley's deliverance from the bondage in which he left
Cairnvreckan. Never did music sound sweeter to an amateur, than
the drowsy tautology, with which old Janet detailed every
circumstance, thrilled upon the ears of Waverley. But my reader
is not a lover, and I must spare his patience, by attempting to
condense within reasonable compass the narrative which old Janet
spread through a harangue of nearly two hours,

When Waverley communicated to Fergus the letter he had received
from Rose Bradwardine, by Davie Gellatley, giving an account of
Tully-Veolan being occupied by a small party of soldiers, that
circumstance had struck upon the busy and active mind of the
Chieftain. Eager to distress and narrow the posts of the enemy,
desirous to prevent their establishing a garrison so near him,
and willing also to oblige the Baron,--for he often had the idea
of marriage with Rose floating through his brain,--he resolved to
send some of his people to drive out the red-coats, and to bring
Rose to Glennaquoich. But just as he had ordered Evan with a
small party on this duty, the news of Cope's having marched into
the Highlands to meet and disperse the forces of the Chevalier,
ere they came to a head, obliged him to join the standard with
his whole forces.

He sent to order Donald Bean to attend him; but that cautious
freebooter, who well understood the value of a separate command,
instead of joining, sent various apologies which the pressure of
the times compelled Fergus to admit as current, though not
without the internal resolution of being revenged on him for his
procrastination, time and place convenient. However, as he could
not amend the matter, he issued orders to Donald to descend into
the Low Country, drive the soldiers from Tully-Veolan, and,
paying all respect to the mansion of the Baron, to take his abode
somewhere near it, for protection of his daughter and family, and
to harass and drive away any of the armed volunteers, or small
parties of military, which he might find moving about the
vicinity.

As this charge formed a sort of roving commission, which Donald
proposed to interpret in the way most advantageous to himself, as
he was relieved from the immediate terrors of Fergus, and as he
had, from former secret services, some interest in the councils
of the Chevalier, he resolved to make hay while the sun shone.
He achieved, without difficulty, the task of driving the soldiers
from Tully-Veolan; but although he did not venture to encroach
upon the interior of the family, or to disturb Miss Rose, being
unwilling to make himself a powerful enemy in the Chevalier's
army,

For well he knew the Baron's wrath was deadly;

yet he set about to raise contributions and exactions upon the
tenantry, and otherwise to turn the war to his own advantage.
Meanwhile he mounted the white cockade, and waited upon Rose with
a pretext of great devotion for the service in which her father
was engaged, and many apologies for the freedom he must
necessarily use for the support of his people. It was at this
moment that Rose learned, by open-mouthed fame, with all sorts of
exaggeration, that Waverley had killed the smith of Cairnvreckan,
in an attempt to arrest him; had been cast into a dungeon by
Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, and was to be executed by martial
law within three days. In the agony which these tidings excited,
she proposed to Donald Bean the rescue of the prisoner. It was
the very sort of service which he was desirous to undertake,
judging it might constitute a merit of such a nature as would
make amends for any peccadilloes which he might be guilty of in
the country. He had the art, however, pleading all the while
duty and discipline, to hold off, until poor Rose, in the
extremity of her distress, offered to bribe him to the enterprise
with some valuable jewels which had been her mother's.

Donald Bean, who had served in France, knew, and perhaps over-
estimated, the value of these trinkets. But he also perceived
Rose's apprehensions of its being discovered that she had parted
with her jewels for Waverley's liberation. Resolved this scruple
should not part him and the treasure, he voluntarily offered to
take an oath that he would never mention Miss Rose's share in the
transaction; and foreseeing convenience in keeping the oath, and
no probable advantage in breaking it, he took the engagement--in
order, as he told his lieutenant, to deal handsomely by the young
lady--in the only form and mode which, by a mental paction with
himself, he considered as binding--he swore secrecy upon his
drawn dirk. He was the more especially moved to this act of good
faith by some attentions that Miss Bradwardine showed to his
daughter Alice, which, while they gained the heart of the
mountain damsel, highly gratified the pride of her father.
Alice, who could now speak a little English, was very
communicative in return for Rose's kindness, readily confided to
her the whole papers respecting the intrigue with Gardiner's
regiment, of which she was the depositary, and as readily
undertook, at her instance, to restore them to Waverley without
her father's knowledge. 'For they may oblige the bonnie young
lady and the handsome young gentleman,' said Alice, 'and what use
has my father for a whin bits o' scarted paper?'

The reader is aware that she took an opportunity of executing
this purpose on the eve of Waverley's leaving the glen.

How Donald executed his enterprise, the reader is aware. But the
expulsion of the military from Tully-Veolan had given alarm, and,
while he was lying in wait for Gilfillan, a strong party, such as
Donald did not care to face, was sent to drive back the
insurgents in their turn, to encamp there, and to protect the
country. The officer, a gentleman and a disciplinarian, neither
intruded himself on Miss Bradwardine, whose unprotected situation
he respected, nor permitted his soldiers to commit any breach of
discipline. He formed a little camp, upon an eminence near the
house of Tully-Veolan, and placed proper guards at the passes in
the vicinity. This unwelcome news reached Donald Bean Lean as he
was returning to Tully-Veolan. Determined, however, to obtain
the guerdon of his labour, he resolved, since approach to Tully-
Veolan was impossible; to deposit his prisoner in Janet's
cottage--a place the very existence of which could hardly have
been suspected even by those who had long lived In the vicinity,
unless they had been guided thither, and which was utterly
unknown to Waverley himself. This effected, he claimed and
received his reward. Waverley's illness was an event which
deranged all their calculations. Donald was obliged to leave the
neighbourhood with his people, and to seek more free course for
his adventures elsewhere. At Rose's earnest entreaty, he left an
old man, a herbalist, who was supposed to understand a little of
medicine, to attend Waverley during his illness.

In the meanwhile, new and fearful doubts started in Rose's mind.
They were suggested by old Janet, who insisted, that a reward
having been offered for the apprehension of Waverley, and his own
personal effects being so valuable, there was no saying to what
breach of faith Donald might be tempted. In an agony of grief
and terror, Rose took the daring resolution of explaining to the
Prince himself the danger in which Mr. Waverley stood, judging
that, both as a politician, and a man of honour and humanity,
Charles Edward would interest himself to prevent his falling into
the hands of the opposite party. This letter she at first
thought of sending anonymously, but naturally feared it would
not, in that case, be credited. She therefore subscribed her
name, though with reluctance and terror, and consigned it in
charge to a young man, who, at leaving his farm to join the
Chevalier's army, made it his petition to her to have some sort
of credentials to the Adventurer, from whom he hoped to obtain a
commission.

The letter reached Charles Edward on his descent to the Lowlands,
and, aware of the political importance of having it supposed that
he was in correspondence with the English Jacobites, he caused
the most positive orders to be transmitted to Donald Bean Lean,
to transmit Waverley, safe and uninjured in person or effects, to
the governor of Doune Castle. The freebooter durst not disobey,
for the army of the Prince was now so near him that punishment
might have followed; besides, he was a politician as well as a
robber, and was unwilling to cancel the interest created through
former secret services, by being refractory on this occasion. He
therefore made a virtue of necessity, and transmitted orders to
his lieutenant to convey Edward to Doune, which was safely
accomplished in the mode mentioned in a former chapter. The
governor of Doune was directed to send him to Edinburgh as a
prisoner, because the Prince was apprehensive that Waverley, if
set at liberty, might have resumed his purpose of returning to
England, without affording him an opportunity of a personal
interview. In this, indeed, he acted by the advice of the
Chieftain of Glennaquoich, with whom it may be remembered the
Chevalier communicated upon the mode of disposing of Edward,
though without telling him how he came to learn the place of his
confinement.

This, indeed, Charles Edward considered as a lady's secret; for
although Rose's letter was couched in the most cautious and
general terms, and professed to be written merely from motives of
humanity, and zeal for the Prince's service, yet she expressed so
anxious a wish that she should not be known to have interfered,
that the Chevalier was induced to suspect the deep interest which
she took in Waverley's safety. This conjecture, which was well
founded, led, however, to false inferences. For the emotion
which Edward displayed on approaching Flora and Rose at the ball
of Holyrood, was placed by the Chevalier to the account of the
latter, and he concluded that the Baron's views about the
settlement of his property, or some such obstacle, thwarted their
mutual inclinations. Common fame, it is true, frequently gave
Waverley to Miss Mac-Ivor; but the Prince knew that common fame
is very prodigal in such gifts; and, watching attentively the
behaviour of the ladies towards Waverley, he had no doubt that
the young Englishman had no interest with Flora, and was beloved
by Rose Bradwardine. Desirous to bind Waverley to his service,
and wishing also to do a kind and friendly action, the Prince
next assailed the Baron on the subject of settling his estate
upon his daughter. Mr. Bradwardine acquiesced; but the
consequence was, that Fergus was immediately induced to prefer
his double suit for a wife and an earldom, which the Prince
rejected in the manner we have seen. The Chevalier, constantly
engaged in his own multiplied affairs, had not hitherto sought
any explanation with Waverley, though often meaning to do so.
But after Fergus's declaration, he saw the necessity of appearing
neutral between the rivals, devoutly hoping that the matter,
which now seemed fraught with the seeds of strife, might be
permitted to lie over till the termination of the expedition.
When on the march to Derby, Fergus, being questioned concerning
his quarrel with Waverley, alleged as the cause, that Edward was
desirous of retracting the suit he made to his sister, the
Chevalier plainly told him, that he had himself observed Miss
Mac-Ivor's behaviour to Waverley, and that he was convinced
Fergus was under the influence of a mistake in judging of
Waverley's conduct, who, he had every reason to believe, was
engaged to Miss Bradwardine. The quarrel which ensued between
Edward and the chieftain is, I hope, still in the remembrance of
the reader. These circumstances will serve to explain such
points of our narrative as, according to the custom of story-
tellers, we deemed it fit to leave unexplained, for the purpose
of exciting the reader's curiosity.

When Janet had once finished the leading facts of this narrative,
Waverley was easily enabled to apply the clue which they
afforded, to other mazes of the labyrinth in which he had been
engaged. To Rose Bradwardine, then, he owed the life which he
now thought he could willingly have laid down to serve her. A
little reflection convinced him, however, that to live for her
sake was more convenient and agreeable, and that, being possessed
of independence, she might share it with him either in foreign
countries or in his own. The pleasure of being allied to a man
of the Baron's high worth, and who was so much valued by his
uncle Sir Everard, was also an agreeable consideration, had
anything been wanting to recommend the match. His absurdities,
which had appeared grotesquely ludicrous during his prosperity,
seemed, in the sunset of his fortune, to be harmonized and
assimilated with the noble features of his character, so as to
add peculiarity without exciting ridicule. His mind occupied
with such projects of future happiness, Edward sought Little
Veolan, the habitation of Mr. Duncan Macwheeble.

CHAPTER LXVI

Now is Cupid like a child of conscience--he makes
restitution.--
SHAKESPEARE.

Mr. Duncan Macwheeble, no longer Commissary or Bailie, though
still enjoying the empty name of the latter dignity, had escaped
proscription by an early secession from the insurgent party and
by his insignificance.

Edward found him in his office, immersed among papers and
accounts. Before him was a large bicker of oatmeal-porridge, and
at the side thereof, a horn-spoon and a bottle of two-penny.
Eagerly running his eye over a voluminous law-paper, he from time
to time shovelled an immense spoonful of these nutritive viands
into his capacious mouth. A pot-bellied Dutch bottle of brandy
which stood by, intimated either that this honest limb of the law
had taken his morning already, or that he meant to season his
porridge with such digestive; or perhaps both circumstances might
reasonably be inferred. His night-cap and morning-gown had
whilome been of tartan, but, equally cautious and frugal, the
honest Bailie had got them dyed black, lest their original ill-
omened colour might remind his visitors of his unlucky excursion
to Derby. To sum up the picture, his face was daubed with snuff
up to the eyes, and his fingers with ink up to the knuckles. He
looked dubiously at Waverley as he approached the little green
rail which fenced his desk and stool from the approach of the
vulgar. Nothing could give the Bailie more annoyance than the
idea of his acquaintance being claimed by any of the unfortunate
gentlemen who were now so much more likely to need assistance
than to afford profit. But this was the rich young Englishman--
who knew what might be his situation?--he was the Baron's friend
too--what was to be done?

While these reflections gave an air of absurd perplexity to the
poor man's visage, Waverley, reflecting on the communication he
was about to make to him, of a nature so ridiculously contrasted
with the appearance of the individual, could not help bursting
out a-laughing, as he checked the propensity to exclaim with
Syphax--

Cato's a proper person to entrust
A love-tale with.

As Mr. Macwheeble had no idea of any person laughing heartily who
was either encircled by peril or oppressed by poverty, the
hilarity of Edward's countenance greatly relieved the
embarrassment of his own, and, giving him a tolerably hearty
welcome to Little Veolan, he asked what he would choose for
breakfast. His visitor had, in the first place, something for
his private ear, and begged leave to bolt the door. Duncan by no
means liked this precaution, which savoured of danger to be
apprehended; but he could not now draw back.

Convinced he might trust this man, as he could make it his
interest to be faithful, Edward communicated his present
situation and future schemes to Macwheeble. The wily agent
listened with apprehension when he found Waverley was still in a
state of proscription--was somewhat comforted by learning that he
had a passport-- rubbed his hands with glee when he mentioned the
amount of his present fortune--opened huge eyes when he heard the
brilliancy of his future expectations; but when he expressed his
intention to share them with Miss Rose Bradwardine, ecstasy had
almost deprived the honest man of his senses. The Bailie started
from his three-footed stool like the Pythoness from her tripod;
flung his best wig out of the window, because the block on which
it was placed stood in the way of his career; chucked his cap to
the ceiling, caught it as it fell; whistled Tullochgorum; danced
a Highland fling with inimitable grace and agility; and then
threw himself exhausted into a chair, exclaiming, 'Lady
Wauverley!--ten thousand a year, the least penny!-- Lord preserve
my poor understanding!'

'Amen, with all my heart,' said Waverley;--'but now, Mr.
Macwheeble, let us proceed to business.' This word had a
somewhat sedative effect, but the Bailie's head, as he expressed
himself, was still 'in the bees.' He mended his pen, however,
marked half a dozen sheets of paper with an ample marginal fold,
whipped down Dallas of St. Martin's STYLES from a shelf, where
that venerable work roosted with Stair's INSTITUTIONS, Dirleton's
DOUBTS, Balfour's PRACTIQUES, and a parcel of old account-books-
opened the volume at the article Contract of Marriage, and
prepared to make what he called a 'sma' minute, to prevent
parties frae resiling.

With some difficulty, Waverley made him comprehend that he was
going a little too fast. He explained to him that he should want
his assistance, in the first place, to make his residence safe
for the time, by writing to the officer at Tully-Veolan, that Mr.
Stanley, an English gentleman, nearly related to Colonel Talbot,
was upon a visit of business at Mr. Macwheeble's, and, knowing
the state of the country, had sent his passport for Captain
Foster's inspection. This produced a polite answer from the
officer, with an invitation to Mr. Stanley to dine with him,
which was declined (as may easily be supposed), under pretence of
business.

Waverley's next request was, that Mr. Macwheeble would dispatch a
man and horse to --, the post-town, at which Colonel Talbot was
to address him, with directions to wait there until the post
should bring a letter for Mr. Stanley, and then to forward it to
Little Veolan with all speed. In a moment, the Bailie was in
search of his apprentice (or servitor, as he was called Sixty
Years since), Jock Scriever, and in not much greater space of
time, Jock was on the back of the white pony.

'Tak care ye guide him weel, sir, for he's aye been short in the
wind since--ahem--lord be gude to me!' (in a low voice) 'I was
gaun to come out wi'--since I rode whip and spur to fetch the
Chevalier to redd Mr. Wauverley and Vich Ian Vohr; and an uncanny
coup I gat for my pains.-- Lord forgie your honour! I might hae
broken my neck-- but troth it was in a venture, mae ways nor ane;
but this maks amends for a'. Lady Wauverley!--ten thousand a
year!--Lord be gude unto me!'

'But you forget, Mr. Macwheeble, we want the Baron's consent--the
lady's--'

'Never fear, I'se be caution for them--I'se gie you my personal
warrandice--ten thousand a year! it dings Balmawhapple out and
out--a year's rent's worth a' Balmawhapple, fee and life-rent!
Lord make us thankful!'

To turn the current of his feelings, Edward inquired if he had
heard anything lately of the Chieftain of Glennaquoich?

'Not one word,' answered Macwheeble, 'but that he was still in
Carlisle Castle, and was soon to be panelled for his life. I
dinna wish the young gentleman ill,' he said, 'but I hope that
they that hae got him will keep him, and no let him back to this
Hieland border to plague us wi' blackmail, and a' manner o'
violent, wrongous, and masterfu' oppression and spoliation, both
by himself and others of his causing, sending, and hounding out:
--and he couldna tak care o' the siller when he had gotten it
neither, but flung it a' into yon idle quean's lap at Edinburgh
--but light come light gane. For my part, I never wish to see a
kilt in the country again, nor a red-coat, nor a gun, for that
matter, unless it were to shoot a paitrick:--they're a' tarr'd
wi' ae stick. And when they have done ye wrang, even when ya hae
gotten decreet of spuilzie, oppression, and violent profits
against them, what better are ye?-- they hae na a plack to pay
ye; ye need never extract it.'

With such discourse, and the intervening topics of business, the
time passed until dinner, Macwheeble meanwhile promising to
devise some mode of introducing Edward at the Duchran, where Rose
at present resided, without risk of danger or suspicion; which
seemed no very easy task, since the laird was a very zealous
friend to Government.--The poultry-yard had been laid under
requisition, and cockyleeky and Scotch collops soon reeked in the
Bailie's little parlour. The landlord's corkscrew was just
introduced into the muzzle of a pint-bottle of claret (cribbed
possibly from the cellars of Tully-Veolan), when the sight of the
grey pony, passing the window at full trot, induced the Bailie,
but with due precaution, to place it aside for the moment. Enter
Jock Scriever with a packet for Mr. Stanley: it is Colonel
Talbot's seal; and Edward's fingers tremble as he undoes it. Two
official papers, folded, signed, and sealed in all formality,
drop out. They were hastily picked up by the Bailie, who had a
natural respect for everything resembling a deed, and, glancing
slily on their titles, his eyes, or rather spectacles, are
greeted with 'Protection by His Royal Highness to the person of
Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq. of that ilk, commonly called Baron
of Bradwardine, forfeited for his accession to the late
rebellion.' The other proves to be a protection of the same
tenor in favour of Edward Waverley, Esq. Colonel Talbot's letter
was in these words:--

'MY DEAR EDWARD,

'I am just arrived here, and yet I have finished my business; it
has cost me some trouble though, as you shall hear. I waited
upon his Royal Highness immediately on my arrival, and found him
in no very good humour for my purpose. Three or four Scotch
gentlemen were just leaving his levee. After he had expressed
himself to me very courteously; "Would you think it," he said,
"Talbot? here have been half a dozen of the most respectable
gentlemen, and best friends to Government north of the Forth,--
Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, Rubrick of Duchran, and others,
--who have fairly wrung from me, by their downright importunity,
a present protection, and the promise of a future pardon, for
that stubborn old rebel whom they call Baron of Bradwardine.
They allege that his high personal character, and the clemency
which he showed to such of our people as fell into the rebels'
hands, should weigh in his favour; especially as the loss of his
estate is likely to be a severe enough punishment. Rubrick has
undertaken to keep him at his own house till things are settled
in the country; but it's a little hard to be forced in a manner
to pardon such a mortal enemy to the House of Brunswick." This
was no favourable moment for opening my business:--however, I
said I was rejoiced to learn that his Royal Highness was in the
course of granting such requests, as it emboldened me to present
one of the like nature in my own name. He was very angry, but I
persisted;--I mentioned the uniform support of our three votes in
the House, touched modestly on services abroad, though valuable
only in his Royal Highness's having been pleased kindly to accept
them, and founded pretty strongly on his own expressions of
friendship and goodwill. He was embarrassed, but obstinate. I
hinted the policy of detaching, on all future occasions, the heir
of such a fortune as your uncle's from the machinations of the
disaffected. But I made no impression. I mentioned the
obligation which I lay under to Sir Everard, and to you
personally, and claimed, as the sole reward of my services, that
he would be pleased to afford me the means of evincing my
gratitude. I perceived that he still meditated a refusal, and,
taking my commission from my pocket, I said (as a last resource),
that as his Royal Highness did not, under these pressing
circumstances, think me worthy of a favour which he had not
scrupled to grant to other gentlemen, whose services I could
hardly judge more important than my own, I must beg leave to
deposit, with all humility, my commission in his Royal Highness's
hands, and to retire from the service. He was not prepared for
this;--he told me to take up my commission; said some handsome
things of my services, and granted my request. You are therefore
once more a free man, and I have promised for you that you will
be a good boy in future, and remember what you owe to the lenity
of Government. Thus you see MY PRINCE can be as generous as
YOURS. I do not pretend, indeed, that he confers a favour with
all the foreign graces and compliments of your Chevalier errant;
but he has a plain English manner, and the evident reluctance
with which he grants your request, indicates the sacrifice which
he makes of his own inclination to your wishes. My friend, the
adjutant-general, has procured me a duplicate of the Baron's
protection (the original being in Major Melville's possession),
which I send to you, as I know that if you can find him you will
have pleasure in being the first to communicate the joyful
intelligence. He will of course repair to the Duchran without
loss of time, there to ride quarantine for a few weeks. As for
you, I give you leave to escort him thither, and to stay a week
there, as I understand a certain fair lady is in that quarter.
And I have the pleasure to tell you, that whatever progress you
can make in her good graces will be highly agreeable to Sir
Everard and Mrs. Rachel, who will never believe your view and
prospects settled, and the three ermines passant in actual
safety, until you present them with a Mrs. Edward Waverley. Now,
certain love-affairs of my own--a good many years since--
interrupted some measures which were then proposed in favour of
the three ermines passant; so I am bound in honour to make them
amends. Therefore make good use of your time, for when your week
is expired, it will be necessary that you go to London to plead
your pardon in the law courts.

'Ever, dear Waverley, yours most truly,

'PHILIP TALBOT.'

CHAPTER LXVII

Happy 's the wooing
That's not long a-doing.

When the first rapturous sensation occasioned by these excellent
tidings had somewhat subsided, Edward proposed instantly to go
down to the glen to acquaint the Baron with their import. But
the cautious Bailie justly observed, that if the Baron were to
appear instantly in public, the tenantry and villagers might
become riotous in expressing their joy, and give offence to 'the
powers that be,' a sort of persons for whom the Bailie always had
unlimited respect. He therefore proposed that Mr. Waverley
should go to Janet Gellatley's, and bring the Baron up under
cloud of night to Little Veolan, where he might once more enjoy
the luxury of a good bed. In the meanwhile, he said, he himself
would go to Captain Foster, and show him the Baron's protection,
and obtain his countenance for harbouring him that night,--and he
would have horses ready on the morrow to set him on his way to
the Duchran along with Mr. Stanley, 'whilk denomination, I
apprehend, your honour will for the present retain,' said the
Bailie.

'Certainly, Mr. Macwheeble; but will you not go down to the glen
yourself in the evening to meet your patron?'

'That I wad wi' a' my heart; and mickle obliged to your honour
for putting me in mind o' my bounden duty. But it will be past
sunset afore I get back frae the Captain's, and at these unsonsy
hours the glen has a bad name--there's something no that canny
about auld Janet Gellatley. The Laird he'll no believe thae
things, but he was aye ower rash and venturesome--and feared
neither man nor deevil--and sae's seen o't. But right sure am I
Sir George Mackenyie says, that no divine can doubt there are
witches, since the Bible says thou shalt not suffer them to live;
and that no lawyer in Scotland can doubt it, since it is
punishable with death by our law. So there's baith law and
gospel for it. An his honour winna believe the Leviticus, he
might aye believe the Statute-book; but he may tak his ain way
o't--it's a' ane to Duncan Macwheeble. However, I shall send to
ask up auld Janet this e'en; it 's best no to lightly them that
have that character--and we'll want Davie to turn the spit, for
I'll gar Eppie put down a fat goose to the fire for your honours
to your supper.'

When it was near sunset, Waverley hastened to the hut; and he
could not but allow that superstition had chosen no improper
locality, or unfit object, for the foundation of her fantastic
terrors. It resembled exactly the description of Spenser:

There, in a gloomy hollow glen, she found.
A little cottage built of sticks and reeds,
In homely wise, and wall'd with sods around,
In which a witch did dwell in loathly weeds,
And wilful want, all careless of her needs;
So choosing solitary to abide
Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds,
And hellish arts, from people she might hide,
And hurt far off, unknown, whomsoever she espied.

He entered the cottage with these verses in his memory. Poor old
Janet, bent double with age, and bleared with peat-smoke, was
tottering about the hut with a birch broom, muttering to herself
as she endeavoured to make her hearth and floor a little clean
for the reception of her expected guests. Waverley's step made
her start, look up, and fall a-trembling, so much had her nerves
been on the rack for her patron's safety. With difficulty
Waverley made her comprehend that the Baron was now safe from
personal danger; and when her mind had admitted that joyful news,
it was equally hard to make her believe that he was not to enter
again upon possession of his estate. 'It behoved to be,' she
said, 'he wad get it back again; naebody wad be sae gripple as to
tak his gear after they had gi'en him a pardon: and for that
Inch-Grabbit, I could whiles wish mysell a witch for his sake, if
I werena feared the Enemy wad tak me at my word.' Waverley then
gave her some money, and promised that her fidelity should be
rewarded. 'How can I be rewarded, sir, sae weel, as just to see
my auld maister and Miss Rose come back and bruik their ain?'

Waverley now took leave of Janet, and soon stood beneath the
Baron's Patmos. At a low whistle, he observed the veteran
peeping out to reconnoitre, like an old badger with his head out
of his hole. 'Ye hae come rather early, my good lad,' said he,
descending; 'I question if the red-coats hae beat the tattoo yet,
and we're not safe till then.'

'Good news cannot be told too soon,' said Waverley; and with
infinite joy communicated to him the happy tidings.

The old man stood for a moment in silent devotion, then
exclaimed, 'Praise be to God!--I shall see my bairn again.'

'And never, I hope, to part with her more,' said Waverley.

'I trust in God, not, unless it be to win the means of supporting
her; for my things are but in a bruckle state;--but what
signifies warld's gear?'

'And if,' said Waverley, modestly, 'there were a situation in
life which would put Miss Bradwardine beyond the uncertainty of
fortune, and in the rank to which she was born, would you object
to it, my dear Baron, because it would make one of your friends
the happiest man in the world?' The Baron turned, and looked at
him with great earnestness. 'Yes,' continued Edward, 'I shall
not consider my sentence of banishment as repealed, unless you
will give me permission to accompany you to the Duchran, and--'

The Baron seemed collecting all his dignity to make a suitable
reply to what, at another time, he would have treated as the
propounding a treaty of alliance between the houses of
Bradwardine and Waverley. But his efforts were in vain; the
father was too mighty for the Baron; the pride of birth and rank
were swept away: in the joyful surprise, a slight convulsion
passed rapidly over his features as he gave way to the feelings
of nature, threw his arms around Waverley's neck, and sobbed
out,--'My son! my son!--if I had been to search the world, I
would have made my choice here.' Edward returned the embrace
with great sympathy of feeling, and for a little while they both
kept silence. At length it was broken by Edward. But Miss
Bradwardine?'

'She had never a will but her old father's; besides, you are a
likely youth, of honest principles and high birth; no, she never
had any other will than mine, and in my proudest days I could not
have wished a mair eligible espousal for her than the nephew of
my excellent old friend, Sir Everard.--But I hope, young man, ye
deal na rashly in this matter? I hope ye hae secured the
approbation of your ain friends and allies, particularly of your
uncle, who is in LOCO PARENTIS? Ah! we maun tak heed o' that.'
Edward assured him that Sir Everard would think himself highly
honoured in the flattering reception his proposal had met with,
and that it had his entire approbation; in evidence of which, he
put Colonel Talbot's letter into the Baron's hand. The Baron
read it with great attention. 'Sir Everard,' he said, 'always
despised wealth in comparison of honour and birth; and indeed he
had no occasion to court the DIVA PECUNIA. Yet I now wish, since
this Malcolm turns out such a parricide, for I can call him no
better, as to think of alienating the family inheritance-I now
wish' (his eyes fixed on a part of the roof which was visible
above the trees) 'that I could have left Rose the auld hurley-
house, and the riggs belanging to it.--And yet,' said he,
resuming more cheerfully, 'it's maybe as weel as it is; for, as
Baron of Bradwardine, I might have thought it my duty to insist
upon certain compliances respecting name and bearings, whilk now,
as a landless laird wi' a tocherless daughter, no one can blame
me for departing from.'

'Now, Heaven be praised!' thought Edward, 'that Sir Everard does
not hear these scruples!--the three ermines passsat and rampant
bear would certainly have gone together by the ears.' He then,
with all the ardour of a young lover, assured the Baron, that he
sought for his happiness only in Rose's heart and hand, and
thought himself as happy in her father's simple approbation, as
if he had settled an earldom upon his daughter.

They now reached Little Veolan. The goose was smoking on the
table, and the Bailie brandished his knife and fork. A joyous
greeting took place between him and his patron. The kitchen,
too, had its company. Auld Janet was established at the ingle-
nook; Davie had turned the spit to his immortal honour; and even
Ban and Buscar, in the liberality of Macwheeble's joy, had been
stuffed to the throat with food, and now lay snoring on the
floor.

The next day conducted the Baron and his young friend to the
Duchran, where the former was expected, in consequence of the
success of the nearly unanimous application of the Scottish
friends of Government in his favour. This had been so general
and so powerful, that it was almost thought his estate might have
been saved, had it not passed into the rapacious hands-of his
unworthy kinsman, whose right, arising out of the Baron's
attainder, could not be affected by a pardon from the crown. The
old gentleman, however, said, with his usual spirit, he was more
gratified by the hold he possessed in the good opinion of his
neighbours, than he would have been in being 'rehabilitated and
restored IN INTEGRUM, had it been found practicable.'

We shall not attempt to describe the meeting of the father and
daughter,--loving each other so affectionately, and separated
under such perilous circumstances. Still less shall we attempt
to analyse the deep blush of Rose, at receiving the compliments
of Waverley, or stop to inquire whether she had any curiosity
respecting the particular cause of his journey to Scotland at
that period. We shall not; even trouble the reader with the
humdrum details of a courtship Sixty Years since. It is enough
to say, that, under so strict a martinet as the Baron, all things
were conducted in due form. He took upon himself, the morning
after their arrival, the task of announcing the proposal of
Waverley to Rose, which she heard with a proper degree of maiden
timidity. Fame does, however, say, that Waverley had, the
evening before, found five minutes to apprize her of what was
coming, while the rest of the company were looking at three
twisted serpents which formed a JET D'EAU in the garden.

My fair readers will judge for themselves; but, for my part, I
cannot conceive how so important an affair could be communicated
in so short a space of time;--at least, it certainly took a full
hour in the Baron's mode of conveying it.

Waverley was now considered as a received lover in all the forms.
He was made, by dint of smirking and nodding on the part of the
lady of the house, to sit next to Miss Bradwardine at dinner, to
be Miss Bradwardine's partner at cards. If he came into the
room, she of the four Miss Rubricks who chanced to be next Rose,
was sure to recollect that her thimble, or her scissors, were at
the other end of the room, in order to leave the seat nearest to
Miss Bradwardine vacant for his occupation, And sometimes, if
papa and mamma were not in the way to keep them on their good
behaviour, the misses would titter a little. The old laird of
Duchran would also have his occasional jest, and the old lady her
remark. Even the Baron could not refrain; but here Rose escaped
every embarrassment but that of conjecture, for his wit was
usually couched in a Latin quotation. The very footmen sometimes
grinned too broadly, the maid-servants giggled mayhap too loud,
and a provoking air of intelligence seemed to pervade the whole
family. Alice Bean, the pretty maid of the cavern, who, after
her father's MISFORTUNE, as she called it, had attended Rose as
fille-de-chambre, smiled and smirked with the best of them. Rose
and Edward, however, endured all these little vexatious
circumstances as other folks have done before and since, and
probably contrived to obtain some indemnification, since they are
not supposed, on the whole, to have been particularly unhappy
during Waverley's six days' stay at the Duchran.

It was finally arranged that Edward should go to Waverley-Honour
to make the necessary arrangements for his marriage, thence to
London to take the proper measures for pleading his pardon, and
return as soon as possible to claim the hand of his plighted
bride. He also intended in his journey to visit Colonel Talbot;
but, above all, it was his most important object to learn the
fate of the unfortunate Chief of Glennaquoich; to visit him at
Carlisle, and to try whether anything could be done for
procuring, if not a pardon, a commutation at least, or
alleviation, of the punishment to which he was almost certain of
being condemned;--and in case of the worst, to offer the
miserable Flora an asylum with Rose, or otherwise to assist her
views in any mode which might seem possible. The fate of Fergus
seemed hard to be averted. Edward had already striven to
interest his friend Colonel Talbot in his behalf; but had been
given distinctly to understand, by his reply, that his credit in
matters of that nature was totally exhausted.

The Colonel was still in Edinburgh, and proposed to wait there
for some months upon business confided to him by the Duke of
Cumberland. He was to be joined by Lady Emily, to whom easy
travelling and goat's whey were recommended, and who was to
journey northward, under the escort of Francis Stanley. Edward,
therefore, met the Colonel at Edinburgh, who wished him joy in
the kindest manner on his approaching happiness, and cheerfully
undertook many commissions which our hero was necessarily obliged
to delegate to his charge. But on the subject of Fergus he was
inexorable. He satisfied Edward, indeed, that his interference
would be unavailing; but besides, Colonel Talbot owned that he
could not conscientiously use any influence in favour of that
unfortunate gentleman. 'Justice,' he said, 'which demanded some
penalty of those who had wrapped the whole nation in fear and in
mourning, could not perhaps have selected a fitter victim, He
came to the field with the fullest light upon the nature of his
attempt. He had studied and understood the subject. His
father's fate could not intimidate him; the lenity of the laws
which had restored to him his father's property and rights could
not melt him. That he was brave, generous, and possessed many
good qualities, only rendered him the more dangerous; that he was
enlightened and accomplished, made his crime the less excusable;
that he was an enthusiast in a wrong cause, only made him the
more fit to be its martyr. Above all, he had been the means of
bringing many hundreds of men into the field, who, without him,
would never have broken the peace of the country.

'I repeat it,' said the Colonel, 'though Heaven knows with a
heart distressed for him as an individual, that this young
gentleman has studied and fully understood the desperate game
which he has played. He threw for life or death, a coronet or a
coffin; and he cannot now be permitted, with justice to the
country, to draw stakes because the dice have gone against him.'

Such was the reasoning of those times, held even by brave and
humane men towards a vanquished enemy. Let us devoutly hope,
that, in this respect at least, we shall never see the scenes, or
hold the sentiments, that were general in Britain Sixty Years
since.

CHAPTER LXVIII:

To-morrow? Oh that's sudden! Spare him! spare him!
SHAKESPEARE.

Edward, attended by his former servant Alick Polwarth, who had
re-entered his service at Edinburgh, reached Carlisle while the
commission of Oyer and Terminer on his unfortunate associates was
yet sitting. He had pushed forward in haste,--not, alas! with
the most distant hope of saving Fergus, but to see him for the
last time. I ought to have mentioned, that he had furnished
funds for the defence of the prisoners in the most liberal
manner, as soon as he heard that the day of trial was fixed. A
solicitor, and the first counsel, accordingly attended; but it
was upon the same footing on which the first physicians are
usually summoned to the bedside of some dying man of rank;--the
doctors to take the advantage of some incalculable chance of an
exertion of nature--the lawyers to avail themselves of the barely
possible occurrence of some legal flaw. Edward pressed into the
court, which was extremely crowded; but by his arriving from the
north, and his extreme eagerness and agitation, it was supposed
he was a relation of the prisoners, and people made way for him.
It was the third sitting of the court, and there were two men at
the bar. The verdict of GUILTY was already pronounced. Edward
just glanced at the bar during the momentous pause which ensued.
There was no mistaking the stately form and noble features of
Fergus Mac-Ivor, although his dress was squalid, and his
countenance tinged with the sickly yellow hue of long and close
imprisonment. By his side was Evan Maccombich. Edward felt sick
and dizzy as he gazed on them; but he was recalled to himself as
the Clerk of the Arraigns pronounced the solemn words: 'Fergus
Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, otherwise called Vich Ian Vohr, and
Evan Mac-Ivor, in the Dhu of Tarrascleugh, otherwise called Evan
Dhu, otherwise called Evan Maccombich, or Evan Dhu Maccombich
--you, and each of you, stand attainted of high treason. What
have you to say for yourselves why the Court should not pronounce
judgement against you, that you die according to law?'

Fergus, as the presiding Judge was putting on the fatal cap of
judgement, placed his own bonnet upon his head, regarded him with
a steadfast and stern look, and replied in a firm voice, 'I
cannot let this numerous audience suppose that to such an appeal
I have no answer to make. But what I have to say, you would not
bear to hear, for my defence would be your condemnation.
Proceed, then, in the name of God, to do what is permitted to
you. Yesterday, and the day before, you have condemned loyal and
honourable blood to be poured forth like water. Spare not mine.
Were that of all my ancestors in my veins, I would have peril'd
it in this quarrel.' He resumed his seat, and refused again to
rise.

Evan Maccombich looked at him with great earnestness, and, rising
up, seemed anxious to speak; but the confusion of the court, and
the perplexity arising from thinking in a language different from
that in which he was to express himself, kept him silent. There
was a murmur of compassion among the spectators, from an idea
that the poor fellow intended to plead the influence of his
superior as an excuse for his crime. The Judge commanded
silence, and encouraged Evan to proceed.

'I was only ganging to say, my lord,' said Evan, in what he meant
to be in an insinuating manner, 'that if your excellent honour,
and the honourable Court, would let Vich Ian Vohr go free just
this once, and let him gae back to France, and no to trouble King
George's government again, that ony six o' the very best of his
clan will be willing to be justified in his stead; and if you'll
just let me gae down to Glennaquoich, I'll fetch them up to ye
mysel, to head or hang, and you may begin wi' me the very first
man.'

Notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, a sort of laugh
was heard in the court at the extraordinary nature of the
proposal. The Judge checked this indecency, and Evan, looking
sternly around, when the murmur abated, 'If the Saxon gentlemen
are laughing,' he said, 'because a poor man, such as me, thinks
my life, or the life of six of my degree, is worth that of Vich
Ian Vohr, it's like enough they may be very right; but if they
laugh because they think I would not keep my word, and come back
to redeem him, I can tell them they ken neither the heart of a
Hielandman, nor the honour of a gentleman.'

There was no further inclination to laugh among the audience, and
a dead silence ensued.

The Judge then pronounced upon both prisoners the sentence of the
law of high treason, with all its horrible accompaniments. The
execution was appointed for the ensuing day. 'For you, Fergus
Mac-Ivor,' continued the Judge, 'I can hold out no hope of mercy.
You must prepare against to-morrow for your last sufferings here,
and your great audit hereafter.'

'I desire nothing else, my lord,' answered Fergus, in the same
manly and firm tone.

The hard eyes of Evan, which had been perpetually bent on his
Chief, were moistened with a tear. 'For you, poor ignorant man,'
continued the Judge, 'who, following the ideas in which you have
been educated, have this day given us a striking example how the
loyalty due to the king and state alone, is, from your unhappy
ideas of clanship, transferred to some ambitious individual, who
ends by making you the tool of his crimes--for you, I say, I feel
so much compassion, that if you can make up your mind to petition
for grace, I will endeavour to procure if for you. Otherwise--'

'Grace me no grace,' said Evan; 'since you are to shed Vich Ian
Vohr's blood, the only favour I would accept from you, is--to bid
them loose my hands and gie me my claymore, and bide you just a
minute sitting where you are!'

'Remove the prisoners,' said the Judge; 'his blood be upon his
own head.'

Almost stupefied with his feelings, Edward found that the rush of
the crowd had conveyed him out into the street, ere he knew what
he was doing.--His immediate wish was to see and speak with
Fergus once more. He applied at the Castle where his unfortunate
friend was confined, but was refused admittance. 'The High
Sheriff,' a non-commissioned officer said, 'had requested of the
governor that none should be admitted to see the prisoner
excepting his confessor and his sister.'

'And where was Miss Mac-Ivor?' They gave him the direction, It
was the house of a respectable Catholic family near Carlisle.

Repulsed from the gate of the Castle, and not venturing to make
application to the High Sheriff or Judges in his own unpopular
name, he had recourse to the solicitor who came down in Fergus's
behalf. This gentleman told him, that it was thought the public
mind was in danger of being debauched by the account of the last
moments of these persons, as given by the friends of the
Pretender; that there had been a resolution, therefore, to
exclude all such persons as had not the plea of near kindred for
attending upon them. Yet he promised (to oblige the heir of
Waverley-Honour) to get him an order for admittance to the
prisoner the next morning, before his irons were knocked off for
execution.

'Is it of Fergus Mac-Ivor they speak thus,' thought Waverley 'or
do I dream? of Fergus, the bold, the chivalrous, the free-
minded,--the lofty chieftain of a tribe devoted to him? Is it
he, that I have seen lead the chase and head the attack,--the
brave, the active, the young, the noble, the love of ladies, and
the theme of song,--is it he who is ironed like a malefactor--who
is to be dragged on a hurdle to the common gallows--to die a
lingering and cruel death, and to be mangled by the hand of the
most outcast of wretches? Evil indeed was the spectre that boded
such a fate as this to the brave Chief of Glennaquoich!'

With a faltering voice he requested the solicitor to find means
to warn Fergus of his intended visit, should he obtain permission
to make it. He then turned away from him, and, returning to the
inn, wrote a scarcely intelligible note to Flora Mac-Ivor,
intimating his purpose to wait upon her that evening. The
messenger brought back a letter in Flora's beautiful Italian
hand, which seemed scarce to tremble even under this load of
misery. '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.'

'It accords with the rest,' she said; 'but we must submit. Shall
you obtain leave, do you suppose?'

'For--for--to-morrow,' said Waverley; but muttering the last word
so faintly that it was almost unintelligible.

'Aye, then or never,' said Flora, 'until'--she added, looking
upward, 'the time when, I trust, we shall all meet. But I hope
you will see him while earth yet bears him. He always loved you
at his heart, though--but it is vain to talk of the past.'

'Vain indeed!' echoed Waverley.

'Or even of the future, my good friend,' said Flora, 'so far as
earthly events are concerned; for how often have I pictured to
myself the strong possibility of this horrid issue, and tasked
myself to consider how I could support my part; and yet how far
has all my anticipation fallen short of the unimaginable
bitterness of this hour!'

'Dear Flora, if your strength of mind'--

'Aye, there it is,' she answered, somewhat wildly; 'there is, Mr.
Waverley, there is a busy devil at my heart, that whispers--but
it were madness to listen to it--that the strength of mind on
which Flora prided herself has murdered her brother!'

'Good God! how can you give utterance to a thought so shocking?'

'Aye, is it not so?--but yet it haunts me like a phantom: I know
it is unsubstantial and vain; but it will be present--will
intrude its horrors on my mind--will whisper that my brother, as
volatile as ardent, would have divided his energies amid a
hundred objects. It was I who taught him to concentrate them,
and to gage all on this dreadful and desperate cast. Oh that I
could recollect that I had but once said to him, "He that
striketh with the sword shall die by the sword"; that I had but
once said, Remain at home; reserve yourself, your vassals, your
life, for enterprises within the reach of man. But oh, Mr.
Waverley, I spurred his fiery temper, and half of his ruin at
least lies with his sister.'

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WaverleybyWalter Scott

Part 9 out of 11

Waverley
by
Walter Scott