spirit, having recovered during
his repose much of that elasticity which anxiety, resentment,
disappointment, and the mixture of unpleasant feelings excited by
his late adventures, had for a time subjugated, was now wearied with
inaction. His passion for the wonderful, although it is the nature of
such dispositions to be excited, by that degree of danger which merely
gives dignity to the feeling of the individual exposed to it, had sunk
under the extraordinary and apparently, insurmountable evils by which
he appeared environed at Cairnvreckan. In fact, this compound of intense
curiosity and exalted imagination forms a peculiar species of
courage, which somewhat resembles the light usually carried by a
miner,--sufficiently competent, indeed, to afford him guidance and
comfort during the ordinary perils of his labour, but certain to
be extinguished should he encounter the more formidable hazard of
earth-damps or pestiferous vapours. It was now, however, once more
rekindled, and with a throbbing mixture of hope, awe, and anxiety,
Waverley watched the group before him, as those who had just arrived
snatched a hasty meal, and the others assumed their arms, and made brief
preparations for their departure.

As he sat in the smoky hut, at some distance from the fire, around which
the others were crowded, he felt a gentle pressure upon his arm. He
looked round--it was Alice, the daughter of Donald Bean Lean. She showed
him a packet of papers in such a manner that the motion was remarked by
no one else, put her finger for a second to her lips, and passed on, as
if to assist old Janet in packing Waverley's clothes in his portmanteau.
It was obviously her wish that he should not seem to recognize her; yet
she repeatedly looked back at him, as an opportunity occurred of doing
so unobserved, and when she saw that he remarked what she did, she
folded the packet with great address and speed in one of his shirts,
which she deposited in the portmanteau.

Here then was fresh food for conjecture. Was Alice his unknown warden,
and was this maiden of the cavern the tutelar genius that watched his
bed during his sickness? Was he in the hands of her father? and if
so, what was his purpose? Spoil, his usual object, seemed in this case
neglected; for not only Waverley's property was restored, but his purse,
which might have tempted this professional plunderer, had been all along
suffered to remain in his possession. All this perhaps the packet