tiff limbs.'

With that he began to ascend the rock, striding, with the help of his
hands, from one precarious footstep to another, till he got about
half-way up, where two or three bushes concealed the mouth of a hole,
resembling an oven, into which the Baron insinuated, first his head and
shoulders, and then, by slow gradation, the rest of his l ong body; his
legs and feet finally disappearing, coiled up like a huge snake entering
his retreat, or a long pedigree introduced with care and difficulty into
the narrow pigeon-hole of an old cabinet. Waverley had the curiosity to
clamber up and look in upon him in his den, as the lurking-place might
well be termed. Upon the whole, he looked not unlike that ingenious
puzzle called 'a reel in a bottle,' the marvel of children (and of some
grown people too, myself for one), who can neither comprehend the
mysteryhowit has got in or how it is to be taken out. The cave was very
narrow, too low in the roof to admit of his standing, or almost of his
sitting up, though he made some awkward attempts at the latter posture.
His sole amusement was the perusal of his old friend Titus Livius, varied
by occasionally scratching Latin proverbs and texts of Scripture with his
knife on the roof and walls of his fortalice, which were of sandstone. As
the cave was dry, and filled with clean straw and withered fern, 'it
made,' as he said, coiling himself up with an air of snugness and comfort
which contrasted strangely with his situation, 'unless when the wind was
due north, a very passable gite for an old soldier.' Neither, as he
observed, was he without sentries for the purpose of reconnoitring. Davie
and his mother were constantly on the watch to discover and avert danger;
and it was singular what instances of address seemed dictated by the
instinctive attachment of the poor simpleton when his patron's safety was
concerned.

With Janet, Edward now sought an interview. He had recognised her at
first sight as the old woman who had nursed him during his sickness after
his delivery from Gifted Gilfillan. The hut also, although a little
repaired and somewhat better furnished, was certainly the place of his
confinement; and he now recollected on the common moor of Tully-Veolan
the trunk of a large decayed tree, called the try sting-tree, which he
had no doubt was the same at which the Highlanders rendezvoused on that
memorable night. All this he had combined in his imagination the night
before; but