‘Troth I’se ensure him, an’ he’ll bide us, Mrs. Flockhart,’ replied the Gael.

’And will ye face thae tearing chields, the dragoons, Ensign Maccombich?’ again inquired the landlady.

’Claw for claw, as Conan said to Satan, Mrs. Flockhart, and the deevil tak the shortest nails.’

‘And will the colonel venture on the bagganets himsell?’

’Ye may swear it, Mrs. Flockhart; the very first man will he be, by Saint Phedar.’

‘Merciful goodness! and if he’s killed amang the red-coats!’ exclaimed the soft-hearted widow.

’Troth, if it should sae befall, Mrs. Flockhart, I ken ane that will no be living to weep for him.  But we maun a’ live the day, and have our dinner; and there’s Vich Ian Vohr has packed his DORLACH, and Mr. Waverley’s wearied wi’ majoring yonder afore the muckle pier-glass; and that grey auld stoor carle, the Baron o’ Bradwardine, that shot young Ronald of Ballenkeiroch, he’s coming down the close wi’ that droghling coghling bailie body they ca’ Macwhupple, just like the Laird o’ Kittlegab’s French cook, wi’ his turn-spit doggie trindling ahint him, and I am as hungry as a gled, my bonny dow; sae bid Kate set on the broo’, and do ye put on your pinners, for ye ken Vich Ian Vohr winna sit down till ye be at the head o’ the table;—­and dinna forget the pint bottle o’ brandy, my woman.’

This hint produced dinner.  Mrs. Flockhart, smiling in her weeds like the sun through a mist; took the head of the table, thinking within herself, perhaps, that she cared not how long the rebellion lasted, that brought her into company so much above her usual associates.  She was supported by Waverley and the Baron, with the advantage of the Chieftain Vis-A-Vis.  The men of peace and of war, that is, Bailie Macwheeble and Ensign Maccombich, after many profound conges to their superiors and each other, took their places on each side of the Chieftain.  Their fare was excellent, time, place, and circumstances considered, and Fergus’s spirits were extravagantly high.  Regardless of danger, and sanguine from temper, youth, and ambition, he saw in imagination all his prospects crowned with success, and was totally indifferent to the probable alternative of a soldier’s grave.  The Baron apologized slightly for bringing Macwheeble.  They had been providing, he said, for the expenses of the campaign.  ‘And, by my faith,’ said the old man, ’as I think this will be my last, so I just end where I began—­I hae evermore found the sinews of war, as a learned author calls the Caisse MILITAIRE mair difficult to come by than either its flesh, blood, or bones.’

’What! have you raised our only efficient body of cavalry, and got ye none of the louis d’or out of the Doutelle, to help you?’ [The Doutelle was an armed vessel, which brought a small supply of money and arms from France for the use of the insurgents.]

‘No, Glennaquoich; cleverer fellows have been before me.’