'
'He is welcome hither,' said one of the elders, 'if he come from Cosmo
Comyne Bradwardine.'
'I say nay to that,' said an old man, who apparently did not mean to
pledge the toast: 'I say nay to that;--while there is a green leaf in
the forest, there will be fraud in a Comyne.'
'There is nothing but honour in the Baron of Bradwardine,' answered
another ancient; 'and the guest that comes hither from him should be
welcome, though he came with blood on his hand, unless it were blood of
the race of Ivor.'
The old man, whose cup remained full, replied, 'There has been blood
enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of Bradwardine.'
'Ah! Ballenkeiroch,' replied the first, 'you think rather of the flash
of the carbine at the Mains of Tully-Veolan, than the glance of the
sword that fought for the cause at Preston.'
'And well I may,' answered Ballenkeiroch; 'the flash of the gun cost me
a fair-haired son, and the glance of the sword has done but little for
King James.'
The Chieftain, in two words of French, explained to Waverley, that the
Baron had shot this old man's son in a fray near Tully-Veolan about
seven years before; and then hastened to remove Ballenkeiroch's
prejudice, by informing him that Waverley was an Englishman, unconnected
by birth or alliance with the family of Bradwardine; upon which the old
gentleman raised the hitherto-untasted cup, and courteously drank to
his health.
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