should afterwards come out as the
rattle-pated trick of a young Cantab, cela ne tire a rien. You are
therefore to be Francis Stanley, with this passport.' This proposal
appeared in effect to alleviate a great part of the difficulties which
Edward must otherwise have encountered at every turn; and accordingly he
scrupled not to avail himself of it, the more especially as he had
discarded all political purposes from his present journey, and could not
be accused of furthering machinations against the government while
travelling under protection of the secretary's passport.

The day passed merrily away. The young student was inquisitive about
Waverley's campaigns, and the manners of the Highlands, and Edward was
obliged to satisfy his curiosity by whistling a pibroch, dancing a
strathspey, and singing a Highland song. The next morning Stanley rode a
stage northward with his new friend, and parted from him with great
reluctance, upon the remonstrances of Spontoon, who, accustomed to submit
to discipline, was rigid in enforcing it.

CHAPTER XXXIV

DESOLATION

Waverley riding post, as was the usual fashion of the period, without any
adventure save one or two queries, which the talisman of his passport
sufficiently answered, reached the borders of Scotland. Here he heard the
tidings of the decisive battle of Culloden. It was no more than he had
long expected, though the success at Falkirk had thrown a faint and
setting gleam over the arms of the Chevalier. Yet it came upon him like a
shock, by which he was for a time altogether unmanned. The generous, the
courteous, the noble-minded adventurer was then a fugitive, with a price
upon his head; his adherents, so brave, so enthusiastic, so faithful,
were dead, imprisoned, or exiled. Where, now, was the exalted and
high-souled Fergus, if, indeed, he had survived the night at Clifton?
Where the pure-hearted and primitive Baron of Bradwardine, whose foibles
seemed foils to set off the disinterestedness of his disposition, the
genuine goodness of his heart, and his unshaken courage? Those who clung
for support to these fallen columns, Rose and Flora, where were they to
be sought, and in what distress must not the loss of their natural
protectors have involved them? Of Flora he thought with the regard of a
brother for a sister; of Rose with a sensation yet more deep and tender.
It might be still his fate to supply the want of those guardians they had
lost. Agitated by these