This Fergus heard with great satisfaction.
'You are rich,' he said, 'Waverley, and you are generous.

When you hear of these poor Mac-Ivors being distressed about their miserable possessions by some harsh overseer or agent of Government, remember you have worn their tartan, and are an adopted son of their race.

The Baron, who knows our manners, and lives near our country, will apprize you of the time and means to be their protector.

Will you promise this to the last Vich Ian Vohr ?' Edward, as may well be believed, pledged his word; which he afterwards so amply redeemed, that his memory still lives in these glens by the name of the Friend of the Sons of Ivor.
'Would to God,' continued the Chieftain, 'I could bequeath to you my rights to the love and obedience of this primitive and brave race:--or at least, as I have striven to do, persuade poor Evan to accept of his life upon their terms, and be to you what he has been to me, the kindest,--the bravest,--the most devoted--' The tears which his own fate could not draw forth, fell fast for that of his foster-brother.
'But,' said he, drying them, 'that cannot be.

You cannot be to them Vich Ian Vohr; and these three magic words,' said he, half smiling, 'are the only Open Sesame to their feelings and sympathies, and poor Evan must attend his foster-brother in death, as he has done through his whole life.' 'And I am sure,' said Maccombich, raising himself from the floor, on which, for fear of interrupting their conversation, he had lain so still, that, in the obscurity of the apartment, Edward was not aware of his presence,--'I am sure Evan never desired or deserved a better end than just to die with his Chieftain.' 'And now,' said Fergus, 'while we are upon the subject of clanship--what think you now of the prediction of the Bodach Glas ?'--Then, before Edward could answer, 'I saw him again last night--he stood in the slip of moonshine, which fell from that high and narrow window towards my bed.