s!'

'And did you ever see this Mr. Mac-Ivor, if that be his name, Miss
Bradwardine?'

'No, that is not his name; and he would consider MASTER as a sort of
affront, only that you are an Englishman, and know no better. But the
Lowlanders call him, like other gentlemen, by the name of his estate,
Glennaquoich; and the Highlanders call him Vich Ian Vohr, that is, the
son of John the Great; and we upon the braes here call him by both names
indifferently.'

I am afraid I shall never bring my English tongue to call him by either
one or other.'

'But he is a very polite, handsome man,' continued Rose; 'and his sister
Flora is one of the most beautiful and accomplished young ladies in this
country: she was bred in a convent in France, and was a great friend
of mine before this unhappy dispute. Dear Captain Waverley, try your
influence with my father to make matters up. I am sure this is but the
beginning of our troubles; for Tully-Veolan has never been a safe or
quiet residence when we have been at feud with the Highlanders. When
I was a girl about ten, there was a skirmish fought between a party of
twenty of them, and my father and his servants, behind the Mains; and
the bullets broke several panes in the north windows, they were so near.
Three of the Highlanders were killed, and they brought them in, wrapped
in their plaids, and laid them on the stone floor of the hall; and
next morning, their wives and daughters came, clapping their hands, and
crying the coronach, and shrieking, and carried away the dead bodies,
with the pipes playing before them. I could not sleep for six weeks
without starting, and thinking I heard these terrible cries, and saw
the bodies lying on the steps, all stiff and swathed up in their bloody
tartans. But since that time there came a party from the garrison at
Stirling, with a warrant from the Lord Justice-Clerk, or some such
great man, and took away all our arms; and now, how are we to protect
ourselves if they come down in any strength?'

Waverley could not help starting at a story which bore so much
resemblance to one of his own day-dreams. Here was a girl scarce
seventeen, the gentlest of her sex, both in temper and appearance, who
had witnessed with her own eyes such a scene as he had used to conjure
up in his imagination, as only occurring in ancient times, and spoke of
it coolly, as one very likely to recur. He felt at once the impulse of
curiosity, and that slight sense of danger which