e learned, from the unwelcome noise
of kettledrums and trumpets, that the English cavalry now occupied
it, and consequently were between him and the Highlanders. Precluded,
therefore, from advancing in a straight direction, he resolved to avoid
the English military, and endeavour to join his friends by making a
circuit to the left, for which a beaten path deviating from the main
road in that direction seemed to afford facilities. The path was muddy,
and the night dark and cold; but even these inconveniences were hardly
felt amidst the apprehensions which falling into the hands of the King's
forces reasonably excited in his bosom.

After walking about three miles, he at length reached a hamlet.
Conscious that the common people were in general unfavourable to the
cause he had espoused, yet desirous, if possible, to procure a horse and
guide to Penrith, where he hoped to find the rear, if not the main body,
of the Chevalier's army, he approached the ale-house of the place. There
was a great noise within: he paused to listen. A round English oath or
two, and the burden of a campaign song, convinced him the hamlet also
was occupied by the Duke of Cumberland's soldiers. Endeavouring to
retire from it as softly as possible, and blessing the obscurity which
hitherto he had murmured against, Waverley groped his way the best he
could along a small paling, which seemed the boundary of some
cottage garden. As he reached the gate of this little enclosure, his
outstretched hand was grasped by that of a female, whose voice at the
same time uttered, 'Edward, is't thou, man?'

'Here is some unlucky mistake,' thought Edward, struggling, but gently,
to disengage himself.

'Naen o' thy foun, now; man, or the red cwoats will hear thee; they hae
been houlerying and poulerying every ane that past alehouse door
this noight to make them drive their wagons and sick loike. Come into
feyther's, or they'll do ho a mischief.'

'A good hint,' thought Waverley, following the girl through the little
garden into a brick-paved kitchen, where she set herself to kindle a
match at an expiring fire, and with the match to light a candle. She
had no sooner looked on Edward than she dropped the light, with a shrill
scream of 'O feyther! feyther!'

The father, thus invoked, speedily appeared, a sturdy old farmer, in a
pair of leather breeches, and boots pulled on without stockings,
having just started from his bed;--the rest of his dress was only a
Westmor