The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

384 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
"The ne'er a bit, my leddy -ye are clean aff the road, as I may say.
But if your leddyship will just hae patience, and wait till we're by the
place and out of the glen, I'll tell ye all about it. There is no much luck
in speaking of such things in the place they chanced in."
I was obliged to suspend my curiosity, observing, that if I persisted in
twisting the discourse one way while Donald was twining it another, I
should make his objection, like a hempen cord, just so much the tougher.
At length the promised turn of the road brought us within fifty paces of
the tree which I desired to admire, and I now saw, to my surprise, that
there was a human habitation among the cliffs which surrounded it. It
was a hut of the least dimensions, and most miserable description, that I
ever saw even in the Highlands. The walls of sod, or divot, as the Scotch
call it, were not four feet high -the roof was of turf, repaired with reeds
and sedges- the chimney was composed of clay, bound round by straw
ropes-and the whole walls, roof, and chimney, were alike covered with the
vegetation of house-leek, rye-grass, and moss, common to decayed cottages
formed of such materials. There was not the slightest vestige of a kaleyard, the usual accompaniment of the very worst huts; and of living things
we saw nothing, save a kid which was browsing on the roof of the hut, and
a goat, its mother, at some distance, feeding betwixt the oak and the river
Awe.
" What man," I could not help exclaiming, " can have committed sin deep
enough to deserve such a miserable dwelling!"
"Sin enough," said Donald MacLeish, with a half-suppressed groan;
" and God he knoweth, misery enough too; - and it is no man's dwelling
neither, but a woman's."
"A woman's!" I repeated, "And in so lonely a place -What sort of a
woman can she be?"
" Come this way, my leddy, and you may judge that for yourself," said
Donald. And by advancing a few steps, and making a sharp turn to the
left, we gained a sight of the side of the great broad-breasted oak, in the
direction opposed to that in which we had hitherto seen it.
" If she keeps her old wont, she will be there at this hour of the day,"
said Donald; but immediately became silent, and pointed with his finger,
as one afraid of being overheard. I looked, and beheld, not without some
sense of awe, a female form seated by the stem of the oak, with her head
drooping, her hands clasped, and a dark-coloured mantle drawn over her
head, exactly as Judah is represented in the Syrian medals as seated under
her palm-tree. I was infected with the fear and reverence which my guide
seemed to entertain towards this solitary being, nor did I think of advancing towards her to obtain a nearer view until I had cast an inquiring
look on Donald; to which he replied in a half whisper-" She has been a
fearfu' bad woman, my leddy."
" Mad woman, said you," replied I, hearing him imperfectly; " then she
is perhaps dangerous?"
" No-she is not mad," replied Donald; "for then it may be she would be
happier than she is; though when she thinks on what she has done, and
caused to be done, rather than yield up a hair-breadth of her ain wicked
will, it is not likely she can be very well settled. But she neither is mad
nor mischievous; and yet, my leddy, I think you had best not go nearer to
her." And then, in a few hurried words, he made me acquainted with the
story which I am now to tell more in detail. I heard the narrative with a
mixture of horror and sympathy, which at once impelled me to approach the
sufferer, and speak to her the words of comfort, or rather of pity, and at the
same time made me afraid to do so.
This indeed was the feeling with which she was regarded by the Highlanders in the neighbourhood, who looked upon Elspat MacTavish, or the
Woman of the Tree, as they called her, as the Greeks considered those whe