But we'll a' win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.
[These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of
'We'll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame;'
to which Burns likewise wrote some verses.]

By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth, David had
associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland loungers
who always graced the gates of the castle with their presence, and was
capering and dancing full merrily in the doubles and full career of a
Scotch foursome reel, to the music of his own whistling. In this double
capacity of dancer and musician, he continued, until an idle piper, who
observed his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of SEID SUAS (i.e. blow
up), and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble. Young and old
then mingled in the dance as they could find partners. The appearance
of Waverley did not interrupt David's exercise, though he contrived, by
grinning, nodding, and throwing one or two inclinations of the body into
the graces with which he performed the Highland fling, to convey to our
hero symptoms of recognition. Then, while busily employed in setting,
whooping all the while, and snapping his fingers over his head, he of a
sudden prolonged his side-step until it brought him to the place where
Edward was standing, and, still keeping time to the music like Harlequin
in a pantomime, he thrust a letter into our hero's hand, and continued
his saltation without pause or intermission, Edward, who perceived that
the address was in Rose's handwriting, retired to peruse it, leaving the
faithful bearer to continue his exercise until the piper or he should be
tired out.

The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had originally
commenced with DEAR SIR; but these words had been carefully erased,
and the monosyllable, SIR, substituted in their place. The rest of the
contents shall be given in Rose's own language:--

'I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I
cannot trust to any one else to let you know some things which have
happened here, with which it seems necessary you should be acquainted.
Forgive me if I am wrong in what I am doing; for, alas! Mr. Waverley, I
have no better advice than that of my own feelings;--my dear father
is gone from this place, and when he can return to my assistance
and protection, God alone knows. You have probably heard, that in
consequence of some troublesome news from the Highlands, w