an old man about seventy, Edward admired a relic of primitive simplicity.  He wore no dress but what his estate afforded; the cloth was the fleece of his own sheep, woven by his own servants, and stained into tartan by the dyes produced from the herbs and lichens of the hills around him.  His linen was spun by his daughters and maidservants, from his own flax; nor did his table, though plentiful, and varied with game and fish, offer an article but what was of native produce.

Claiming himself no rights of clanship or vassalage, he was fortunate in the alliance and protection of Vich Ian Vohr and other bold and enterprising Chieftains, who protected him in the quiet unambitious life he loved.  It is true, the youth born on his grounds were often enticed to leave him for the service of his more active friends; but a few old servants and tenants used to shake their grey locks when they heard their master censured for want of spirit, and observed, ’When the wind is still, the shower falls soft.’  This good old man, whose charity and hospitality were unbounded, would have received Waverley with kindness had he been the meanest Saxon peasant, since his situation required assistance.  But his attention to a friend and guest of Vich Ian Vohr was anxious and unremitted.  Other embrocations were applied to the injured limb, and new spells were put in practice.  At length, after more solicitude than was perhaps for the advantage of his health, Fergus took farewell of Edward for a few days, when, he said, he would return to Tomanrait, and hoped by that time Waverley would be able to ride one of the Highland ponies of his landlord, and in that manner return to Glennaquoich.

The next day, when his good old host appeared, Edward learned that his friend had departed with the dawn, leaving none of his followers except Callum Beg, the sort of foot-page who used to attend his person, and who had now in charge to wait upon Waverley.  On asking his host if he knew where the Chieftain was gone, the old man looked fixedly at him, with something mysterious and sad in the smile which was his only reply.  Waverley repeated his question, to which his host answered in a proverb,—­

    What sent the messengers to hell,
    Was asking what they knew full well.

[Footnote:  Corresponding to the Lowland saying, ’Mony ane speirs the gate they ken fu’ weel.’]

He was about to proceed, but Callum Beg said, rather pertly, as Edward thought, that ’Ta Tighearnach (i.e. the Chief) did not like ta Sassenagh duinhe-wassel to be pingled wi’ mickle speaking, as she was na tat weel.’  From this Waverley concluded he should disoblige his friend by inquiring of a stranger the object of a journey which he himself had not communicated.

It is unnecessary to trace the progress of our hero’s recovery.  The sixth morning had arrived, and he was able to walk about with a staff, when Fergus returned with about a score of his men.  He seemed in the highest spirits, congratulated Waverley on his progress towards recovery, and finding he was able to sit on horseback, proposed their immediate return to Glennaquoich.  Waverley joyfully acceded, for the form of its fair mistress had lived in his dreams during all the time of his confinement.