for the witch had been born on his estate.  And while the witch was confessing that the Enemy appeared, and made his addresses to her as a handsome black man,—­which, if you could have seen poor old blear-eyed Janet, reflected little honour on Apollyon’s taste,—­ and while the auditors listened with astonished ears, and the clerk recorded with a trembling hand, she, all of a sudden, changed the low mumbling tone with which she spoke into a shrill yell, and exclaimed, “Look to yourselves! look to yourselves!  I see the Evil One sitting in the midst of ye.”  The surprise was general, and terror and flight its immediate consequences.  Happy were those who were next the door; and many were the disasters that befell hats, bands, cuffs, and wigs, before they could get out of the church, where they left the obstinate prelatist to settle matters with the witch and her admirer at his own peril or pleasure.’

‘Risu solvuntur tabulae,’ said the Baron; ’when they recovered their panic trepidation they were too much ashamed to bring any wakening of the process against Janet Gellatley.’ [Footnote:  See Note 11]

This anecdote led to a long discussion of

All those idle thoughts and fantasies,
Devices, dreams, opinions unsound,
Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies,
And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies.

With such conversation, and the romantic legends which it introduced, closed our hero’s second evening in the house of Tully-Veolan.

CHAPTER XIV

A DISCOVERY—­WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT TULLY-VEOLAN

The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a morning walk around the house and its vicinity came suddenly upon a small court in front of the dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed about his four-footed charge.  One quick glance of his eye recognised Waverley, when, instantly turning his back, as if he had not observed him, he began to sing part of an old ballad:—­

    Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
      Heard ye so merry the little bird sing? 
    Old men’s love the longest will last,
      And the throstle-cock’s head is under his wing.

    The young man’s wrath is like light straw on fire;
      Heard ye so merry the little bird sing? 
    But like red-hot steel is the old man’s ire,
      And the throstle-cock’s head is under his wing.

    The young man will brawl at the evening board;
      Heard ye so merry the little bird sing? 
    But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
      And the throstle-cock’s head is under his wing.