A long, low, and ill-proportioned gallery, hung with pictures, affirmed to be the portraits of kings, who, if they ever flourished at all, lived several hundred years before the invention of painting in oil colours, served as a sort of guard chamber or vestibule to the apartments which the adventurous Charles Edward now occupied in the palace of his ancestors. Officers, both in the Highland and Lowland garb, passed and repassed in haste, or loitered in the hall as if waiting for orders. Secretaries were engaged in making out passes, musters, and returns. All seemed busy, and earnestly intent upon something of importance; but Waverley was suffered to remain seated in the recess of a window, unnoticed by any one, in anxious reflection upon the crisis of his fate, which seemed now rapidly approaching. CHAPTER XL AN OLD AND A NEW ACQUAINTANCE While he was deep sunk in his reverie, the rustle of tartans was heard behind him, a friendly arm clasped his shoulders, and a friendly voice exclaimed, 'Said the Highland prophet sooth? Or must second-sight go for nothing?' Waverley turned, and was warmly embraced by Fergus Mac-Ivor. 'A thousand welcomes to Holyrood, once more possessed by her legitimate sovereign! Did I not say we should prosper, and that you would fall into the hands of the Philistines if you parted from us?' 'Dear Fergus!' said Waverley, eagerly returning his greeting. 'It is long since I have heard a friend's voice. Where is Flora?' 'Safe, and a triumphant spectator of our success.' 'In this place?' said Waverley. 'Ay, in this city at least,' answered his friend, 'and you shall see her; but first you must meet a friend whom you little think of, who has been frequent in his inquiries after you.' Thus saying, he dragged Waverley by the arm out of the guard chamber, and, ere he knew where he was conducted, Edward found himself in a presence room, fitted up with some attempt at royal state. A young man, wearing his own fair hair, distinguished by the dignity of his mien and the noble expression of his well-formed and regular features, advanced out of a circle of military gentlemen and Highland chiefs by whom he was surrounded. In his easy and graceful manners Waverley afterwards thought he could have discovered his high birth and rank, although the star on his breast and the embroidered garter at his knee had not appeared as its indications. 'Let me present to your Royal Highness,' said Fergus, bowing profoundly-- 'The descendant of one of the most ancient and loyal families in England,' said the young Chevalier, interrupting him. 'I beg your pardon for interrupting you, my dear Mac-Ivor; but no master of ceremonies is necessary to present a Waverley to a Stuart.'