The peculiar dress in which he had been attired in better days, showed only miserable rags of its whimsical finery, the lack of which was oddly supplied by the remnants of tapestried hangings, window-curtains, and shreds of pictures, with which he had bedizened his tatters.His face, too, had lost its vacant and careless air, and the poor creature looked hollow-eyed, meagre, half-starved, and nervous to a pitiable degree.---After long hesitation, he at length approached Waverley with some confidence, stared him sadly in the face, and said, ``A' dead and gane---a' dead and gane!''
``Who are dead?'' said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity of Davie to hold any connected discourse.
``Baron---and Bailie---and Saunders Saunderson---and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet---A' dead and gane---dead and gane!
But follow, follow me, While glow-worms light the lea;I'll show you where the dead should be---Each in his shroud, While winds pipe loud, And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud.
Follow, follow me;
Brave should he be That treads by night the dead man's lea.''
With these words, chanted in a wild and earnest tone, he made a sign to Waverley to follow him, and walked rapidly towards the bottom of the garden, tracing the bank of the stream, which, it may be remembered, was its eastern boundary.Edward, over whom an involuntary shuddering stole at the import of his words, followed him in some hope of an explanation.As the house was evidently deserted, he could not expect to find among the ruins any more rational informer.
Davie, walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the garden, and scrambled over the ruins of the wall that once had divided it from the wooded glen in which the old Tower of Tully-Veolan was situated.He then jumped down into the bed of the stream, and, followed by Waverley, proceeded at a great pace, climbing over some fragments of rock, and turning with difficulty round others.They passed beneath the ruins of the castle; Waverley followed, keeping up with his guide with difficulty, for the twilight began to fall.Following the descent of the stream a little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling light, which he now discovered among the tangled copse-wood and bushes, seemed a surer guide.He soon pursued a very uncouth path; and by its guidance at length reached the door of a wretched hut.A fierce barking of dogs was at first heard, but it stilled at his approach.A voice sounded from within, and he held it most prudent to listen before he advanced.
``Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain thou?''
said an old woman, apparently in great indignation.He heard Davie Gellatley, in answer, whistle a part of the tune by which he had recalled himself to the simpleton's memory, and had now no hesitation to knock at the door.There was a dead silence instantly within, except the deep growling of the dogs;and he next heard the mistress of the hut approach the door, not probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of fastening a bolt.To prevent this Waverley lifted the latch himself.
In front was an old wretched-looking woman, exclaiming, ``Wha comes into folk's houses in this gate, at this time o'
the night?'' On one side, two grim and half-starved deer grey-hounds laid aside their ferocity at his appearance, and seemed to recognise him.On the other side, half concealed by the open door, yet apparently seeking that concealment reluctantly, with a cocked pistol in his right hand, and his left in the act of drawin another from his belt, stood a tall bony gaunt figure in the remnants of a faded uniform, and a beard of three weeks'
growth.
It was the Baron of Bradwardine.It is unnecessary to add, that he threw aside his weapon, and greeted Waverley with a hearty embrace.