much care and valour in this 'Scotchman.'

'He has seen much service,' answered Fergus, 'and one is sometimes
astonished to find how much nonsense and reason are mingled in his
composition, I wonder what can be troubling his mind--probably something
about Rose.--Hark! the English are setting their watch.'

The roll of the drum and shrill accompaniment of the fifes swelled up
the hill-died away--resumed its thunder--and was at length hushed. The
trumpets and kettledrums of the cavalry were next heard to perform the
beautiful and wild point of war appropriated as a signal for that piece
of nocturnal duty, and then finally sank upon the wind with a shrill and
mournful cadence.

The friends, who had now reached their post, stood and looked round them
ere they lay down to rest. The western sky twinkled with stars, but
a frost-mist, rising from the ocean, covered the eastern horizon, and
rolled in white wreaths along the plain where the adverse army lay
couched upon their arms. Their advanced posts were pushed as far as the
side of the great ditch at the bottom of the descent, and had kindled
large fires at different intervals, gleaming with obscure and hazy
lustre through the heavy fog which encircled them with a doubtful halo.

The Highlanders, 'thick as leaves in Vallombrosa,' lay stretched upon
the ridge of the hill, buried (excepting their sentinels) in the most
profound repose. 'How many of these brave fellows will sleep more
soundly before to-morrow night, Fergus!' said Waverley, with an
involuntary sigh.

'You must not think of that,' answered Fergus, whose ideas were entirely
military. 'You must only think of your sword, and by whom it was given.
All other reflections are now TOO LATE.'

With the opiate contained in this undeniable remark, Edward endeavoured
to lull the tumult of his conflicting feelings. The Chieftain and he,
combining their plaids, made a comfortable and warm couch. Callum,
sitting down at their head (for it was his duty to watch upon the
immediate person of the Chief), began a long mournful song in Gaelic, to
a low and uniform tune, which, like the sound of the wind at a distance,
soon lulled them to sleep.

CHAPTER XLVII

THE CONFLICT

When Fergus Mac-Ivor and his friend had slept for a few hours, they were
awakened, and summoned to attend the Prince. The distant village-clock
was heard to toll three as they hastened to the place where he lay.
He was already surrounded by his prin