at character; and we'll want Davie to turn the spit, for I'll
gar Eppie put down a fat goose to the fire for your honours to your
supper.'

When it was near sunset Waverley hastened to the hut; and he could not
but allow that superstition had chosen no improper locality, or unfit
object, for the foundation of her fantastic terrors. It resembled exactly
the description of Spenser:--

There, in a gloomy hollow glen, she found
A little cottage built of sticks and reeds,
In homely wise, and wall'd with sods around,
In which a witch did dwell in loathly weeds,
And wilful want, all careless of her needs,
So choosing solitary to abide
Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds,
And hellish arts, from people she might hide,
And hurt far off, unknown, whomsoever she espied.

He entered the cottage with these verses in his memory. Poor old Janet,
bent double with age and bleared with peat-smoke, was tottering about the
hut with a birch broom, muttering to herself as she endeavoured to make
her hearth and floor a little clean for the reception of her expected
guests. Waverley's step made her start, look up, and fall a-trembling, so
much had her nerves been on the rack for her patron's safety. With
difficulty Waverley made her comprehend that the Baron was now safe from
personal danger; and when her mind had admitted that joyful news, it was
equally hard to make her believe that he was not to enter again upon
possession of his estate. 'It behoved to be,' she said, 'he wad get it
back again; naebody wad be sae gripple as to tak his gear after they had
gi'en him a pardon: and for that Inch-Grabbit, I could whiles wish mysell
a witch for his sake, if I werena feared the Enemy wad tak me at my
word.' Waverley then gave her some money, and promised that her fidelity
should be rewarded. 'How can I be rewarded, sir, sae weel as just to see
my auld maister and Miss Rose come back and bruik their ain?'

Waverley now took leave of Janet, and soon stood beneath the Baron's
Patmos. At a low whistle he observed the veteran peeping out to
reconnoitre, like an old badger with his head out of his hole. 'Ye hae
come rather early, my good lad,' said he, descending; 'I question if the
red-coats hae beat the tattoo yet, and we're not safe till then.'

'Good news cannot be told too soon,' said Waverley; and with infinite joy
communicated to him the happy tidings. The old man stood for a moment in
silent