The morrow came, and in the Chief’s apartment he found Ensign Maccombich waiting to make report of his turn of duty in a sort of ditch which they had dug across the Castle-hill, and called a trench.  In a short time the Chief’s voice was heard on the stair in a tone of impatient fury:—­’Callum,—­why, Callum Beg,—­Diaoul!’ He entered the room with all the marks of a man agitated by a towering passion; and there were few upon whose features rage produced a more violent effect.  The veins of his forehead swelled when he was in such agitation; his nostril became dilated; his cheek and eye inflamed; and his look that of a demoniac.  These appearances of half-suppressed rage were the more frightful, because they were obviously caused by a strong effort to temper with discretion an almost ungovernable paroxysm of passion, and resulted from an internal conflict of the most dreadful kind, which agitated his whole frame of mortality.

As he entered the apartment, he unbuckled his broadsword, and throwing it down with such violence that the weapon rolled to the other end of the room, ‘I know not what,’ he exclaimed, ’withholds me from taking a solemn oath that I will never more draw it in his cause.  Load my pistols, Callum, and bring them hither instantly;—­instantly!’ Callum, whom nothing ever startled, dismayed, or disconcerted, obeyed very coolly.  Evan Dhu, upon whose brow the suspicion that his Chief had been insulted, called up a corresponding storm, swelled in sullen silence, awaiting to learn where or upon whom vengeance was to descend.

‘So, Waverley you are there,’ said the Chief, after a moment’s recollection;—­’Yes, I remember I asked you to share my triumph, and you have come to witness my—­disappointment we shall call it.’  Evan now presented the written report he had in his hand, which Fergus threw from him with great passion.  ‘I wish to God,’ he said, ’the old den would tumble down upon the heads of the fools who attack, and the knaves who defend it!  I see, Waverley, you think I am mad—­leave us, Evan, but be within call.’

‘The Colonel’s in an unco kippage,’ said Mrs. Flockhart to Evan, as he descended; ’I wish he may be weel,—­the very veins on his brent brow are swelled like whipcord:  wad he no tak something?’

‘He usually lets blood for these fits,’ answered the Highland ancient with great composure.

When this officer left the room, the Chieftain gradually reassumed some degree of composure.—­’I know, Waverley,’ he said, ’that Colonel Talbot has persuaded you to curse ten times a day your engagement with us; nay, never deny it, for I am at this moment tempted to curse my own.  Would you believe it, I made this very morning two suits to the Prince, and he has rejected them both:  what do you think of it?’

‘What can I think,’ answered Waverley, ’till I know what your requests were?’