Following the descent of the stream a little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling light, which he now discovered among the tangled copse-wood and bushes, seemed a surer guide.

He soon pursued a very uncouth path; and by its guidance at length reached the door of a wretched hut.

A fierce barking of dogs was at first heard, but it stilled at his approach.

A voice sounded from within, and he held it most prudent to listen before he advanced.
'Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain, thou ?' said an old woman, apparently in great indignation.

He heard Davie Gellatley, in answer, whistle a part of the tune by which he had recalled himself to the simpleton's memory, and had now no hesitation to knock at the door.
There was a dead silence instantly within, except the deep growling of the dogs; and he next heard the mistress of the hut approach the door, not probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of fastening a bolt.
To prevent this, Waverley lifted the latch himself.
In front was an old wretched-looking woman, exclaiming, 'Wha comes into folk's houses in this gate, at this time o' the night ?' On one side, two grim and half-starved deer greyhounds laid aside their ferocity at his appearance, and seemed to recognize him.