When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured to sum up the business of the day.  That the repulse he had received from Flora would be persisted in for the present, there was no doubt.  But could he hope for ultimate success in case circumstances permitted the renewal of his suit?  Would the enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment left no room for a softer passion, survive, at least in its engrossing force, the success or the failure of the present political machinations?  And if so, could he hope that the interest which she had acknowledged him to possess in her favour might be improved into a warmer attachment?  He taxed his memory to recall every word she had used, with the appropriate looks and gestures which had enforced them, and ended by finding himself in the same state of uncertainty.  It was very late before sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after the most painful and agitating day which he had ever passed.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN

In the morning, when Waverley’s troubled reflections had for some time given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not the voice of Selma.  He imagined himself transported back to Tully-Veolan, and that he heard Davie Gellatley singing in the court those matins which used generally to be the first sounds that disturbed his repose while a guest of the Baron of Bradwardine.  The notes which suggested this vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke in earnest.  The illusion, however, did not seem entirely dispelled.  The apartment was in the fortress of lan nan Chaistel, but it was still the voice of Davie Gellatley that made the following lines resound under the window:—­

    My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
    My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
    A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
    My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

[Footnote:  These lines form the burden of an old song to which Burns wrote additional verses.]

Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley on an excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began to dress himself in all haste, during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie changed its tune more than once:—­

    There’s nought in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,
    And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks,
    Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon,
    But we’ll a’win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.

[Footnote:  These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of We’ll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame, to which Burns likewise wrote some verses.]