d to your civilities,' said Waverley, after having made
the usual acknowledgment, 'by having the kindness to inform me where I
am, and whether or not I am to consider myself as a prisoner?'

'I am not at liberty to be so explicit upon this subject as I could wish.
Briefly, however, you are in the Castle of Doune, in the district of
Menteith, and in no danger whatever.'

'And how am I assured of that?'

'By the honour of Donald Stewart, governor of the garrison, and
lieutenant-colonel in the service of his Royal Highness Prince Charles
Edward.' So saying, he hastily left the apartment, as if to avoid further
discussion.

Exhausted by the fatigues of the night, our hero now threw himself upon
the bed, and was in a few minutes fast asleep.

CHAPTER X

THE JOURNEY IS CONTINUED

Before Waverley awakened from his repose, the day was far advanced, and
he began to feel that he had passed many hours without food. This was
soon supplied in form of a copious breakfast, but Colonel Stewart, as if
wishing to avoid the queries of his guest, did not again present himself.
His compliments were, however, delivered by a servant, with an offer to
provide anything in his power that could be useful to Captain Waverley on
his journey, which he intimated would be continued that evening. To
Waverley's further inquiries, the servant opposed the impenetrable
barrier of real or affected ignorance and stupidity. He removed the table
and provisions, and Waverley was again consigned to his own meditations.

As he contemplated the strangeness of his fortune, which seemed to
delight in placing him at the disposal of others, without the power of
directing his own motions, Edward's eye suddenly rested upon his
portmanteau, which had been deposited in his apartment during his sleep.
The mysterious appearance of Alice in the cottage of the glen immediately
rushed upon his mind, and he was about to secure and examine the packet
which she had deposited among his clothes, when the servant of Colonel
Stewart again made his appearance, and took up the portmanteau upon his
shoulders.

'May I not take out a change of linen, my friend?'

'Your honour sall get ane o' the Colonel's ain ruffled sarks, but this
maun gang in the baggage-cart.'

And so saying, he very coolly carried off the portmanteau, without
waiting further remonstrance, leaving our hero in a state where
disappointment and indignation struggled for the mastery. In a few
minutes