id Stanley. 'The cautious old soldier
did not care to hint to me that I might hand over to you this passport,
which I have no occasion for; but if it should afterwards come out as
the rattlepated trick of a young Cantab, CELA NE TIRE A RIEN. You are
therefore to be Francis Stanley, with this passport.' This proposal
appeared in effect to alleviate a great part of the difficulties which
Edward must otherwise have encountered at every turn; and accordingly
he scrupled not to avail himself of it, the more especially as he had
discarded all political purposes from his present journey, and could
not be accused of furthering machinations against the Government while
travelling under protection of the Secretary's passport.

The day passed merrily away. The young student was inquisitive about
Waverley's campaigns, and the manners of the Highlands; and Edward
was obliged to satisfy his curiosity by whistling a pibroch, dancing a
strathspey, and singing a Highland song. The next morning Stanley rode
a stage northward with his new friend, and parted from him with great
reluctance, upon the remonstrances of Spontoon, who, accustomed to
submit to discipline, was rigid in enforcing it.

CHAPTER LXIII

DESOLATION

Waverly riding post, as was the usual fashion of the period, without any
adventure save one or two queries, which the talisman of his passport
sufficiently answered, reached the borders of Scotland. Here he heard
the tidings of the decisive battle of Culloden. It was no more than he
had long expected, though the success at Falkirk had thrown a faint and
setting gleam over the arms of the Chevalier. Yet it came upon him like
a shock, by which he was for a time altogether unmanned. The generous,
the courteous, the noble-minded Adventurer, was then a fugitive, with
a price upon his head; his adherents, so brave, so enthusiastic, so
faithful, were dead, imprisoned, or exiled. Where, now, was the exalted
and high-souled Fergus, if, indeed, he had survived the night at
Clifton?--where the pure-hearted and primitive Baron of Bradwardine,
whose foibles seemed foils to set off the disinterestedness of his
disposition, the genuine goodness of his heart, and his unshaken
courage? Those who clung for support to these fallen columns, Rose and
Flora,--where were they to be sought, and in what distress must not the
loss of their natural protectors have involved them? Of Flora he thought
with the regard of a brother for a sister--of