clined to welcome the young man with more
cordiality than, as a soldier of King George, Edward felt to be his due.
The scene which followed was, however, better fitted to the time and
place.

At a half-savage feast Edward had the opportunity of tasting steaks
fresh cut from some of the Baron's cattle, broiled on the coals before
his eyes, and washed down with draughts of Highland whiskey.

Yet in spite of the warmth of his welcome, there was something very
secret and unpleasant about the shifty cunning glance of this little
robber-chief, who seemed to know so much about the royal garrisons, and
even about the men of Edward's own troop whom he had brought with him
from Waverley-Honour.

When at last they were left alone together, Evan Dhu having lain down in
his plaid, the little captain of cattle-lifters asked Captain Waverley
in a very significant manner, "if he had nothing particular to say to
him."

Edward, a little startled at the tone in which the question was put,
answered that he had no other reason for coming to the cave but a desire
to see so strange a dwelling-place.

For a moment Donald Bean Lean looked him full in the face, as if waiting
for something more, and then, with a nod full of meaning, he muttered:
"You might as well have confided in me. I am as worthy of trust as
either the Baron of Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vohr! But you are equally
welcome to my house!"

His heather bed, the flickering of the fire, the smoking torches, and
the movement of the wild outlaws going and coming about the cave, soon,
however, diverted Waverley's thoughts from the mysterious words of his
host. His eyelids drew together, nor did he reopen them till the morning
sun, reflected from the lake, was filling all the cave with a glimmering
twilight.

THE SECOND INTERLUDE

As soon as this part of the tale was finished, the
audience showed much greater eagerness to enter
immediately upon the acting of Donald Bean Lean's
cattle-raid, and its consequences, than it had
previously displayed as to the doings of Edward
Waverley.

As Hugh John admitted, this was "something like!"
The Abbey precincts were instantly filled with the
mingled sounds characteristic of all well-conducted
forays, and it was well indeed that the place was
wholly deserted. For the lowings of the driven
cattle, the shouts of the triumphant Highlanders,
the deep rage of the Baron, stalking to and fro