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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,
They slew my knight, to me sae dear;
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 Gellalley ! ”
The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins of a sort of green-house, 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 Cæur de Lion; but the melody had the same effect, of producing recognition. Davie again stole from his lurking-place, but limidly, 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 betler 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, loo, had lost ils 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, slared 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 sweel-A' dead and gane-dead and gane;
· The first three couplets are from an old ballad, called the Border Widow's Lament.
But follow, follow me,
Each in his shroud,
And the red moon peeps dim-through the cloud:
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, il 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 lotally lost him; but a twinkling light, wbich 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 hesitalion 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, nol probably for the sake of unđoing a latch, but of fastening a bolt. To prevent this, Waverley listed 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 recognise 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 hearly embrace.
COMPARING OF NOTES.
The Baron's story was short, when divesled of the adages and common-places, Lalin, English, and Scotch, with which his erudition garnished it. He insisted much upon his grief at the loss of Edward and of Glennaquoich, foughl the fields of Falkirk and Culloden, and relaled how, after all was lost in the last ballle, he had returned home, under the idea of more easily finding shelter among his own tenants, and on his own eslale, than elsewhere. A parly 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 estale, 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 attaioder, as deriving no right through him, and who , lherefore, like other heirs of entail in the same situation, entered upon possession. But, unlike many in similar circumstances, the new laird speedily showed that be 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 forlune 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 sellling 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 maller 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 faclor, Mr. James Howie, to lift the rents, some wanchancy person --I suspect John Healherbluller, the auld game-keeper, that was out
wi' me in the year fifteen-fired a shot al 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 malters, 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 sæcula sæculorum. 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-Grabbils, little thought such a person would have sprung from his loins. Meantime, he has acsused 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 estale, and hunt me like a partridge upon the mountains, as Scriplure 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 ay, sir, I'll brander the moor-fowl thal 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 sea weel roasted at supper in the Ha’house were aye lurned by our Davie?-there's no the like o' him ony gate for powlering wi' his fingers amang the hel peal-ashes, and roastings eggs.” Davie all this while lay with his nose almost in the fire, nuzzling among the ashes, kicking his heels, mumbling lo 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 wbom she loved, her idiot boy."
“ Davie's no sae silly as folk tak him for, Mr. Wuverley; 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 biding in thae sair times the mair's the pily-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 il 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 somesiccan ploy-for the neb o' them's never out o' miscbief-and they just gots 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 luilzie, 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 crak-brained Sawney, as they ca' 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.Bul, 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 wilch-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 distanlly related to us, and more nearly to my chaplain, Mr. Rubrick; and, though he be of Whig principles, yet he's not forgelful 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' hrandy 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 safely 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 employ