When he arrived in Edinburgh, where his inquiries
must necessarily commence, he felt the full difficulty
of his situation. Many inhabitants of that city
had seen and known him as Edward Waverley; how, then,
could he avail himself of a passport as Francis Stanley?
He resolved, therefore, to avoid all company, and
to move northward as soon as possible. He was,
however, obliged to wait a day or two in expectation
of a letter from Colonel Talbot, and he was also to
leave his own address, under his feigned character,
at a place agreed upon. With this latter purpose
he sallied out in the dusk through the well-known
streets, carefully shunning observation, but in vain:
one of the first persons whom he met at once recognised
him. It was Mrs. Flockhart, Fergus Mac-Ivor’s
good-humoured landlady.
’Gude guide us, Mr. Waverley, is this you? na,
ye needna be feared for me. I wad betray nae
gentleman in your circumstances. Eh, lack-a-day!
lack-a-day! here’s a change o’ markets;
how merry Colonel MacIvor and you used to be in our
house!’ And the good-natured widow shed a few
natural tears. As there was no resisting her
claim of acquaintance, Waverley acknowledged it with
a good grace, as well as the danger of his own situation.
’As it’s near the darkening, sir, wad
ye just step in by to our house and tak a dish o’
tea? and I am sure if ye like to sleep in the little
room, I wad tak care ye are no disturbed, and naebody
wad ken ye; for Kate and Matty, the limmers, gaed
aff wi’ twa o’ Hawley’s dragoons,
and I hae twa new queans instead o’ them.’
Waverley accepted her invitation, and engaged her
lodging for a night or two, satisfied he should be
safer in the house of this simple creature than anywhere
else. When he entered the parlour his heart swelled
to see Fergus’s bonnet, with the white cockade,
hanging beside the little mirror.
‘Ay,’ said Mrs. Flockhart, sighing, as
she observed the direction of his eyes, ’the
puir Colonel bought a new ane just the day before
they marched, and I winna let them tak that ane doun,
but just to brush it ilka day mysell; and whiles I
look at it till I just think I hear him cry to Callum
to bring him his bonnet, as he used to do when he
was ganging out. It’s unco silly—the
neighbours ca’ me a Jacobite, but they may say
their say—I am sure it’s no for that—but
he was as kind-hearted a gentleman as ever lived,
and as weel-fa’rd too. Oh, d’ye ken,
sir, when he is to suffer?’
‘Suffer! Good heaven! Why, where is
he?’
’Eh, Lord’s sake! d’ye no ken?
The poor Hieland body, Dugald Mahony, cam here a while
syne, wi’ ane o’ his arms cuttit off, and
a sair clour in the head—ye’ll mind
Dugald, he carried aye an axe on his shouther—and
he cam here just begging, as I may say, for something
to eat. Aweel, he tauld us the Chief, as they
ca’d him (but I aye ca’ him the Colonel),
and Ensign Maccombich, that ye mind weel, were ta’en
somewhere beside the English border, when it was sae
