‘There is nothing but honour in the Baron of Bradwardine,’ answered another ancient; ’and the guest that comes hither from him should be welcome, though he came with blood on his hand, unless it were blood of the race of Ivor.’

The old man whose cup remained full replied, ’There has been blood enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of Bradwardine.’

‘Ah!  Ballenkeiroch,’ replied the first, ’you think rather of the flash of the carbine at the mains of Tully-Veolan than the glance of the sword that fought for the cause at Preston.’

‘And well I may,’ answered Ballenkeiroch; ’the flash of the gun cost me a fair-haired son, and the glance of the sword has done but little for King James.’

The Chieftain, in two words of French, explained to Waverley that the Baron had shot this old man’s son in a fray near Tully-Veolan, about seven years before; and then hastened to remove Ballenkeiroch’s prejudice, by informing him that Waverley was an Englishman, unconnected by birth or alliance with the family of Bradwardine; upon which the old gentleman raised the hitherto-untasted cup and courteously drank to his health.  This ceremony being requited in kind, the Chieftain made a signal for the pipes to cease, and said aloud, ’Where is the song hidden, my friends, that Mac-Murrough cannot find it?’

Mac-Murrough, the family bhairdh, an aged man, immediately took the hint, and began to chant, with low and rapid utterance, a profusion of Celtic verses, which were received by the audience with all the applause of enthusiasm.  As he advanced in his declamation, his ardour seemed to increase.  He had at first spoken with his eyes fixed on the ground; he now cast them around as if beseeching, and anon as if commanding, attention, and his tones rose into wild and impassioned notes, accompanied with appropriate gestures.  He seemed to Edward, who attended to him with much interest, to recite many proper names, to lament the dead, to apostrophise the absent, to exhort, and entreat, and animate those who were present.  Waverley thought he even discerned his own name, and was convinced his conjecture was right from the eyes of the company being at that moment turned towards him simultaneously.  The ardour of the poet appeared to communicate itself to the audience.  Their wild and sun-burnt countenances assumed a fiercer and more animated expression; all bent forward towards the reciter, many sprung up and waved their arms in ecstasy, and some laid their hands on their swords.  When the song ceased, there was a deep pause, while the aroused feelings of the poet and of the hearers gradually subsided into their usual channel.