"Who are dead?" said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity of Davie to hold a connected discourse. "Baron-and Baillie-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 ye where the dead should be-
Ench in his shroud,

While winds pipe loud,

And red moon peeps dim through the cloud.

Follow, follow me;

Brave should he be

That treads by the 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 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 fall. Following the descent of the stream a little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling twilight 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 Gellatly, 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 folks' houses in this gait, at this time o' the night? On one side, two grim and half starved deer grayhounds 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 hearty embrace.

16*

CHAPTER XXVI.

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 pro ceedings, 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. 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 wan-chancy person-I suspect John Heatherblutter, the auld game-keeper, 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 Surling. And now he hath advertised the estate for sale, being himself the last institute in this entail.-And if I were to grieve 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 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-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, ay, 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 dare 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 like o' him ony gate for powtering wi' his fingers amang the

say,

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, and 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 ideot boy."

"Davie's no sae silly as folks 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 enough 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 down 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 of mischief; and they just got a glisk o' his honour as he gaed into the wood, and banged off a gun at him. I out like a jer-falcon, and cried-Wad they shute 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 of his ain head, got up the auld gray 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