there are no bushes there can be no nuts, and the way of those you
live with is that you must follow,'

He went on regretting to Evan Dhu the death of an aged man, Donnacha an
Amrigh, or Duncan with the Cap, 'a gifted seer,' who foretold, through
the second sight, visitors of every description who haunted their
dwelling, whether as friends or foes.

'Is not his son Malcolm taishatr (a second-sighted person)?' asked Evan.

'Nothing equal to his father,' replied Donald Bean. 'He told us the other
day, we were to see a great gentleman riding on a horse, and there came
nobody that whole day but Shemus Beg, the blind harper, with his dog.
Another time he advertised us of a wedding, and behold it proved a
funeral; and on the creagh, when he foretold to us we should bring home a
hundred head of horned cattle, we gripped nothing but a fat bailie of
Perth.'

From this discourse he passed to the political and military state of the
country; and Waverley was astonished, and even alarmed, to find a person
of this description so accurately acquainted with the strength of the
various garrisons and regiments quartered north of the Tay. He even
mentioned the exact number of recruits who had joined Waverley's troop
from his uncle's estate, and observed they were PRETTY MEN, meaning, not
handsome, but stout warlike fellows. He put Waverley in mind of one or
two minute circumstances which had happened at a general review of the
regiment, which satisfied him that the robber had been an eye-witness of
it; and Evan Dhu having by this time retired from the conversation, and
wrapped himself up in his plaid to take some repose, Donald asked Edward,
in a very significant manner, whether he had nothing particular to say to
him.

Waverley, surprised and somewhat startled at this question from such a
character, answered, he had no motive in visiting him but curiosity to
see his extraordinary place of residence. Donald Bean Lean looked him
steadily in the face for an instant, and then said, with a significant
nod, 'You might as well have confided in me; I am as much worthy of trust
as either the Baron of Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vohr. But you are equally
welcome to my house.'

Waverley felt an involuntary shudder creep over him at the mysterious
language held by this outlawed and lawless bandit, which, in despite of
his attempts to master it, deprived him of the power to ask the meaning
of his insinuations. A heath pallet, with the flowers stuck