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."

« 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 green-house, that once terminated what was called the Terracewalk, 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 Cœur 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 seemed the ghost of what he

had been. The sort of 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, looked 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 Baillie-and Sanders Sanderson-and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet—A' dead and gane-dead and

But follow, follow me,

While glow-worms light the lea,

gane.

I'll show ye where the dead should be—

Each in his shroud,

While winds pipe loud,

And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud.

Follow me, follow me,

Brave should he be,

That treads by the night the dead man's lea."

With these words, chaunted 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 hope to find among the ruins no more rational informer.

Davie walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the garden, and scrambled over the ruins of the wall which 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 fali. 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 ɛimpleton'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 folks' houses in this gait, 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 opened 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 boney 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 XVII.

Comparing of Notes.

THE Baron's story was short, when divested of the adages and common-places, 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 heirmale, whose claim could not be prejudiced by the Baron's attainder, as deriving no right