An officer now appeared, and intimated that the High Sheriff and his attendants waited before the gate of the Castle, to claim the bodies of Fergus Mac-Ivor and Evan Maccombich.  ‘I come,’ said Fergus.  Accordingly, supporting Edward by the arm, and followed by Evan Dhu and the priest, he moved down the stairs of the tower, the soldiers bringing up the rear.  The court was occupied by a squadron of dragoons and a battalion of infantry, drawn up in hollow square.  Within their ranks was the sledge, or hurdle, on which the prisoners were to be drawn to the place of execution, about a mile distant from Carlisle.  It was painted black, and drawn by a white horse.  At one end of the vehicle sat the Executioner, a horrid-looking fellow, as beseemed his trade, with the broad axe in his hand; at the other end, next the horse, was an empty seat for two persons.  Through the deep and dark Gothic archway that opened on the drawbridge, were seen on horseback the High Sheriff and his attendants, whom the etiquette betwixt the civil and military powers did not permit to come farther.  ’This is well got up for a closing scene,’ said Fergus, smiling disdainfully as he gazed around upon the apparatus of terror.  Evan Dhu exclaimed with some eagerness, after looking at the dragoons, ’These are the very chields that galloped off at Gladsmuir, before we could kill a dozen o’ them.  They look bold enough now, however.’  The priest entreated him to be silent.

The sledge now approached, and Fergus, turning round, embraced Waverley, kissed him on each side of the face, and stepped nimbly into his place.  Evan sat down by his side.  The priest was to follow in a carriage belonging to his patron, the Catholic gentleman at whose house Flora resided.  As Fergus waved his hand to Edward, the ranks closed around the sledge, and the whole procession began to move forward.  There was a momentary stop at the gateway, while the governor of the Castle and the High Sheriff went through a short ceremony, the military officer there delivering over the persons of the criminals to the civil power.  ’God save King George!’ said the High Sheriff.  When the formality concluded, Fergus stood erect in the sledge, and with a firm and steady voice, replied, ‘God save King James!’ These were the last words which Waverley heard him speak.

The procession resumed its march, and the sledge vanished from beneath the portal, under which it had stopped for an instant.  The dead-march was then heard, and its melancholy sounds were mingled with those of a muffled peal, tolled from the neighbouring cathedral.  The sound of the military music died away as the procession moved on—­the sullen clang of the bells was soon heard to sound alone.