The day after my father went off there came a party of soldiers to Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie Macwheeble; but the officer was very civil to me, only said his duty obliged him to search for arms and papers.  My father had provided against this by taking away all the arms except the old useless things which hung in the hall, and he had put all his papers out of the way.  But O!  Mr. Waverley, how shall I tell you, that they made strict inquiry after you, and asked when you had been at Tully-Veolan, and where you now were.  The officer is gone back with his party, but a non-commissioned officer and four men remain as a sort of garrison in the house.  They have hitherto behaved very well, as we are forced to keep them in good-humour.  But these soldiers have hinted as if, on your falling into their hands, you would be in great danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what wicked falsehoods they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods; but you will best judge what you ought to do.  The party that returned carried off your servant prisoner, with your two horses, and everything that you left at Tully-Veolan.  I hope God will protect you, and that you will get safe home to England, where you used to tell me there was no military violence nor fighting among clans permitted, but everything was done according to an equal law that protected all who were harmless and innocent.  I hope you will exert your indulgence as to my boldness in writing to you, where it seems to me, though perhaps erroneously, that your safety and honour are concerned.  I am sure—­at least I think, my father would approve of my writing; for Mr. Rubrick is fled to his cousin’s at the Duchran, to to be out of danger from the soldiers and the Whigs, and Bailie Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he says) in other men’s concerns, though I hope what may serve my father’s friend at such a time as this cannot be termed improper interference.  Farewell, Captain Waverley!  I shall probaby never see you more; for it would be very improper to wish you to call at Tully-Veolan just now, even if these men were gone; but I will always remember with gratitude your kindness in assisting so poor a scholar as myself, and your attentions to my dear, dear father.

I remain, your obliged servant,

Rose Comyne Bradwardine.

P.S.—­I hope you will send me a line by David Gellatley, just to say you have received this and that you will take care of yourself; and forgive me if I entreat you, for your own sake, to join none of these unhappy cabals, but escape, as fast as possible, to your own fortunate country.  My compliments to my dear Flora and to Glennaquoich.  Is she not as handsome and accomplished as I have described her?