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.