He therefore put forth his
strength, and marched stoutly along at the head of his followers, eyeing
our hero from time to time, as if he longed to enter into controversy
with him. At length, unable to resist the temptation, he slackened his
pace till he was alongside of his prisoner's horse, and after marching a
few steps in silence abreast of him, he suddenly asked--'Can ye say wha
the carle was wi' the black coat and the mousted head, that was wi' the
Laird of Cairnvreckan?'
'A Presbyterian clergyman,' answered Waverley.
'Presbyterian!' answered Gilfillan contemptuously; 'a wretched Erastian,
or rather an obscure Prelatist, a favourer of the black indulgence, ane
of thae dumb dogs that canna bark; they tell ower a clash o' terror and a
clatter o' comfort in their sermons, without ony sense, or savour, or
life. Ye've been fed in siccan a fauld, belike?'
'No; I am of the Church of England,' said Waverley.
'And they're just neighbour-like,' replied the Covenanter; 'and nae
wonder they gree sae weel. Wha wad hae thought the goodly structure of
the Kirk of Scotland, built up by our fathers in 1642, wad hae been
defaced by carnal ends and the corruptions of the time;--ay, wha wad hae
thought the carved work of the sanctuary would hae been sae soon cut
down!'
To this lamentation, which one or two of the assistants chorussed with a
deep groan, our hero thought it unnecessary to make any reply.
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