 CHAPTER 59 The Scottish Chiefs by Miss Jane Porter CHAPTER 59 The Round Tower Wallace was yet recounting the particulars of his royal visit to Bruce, who had anxiously watched his return, when one of the Queen's attendants appeared, and presenting him with a silk handkerchief curiously coiled up, said, that he brought it from Her Majesty, who supposed it must be his, as she found it in the room where he had been playing the harp. Wallace was going to say that it did not belong to him when Bruce gave him a look which directed him to take the handkerchief. He obeyed without a word, and the boy withdrew. Bruce smiled. There is more in that handkerchief than silk, my friend. Queen sent not these embassies on trifling errands, while Bruce spoke while it's unwrapped it. I told you so, cried the Prince, with a frank archness playing over his before-pensive features, and pointing to a slip of emblazoned vellum which became unfolded. Shall I look aside while you peruse it? Look on it, my dear Prince, replied Wallace, for in trifles, as well as in things of moment, I would hold no reserves with you. The vellum was then opened, and these words presented themselves. Presume not on condescension. This injunction may be necessary, for the noble lady who is present at our interview tells me the men of this island are very presuming. Redeem the character of your countrymen, and transgress not on a courtesy that only means to say, I did not leave you this morning, so abruptly out of unkindness. I write this because having the Countess ever with me, I shall not even dare to whisper it in her presence. You are always faithful and respectful, minstrel, and you shall ever find an indulgent mistress. A page will call you when your attendance is desired. Wallace and Bruce looked on each other. Bruce first spoke, had you vanity, my friend? This letter, from so lovely and innocent a creature, might be a gratification. But in your case the sentiment it breathes is full of danger. She knows not the secret power that impelled her to write this, but we do, and I fear it will point an attention to you, which may produce effects ruinous to our projects. Then answered Wallace, our alternative is to escape it by getting away this very night, and as you persevere in your resolution not to enter Scotland unaccompanied by me, and will share my attempt to rescue Lady Helen Mar, we must direct our course immediately to the Continent. Yes, instantly and securely too, under the disguise of priest, returned Bruce. I have in my possession the wardrobe of the Confessor who followed my father's fortunes, and who, on his death, retired into an abbey which contains his remains. It was then settled between the friends, that when it became dark they should rest themselves in the Confessor's robes, and by means of the Queen's signet which she had given to Wallace at the banquet, pass the guard as priests who had entered by some other gate, and were returned from shriving her majesty. Once without the city they could make with a swift progress southward to the nearest seaport, and there safely embark for France, for they were well aware that the moment they were missed, suspicion would direct pursuit toward the Scottish border. In these arrangements, and planning their future movements relative to the rescue of Lady Helen, they passed several hours, and were only interrupted by the arrival of a loot from the Queen, for her minstrel to tune. Wallace obeyed, and returning it by the page who brought it, congratulated himself that it was not accompanied by any new summons. Then continuing his discourse with Bruce on the past, present, and to come, their souls grew more closely entwined, as they more intimately recognized their kindred natures, and time moved on, unmarked, till the shadows of evening deepened into night. "'Now is our hour,' cried Bruce, starting honey's feet, "'Go you into that room, and array yourself in the Confessor's robes, while I call my servants to dispense with their usual nightly attendance.' With determination and hope, Wallace gladly obeyed. In that very same instant the Earl of Gloucester suddenly entered, and looking around the room with the disturbed countenance abruptly said, "'Where is the minstrel?' Why?' answered Bruce, with an alarm which he vainly tried to prevent appearing on his face. Gloucester advanced close to him. "'Is anyone within hearing?' "'No one.' Then replied the Earl, "'His life is in danger. He is suspected to be not what he seems, and I am sorry to add, to stand in favour with the Queen, of a nature to incur his mortal punishment.' Bruce was so confounded with his stoppage of all their plans, and at the imminent peril of Wallace, that he could not speak, Gloucester proceeded. My dear Bruce, from the circumstance of his being with you, I cannot but suppose that you know more than you think proper to disclose. Whoever he may be, whether he come from France or really from Scotland, as he says, his life is now forfeited, and that, by attempting to screen him, you may not seem to share his imputed guilt. I come to warn you of this discovery. A double guard is set around the keep, so no visible means are left for his escape. Then what will become of him, exclaimed Bruce, forgetting all caution in dismay for his friend? Am I to see the bravest of men, the saviour of my country, butchered before my eyes by a tyrant? I may die, Gloucester, in his defence, but I will never surrender him to his enemy.' Gloucester digassed at this disclosure. He came to accuse the friend of Bruce, that Bruce might be prepared to clear himself of connivance with so treasonable a crime. But now that he found this friend to be Wallace, the preserver of his own life, the restorer of his honour at Berwick, he immediately resolved to give him freedom. Bruce cried he, when I recollect the figure and the deportment of this minstrel, I am surprised that, in despite of his disguise, I did not recognise the invincible regent of Scotland, but now I know him. He shall find that generosity is not confined to his own breast. Give me your word that you will not stimulate suspicion by remonstrating with Edward against your own arrest till the court leaves Durham, and I will instantly find a way to conduct your friend in safety from the castle. I pledge you my word of honour, cried Bruce, release but him, and if you demand it of me I would die in chains. He saved me at Berwick, replied Gloucester, and I am anxious to repay the debt. If he be near, explain what has happened in as few words as possible, for we must not delay a moment. I left a council with the enraged King, settling what horrible death was to be his punishment. When he is safe, answered Bruce, I will attest his innocence to you. Meanwhile rely on my faith, and you are giving liberty to a guiltless man. Bruce hastened to Wallace, who had just completed his disguise. He briefly elated what had passed, and received for answer that he would not leave his prince to the revenge of the tyrant. But Bruce, urging that the escape of the one could alone secure that of the other, implored him not to persist in refusing his offered safety, but to make direct for Normandy. I will join you at Rouen, and thence we shall proceed to Guyenne, added he. The hour the court leaves Durham is that of my escape, and when free what shall divide me from you and our enterprise. Bruce had hardly assented when a tumultuous noise broke the silence of the courtyard. The great iron doors of the keep were thrown back on their hinges, and the clanger of arms, with many voices resounded in the hall. Thinking all was lost with a cry of despair, Bruce drew his sword and threw himself before his friend. At that instant Gloucester entered the room. They are quicker than I thought cried he, but follow me, Bruce, remain where you are, sheath your sword be bold, deny you know anything of the minstrel and all will be well. As he spoke, the feet of them who were come to seize Wallace, already sounded in the adjoining apartment, Gloucester grasped the Scottish hero by the hand, turned into a short gallery, and plucking the broad shaft of a cedar-pillaster from under its capital, let himself and his companion into a passage within the wall of the building. The ponderous beam closed after them into its former situation, and the silent pair descended by a long flight of stone steps to a square dungeon without any visible outlet, but the girl found one by raising a flat stone marked by an elevated cross, and again they penetrated lower into the bosom of the earth by a gradually declining path till they stopped on a subterranean level ground. This vaulted passage, Gloucester, reaches in a direct line to Finkley Abbey, a particular circumstance constrained my uncle, the then abbot of that monastery, to discover it to me ten years ago. He told me that to none but the bishops of Durham and the abbots of Finkley was the secret of its existence revealed. Since my coming hither this time, which was to escort the young queen, not to bear arms against Scotland, I one day took it into my head to revisit this recess, and happily for the gratitude I owe to you, I found all as I had left it in my uncle's lifetime. But for the sake of my honour with Edward, whose wrath would fall upon me in most fearful shapes, should he ever know that I delivered his vanquisher out of his hands, I must enjoin you to secrecy. Though the enemy of my king's ambition, you are the friend of mankind. You were my benefactor noble-voice, and I should deserve the rack. Could I suffer one hair of your head to fall with violence to the ground? Footnote The remains of this curious subterranean passage are yet to be seen, but parts of them are now broken in upon by water, and therefore the communication between Durham and Finkley is now cut off. End of footnote In answering frankness Wallace declared his sense of the Earl's generosity, and earnestly commended the young Bruce to his watchful friendship. The brave impetuosity of his mind continued he, at times may overthrow his prudence, and leave him exposed to dangers which a little virtuous caution might avoid. The simulation is a baseness I should shudder at seeing in practice, but when the flood of indignation swells his bosom, then tell him that I conjure him on the life of his dearest wishes to be silent. The storm-wish threatens must blow over, and the power which guides through perils of those who trust in it will ordain that we shall meet again. Gloucester replied, What you say I will repeat to Bruce, I am too sensible that my royal father-in-law has trampled on his rights, and should I ever see him restored to the throne of his ancestors, I could not but acknowledge the hand of heaven in the event. Far would he have been from me to have bound him to remain a prisoner during Edward's Sgt. at Durham, had I not been certain that your escape and his together would now give birth to a plausible argument in the minds of my enemies, and grounding their suspicions on my acknowledged attachment to Bruce, the king might have been persuaded to believe me unfaithful to his interests. The result would be my disgrace and a broken heart to her who has raised me by her generous love from the humbler ranks of nobility to that of a prince and her husband. Gloucester then informed Wallace that about two hours before he came to alarm Bruce for his safety on this occasion, he was summoned by Edward to attend him immediately. When he obeyed, he found Sulis standing by the royal couch and his majesty talking with vehemence. At sight of Gloucester he beckoned him to advance, and striking his hand fiercely on a letter he held, he exclaimed, Here, my son, behold the record of your father's shame of a king of England dishonoured by a slave. As he spoke, he dashed it from him. Sulis answered, smiling, Not a slave, my lord and king, can you not see, through the ill-adapted disguise, the figure and mean of nobility, here some foreign lover of your bride, come, enough, interrupted the king. I know I am dishonoured, but the villain shall die. Read the letter, Gloucester, and say what tortures shall stamp my vengeance. Gloucester opened the vellum and read in the queen's hand. Gentle minstrel, my lady countess tells me I must not see you again. Were you old or ugly, as most bards are, I might, she says, but being young it is not for a queen to smile upon one of your calling. She bade me remember that when I smiled you smiled too, and that you asked me questions unbecoming your degree. Pray do not do this any more, though I see no harm in it alas. I used to smile as I liked when I was in France. Oh, if it were not for those I love best, who are now in England, I wish I were there again. And you would go with me, gentle minstrel, would you not? And you would teach me to sing so sweetly. I would then never talk with you, but would always speak in sung. How pretty that would be! And then we should be from under the eyes of this harsh countess. My ladies in France would let you come in and stay as long with me as I pleased. But as I cannot go back again, I will make myself happy here in spite of the countess, who reels me more as if she were my stepmother than I hers. But then to be sure, she is a few years older. I will see you this evening, and your sweet harp shall sing all my heartaches to sleep. My French lady of honour will conduct you secretly to my apartments. I am sure you are too honest, even to guess, at what the countess thinks you might fancy when I smile on you. But, gentle minstrel, presume not, and you shall ever find an indulgent mistress in M. P.S. At the last Vespers tonight, my page shall come for you. Gloucester knew the Queen's handwriting, and not being able to contradict that this letter was hers, he inquired how it came into His Majesty's hands. I found it, replied Sulis. In crossing the courtyard, it lay on the ground where, doubtless, had it been accidentally dropped by the Queen's messenger. Gloucester, wishing to extenuate for the Queen's sake, whose youth and inexperience he pitted, affirmed that, from the simplicity with which the note was written, from her innocent references to the minstrel's profession, he could not suppose that she addressed him in any other character. If he be only a base, I turn and harper, replied the King. The deeper is my disgrace, for if a passion of another King the music be not portrayed in every word of this artful letter, I never read a woman's heart. The King continued to comment on the fatal scroll with a link sigh of jealousy, loading her name with every approbium. Gloucester inwardly thanked Heaven that none other than Sulis and himself were present to hear Edward fasten such foul dishonour on his Queen. The generous Earl could not find other arguments to assuage the mountain ire of her husband. She might be innocent of actual guilt, or indeed of being aware of more than a Queen's usual interest in a poor wandering minstrel was, as the King said, in every line. Gloucester remaining silent, Edward believed him convinced of the Queen's crime, and being too wrathful to think of caution, he sent for the bishop and others of his lords, and when they entered, vent to them also his injury and indignation. Many were not inclined to be of the same opinion with their sovereign. Some thought with Gloucester, others deemed the letter altogether a forgery, and a few adopted the severer inferences of her husband, but all united, even those determined to spare the Queen, in recommending an immediate apprehension and private execution of the minstrel. It is not fit, cried Sulis, that a man who has ever been suspected of invading our monarch's honour should live another hour. This sanguinary sentence was exceeded to, and with as little remorse by the whole assembly as if they had merely condemned the tree to the axe, such is the carelessness with which the generality of arbitrary assemblies decide on the fate of a fellow mortal. Earl Percy, who gave his vote for the death of the minstrel, more from his culpable inconsideration than that thirst of blood which stimulated the voices of Sulis and the Cummings, proposed, as he believed the Queen innocent, that honour should be examined relative to the circumstances mentioned in the letter. The King immediately ordered their attendance. The royal Jane of Acre appeared at the first summons, and spoke with an air of truth and freedom from alarm, which convinced every candid ear of the innocence of the Queen. Her testimony was that she believed the minstrel to be other than he seemed, but she was certain, from the conversations which the Queen had held with her after the bishop's feast, that it was at this very feast she had first seen him, and that she was ignorant of his real rank. On being questioned by the bishop, the Countess acknowledged that her majesty had praised his figure as well as his singing. Yet not more had it she, than she afterward did to the King when she awakened his curiosity to send for him. Her Highness continued to reply to the interrogatories put to her by saying that it was in the King's presence she herself first saw the minstrel, and then she thought his demeanour much above his situation. But when he accompanied the Queen and herself into her majesty's apartments, she had then an opportunity to observe him narrowly, as the Queen engaged him in conversation, and by his answers, questions, and easy, yet respectful deportment, she became convinced that he was not what he appeared. And why, Jane, as the King, did you not impart these suspicions to your husband or to me? Because, replied she, remembering that my interference on a certain public occasion brought my late husband clear under your majesty's displeasure on my marriage with Montherma, I made a solemn vow before my confessor never to offend in the like manner, and besides the countenance of this stranger was so ingenious, and he sent him in so natural and honourable, I could not suspect he came on any disloyal errand. Lady observed one of the elder lords, if you thought so well of the Queen and of this man, why did you caution her against his smiles, and deem it necessary to persuade her not to see him again? The countess blushed at this question, but replied, because I saw the menstrual as a gentleman, he possessed a noble figure and a handsome face in spite of his Egyptian skin. Like most young gentlemen, he might be conscious of these advantages, and attribute the artless approbation, the innocent smiles of my gracious Queen, to a source more flattering to his vanity. I have known many lords, not far from your majesty, make similar mistakes on his little grounds at its she, looking disdainfully towards some of the younger nobles, and therefore to prevent such insolence I desired his final dismissal. Thank you, my dear Jane, replied the King. You almost persuaded me of Margaret's innocence. Believe it, Sire, cried she with animation. Whatever romantic thoughtlessness her youth in inexperience may have led her into, I pledged my life on her purity. First, let us hear what that French woman has to say to the Assygnation, exclaimed Soulis, whose polluted heart could not suppose the existence of true purity, and whose cruel disposition exalted in torturing and death questioned her, and then her majesty may have full acquittal. Again the brow of Edward was overcast. The fiends of jealousy, once more tugged at his heart, and ordering the countess of Gloucester to withdraw, he commanded the Bannernest upon Quas to be brought into his presence. When she saw the King's threatening looks, and beheld the fearful expression which shot from every surrounding countenance, she shrunk with terror. Long hacknid in secret gallantries, the same inward whisper which had proclaimed to Soulis that the Queen was guilty, induced her to believe that she had been the confidant of an illicit passion, and therefore, though she knew nothing really bad of her unhappy mistress, yet fancying that she did, she stood before the royal tribunal with an air and aspect of a culprit. Repeat to me, demanded the King, or answer it with your head, all that you know of Queen Margaret's intimacy with a man who calls himself a minstrel. At these words which were delivered in a tone that seemed the sentence of death, the French woman fell on her knees, and in a burst of terror exclaimed, Sire, I will reveal all if your Majesty will grant me pardon for having too faithfully served my mistress. Speak, speak! cried the King with desperate impatience. I swear to pardon you, even if you have joined in a conspiracy against my life. But speak the truth and all the truths. The judgment without mercy may fall on the guilty heads. Then I obey, answered the baroness. Foul betrayer half exclaimed Goster, turning disappointed away. Or what it is to be vile and to trust the vile. But virtue will not be auxiliary to vice, and so wickedness falls by its own agents. The baroness raised from her kneeling position by a soulless begat. The only time I ever heard of, or saw this man, to my knowledge, was when he was brought to play before my lady at the Bishop's banquet. I did not much observe him, being engaged in conversation at the other end of the room, so I cannot say whether I might not have seen him in France. For many noble lords adorned the Princess Margaret, though she appeared to frown upon them all. But I must confess, when I attended her Majesty's disrobing after the feast, she put to me so many questions about what I thought of the minstrel, who had sung so divinely, that I began to think her admiration too great to have been awakened by a mere sung. And then she asked me if a king could have a noble heir than he had. And she laughed, and said she would send your Majesty to school to learn of him. Daminable, traitorous, exclaimed the king. The baroness paused, and retreated before the sudden fury which flashed from his eyes. Go on, cried he, hide neither word nor circumstance that my vengeance may lose nothing of its aim. She proceeded. Her Majesty then talked to his beautiful eyes, so blue she said, so tender, yet proud in their looks, and only a minstrel. De Pantoise added she, can you explain that? I, being rather, perhaps, too well learned in the idle tales of our troubadours, heedlessly answered. Perhaps he is some king in disguise. Just come to look at your Majesty's charms and go away again. She laughed much at this conceit. Said he must be one of Pharaoh's race then, and that had he not such white teeth his complexion would be intolerable. Being pleased to see her Majesty in such spirits, and thinking no ill, I sportively answered. I read once of a certain Spanish lover who went to the court of Tunis to carry off the king's daughter. And he had so black a face that nonsuspected him to be other than the Moorish Prince of Granada when low one day in a pleasure-party on the sea he fell overboard and came up with the fairest face in the world and presently acknowledged himself to be the Christian king of Castile. The Queen laughed at this story, but not answering me went to bed. Next morning when I entered her chamber she received me with even more gaiety, and putting aside my quaffur acid, let me see if I can find the devil's mark here. What do you mean, I asked? Does your Majesty take me for which? Exactly so, she replied, for a little sprite told me last night that all you told me was true. And then she began to tell me with many smiles, that she had dreamed that the Prince of Minstrel was the very Prince of Portugal whom, unseen, she had refused for the King of England, and that he gave her a harp set with jewels. She then went to a Majesty and I saw no more of her till she sent for me late in the evening. She seemed very angry. You are faithful, said she to me, and you know me, de pointoirs, you know me too proud to degrade myself and too high-minded to submit to tyranny. The countess of Gloucester, with persuasion's two-like commands, will not allow me to see the Minstrel any more. She then declared her determination that she would see him, that she would feign herself sick and he should come and sing to her when she was alone, and that she was sure he was too modest to presume on her condescension. I said something to dissuade her, but she overruled me, and, shame to myself, I consented to assist her. She embraced me and gave me a letter to convey to him, which I did, by slipping it beneath the ornaments of the handle of her lute, which I sent as an excuse for the Minstrel to tune. It was to acquaint him with her intentions, and this night he was to have visited her apartment. During this recital the King sat with compressed lips listening, but with accountants proclaiming the co-electing tempest within, changing to livid paleness or potentious fire at almost every sentence. On mentioning the letter he clinched his hand, as if then he grasped the thunderbolt. The lords immediately apprehended that this was the letter which Sulis found. And is this all you know of the affair in quiet Percy, seeing that she made a pause, and enough to, cried Sulis, to blast the most vaunted chastity in Christendom? Take the woman hence, cried the King, in a burst of wrath, that gave his voice a preternatural force, which yet resounded from the vaulted roof, while he added, Never let me see her traitor face again! The baroness withdrew in terror, and Edward, calling Sapir's Gaveston, commanded him to place himself at the head of a double guard, and go in person to bring the object of his officious introduction to meet the punishment due to his crime. For, cried the King, be he prince or peasant, I will see him hanged before my eyes, and then return his wanton paramour branded with infamy to her disgraced family. Sulis now suggested that, as the delinquent was to be found with Bruce, most likely that young nobleman was privy to his designs. We shall see to him hereafter, replied the King. Meanwhile, looked that I am obeyed. The moment this order passed the King's lips, Gloucester, now not doubting the Queen's guilt, hastened to warn Bruce of what had occurred, that he might separate himself from the crime of a man who appeared to have been under his protection. But when he found that the accused was no other than the universally feared, universally beloved and generous Wallace, all other considerations were lost in the desire of delivering him from the impending danger. He knew the means, and he did not hesitate to employ them. During the recital of this narrative, Gloucester narrowly observed the auditor, and the ingenuous bursts of his indignation, and the horror he evinced at the crime he was suspected of having committed. The earl, while more fully convinced of his innocence, easily conceived how the Queen's sentiments for him might have gone no further than a childish admiration, very pardonable in a guileless creature hardly more than sixteen. See, cried Wallace, the power which lies with the describer of actions, the chaste mind of your countess, saw nothing in the conduct of the Queen, but thoughtless simplicity. The contaminated heart of the baroneste de Pantoise, described passion in every word, wantoness in every movement, and, judging of her mistress by herself, she has wrought this mighty ruin. How, then, does it behove virtue to admit the virtuous only to her intimacy? Association with the vicious makes her to be seen in their colours. Impress your King with his self-evident conclusion, and were it not for endangering the safety of Bruce the hope of my country, I myself would return and state my life on proving the innocence of the Queen of England. But if a letter with my word of honour could convince the King. I accept the offer, interrupted Gloucester. I am too warmly the friend of Bruce, too truly grateful to you to betray either into danger. But from Sunderland, whither I recommend you to go, and there embark for France, write the declaration you mention, and enclose it to me. I can contrive that the King shall have your letter without suspecting by my channel, and then I trust all will be well. During this discourse they passed on through the vaulted passage till, arriving at a wooden crucifix which marked the boundary of the Domain of Durham, Gloucester stopped. I must go no further. Should I prolong my stay from the castle during the search for you, suspicion might be awakened. You must therefore proceed alone. Go straight forward, and at the extremity of the vault you will find a flag-stone, surmounted like the one by which we descended. Raise it, and it will let you into the cemetery of the aviary of Finkley. One end of that beddying place is always open to the East. Thence you will emerge to the open world, and may it in future noble Wallace ever treat you according to your unequalled merits. Farewell. The Earl turned to retrace his steps, and Wallace pursued his way through the realest darkness towards the Finkley extremity of the vault. The Scottish Chiefs by Miss Jane Porter Chapter Sixty Gaelic Seas Wallace having issued from his subterranean journey made direct to Sunderland, where he arrived about sunrise. A vessel belonging to France, which since the marriage of Margaret with Edward had been in amity with England as well as Scotland, rode there, waiting a favourable wind. Wallace secured a passage in her, and going on board wrote his promised letter to Edward. It ran thus. This testament is to assure Edward, King of England, upon the word of a knight, that Queen Margaret, his wife, is, in every respect, guiltless of the crimes alleged against her by the Lord Soulis, and sworn to by the Baronest of Pontoise. I came to the Court of Durham on an errand connected with my country, and that I might be unknown, I assumed the disguise of a minstrel. By accident I encountered Sir Pierce Gaviston, and ignorant that I was other than I seemed, he introduced me at the Royal Banquet. It was there I first saw her majesty, and I never had that honour but three times, and the third and last in her apartments, to which your majesty's self saw me withdraw. The Countess of Gloucester was present the whole time, and to her Highness I appealed. The Queen saw in me only a minstrel. On my art alone as a musician was her favour bestowed, and by expressing it with an ingenuous warmth, which none other than an innocent heart would have dared to display, she has thus exposed herself to the animate versions of Libertinism, and to the false representations of a terror struck, because worthless friend. I have escaped the snare which the Queen's enemies laid for me, and for her sake, for the sake of truth and your own peace, King Edward, I declare before the searcher of all hearts, and before the world, in whose esteem I hope to live and die, that your wife is innocent. And should I ever meet the man who after this declaration dares to unite her name with mine in a tale of infamy, by the power of truth, I swear that I will make him write a recantation with his blood. Pure as a virgin's chastity is, and shall ever be, the honour of William Wallace. This letter was enclosed in one to the Earl of Gloucester, and having dispatched his packet to Durham, the Scottish chief gladly saw a brisk wind blow up from the north-west. The ship wade anchor, cleared the harbour, and under a fair sky, swiftly cut the waves toward the gallic shores. But as she reached them, the warlike star of Wallace directed to his little bark the terrific sails of the Red River, a formidable pirate who then infested the gallic seas, swept their commerce, and insulted their navy. He attacked the French vessel, but it carried a greater than Caesar and his fortunes. Wallace and his destiny were there, and the enemy struck to the Scottish chief. The Red River, so surnamed because of his red sails and sanguinary deeds, was killed in the action, but his younger brother, Thomas de Longaville, was found alive within the captive ship, and a yet greater prize. Prince Louis of France, who, having been out the day before on a sailing-party, had been described, and seized as an invaluable booty by the Red River. Adverse winds, for some time, prevented Wallace from reaching port with his capture. But on the fourth day after the victory, he cast anchor in the harbour of Avre. The indisposition of the prince from a wound he had received in his own conflict with the river made it necessary to apprise King Philip of the accident. In answer to Wallace's dispatches on this subject, the grateful monarch added to the proffers of personal friendship, which had been the substance of his majesty's embassy to Scotland, a pressing invitation that the Scottish chief would accompany the prince to Paris, and there receive a public mark of royal gratitude, which, with due honour, should record this service done to France to future ages. Meanwhile Philip sent the chief a suit of armour, with a request that he would wear it in remembrance of France and his own heroism. But nothing could tempt Wallace to turn aside from his duty. Impatient to pursue his journey toward the spot where he hoped to meet Bruce, he wrote a respectful excuse to the king. But, arraying himself in the monarch's marshal present, to assure his majesty by the evidence of his stun, that his royal wish had been so far obeyed, he went to the prince to bid him farewell. Louis was preparing for their departure, all three together, with Young de Longaville, whose pardon Wallace had obtained from the king on account of the youth's abhorrence of the service which his brother had compelled him to adopt. And the two young men, from different feelings, expressed their disappointment when they found that their benefactor was going to leave them. Wallace gave his highness a packet for the king, containing a brief statement of his vow to Lord Mar, and a promise that when he had fulfilled it Philip should see him at Paris. The royal cavalcade then separated from the deliverer of its prince, and Wallace, mounting a richly barbed Arabian which had accompanied his splendid armor, took the road to Hoang. Meanwhile, events not less momentous took place at Durham. The instant Wallace had followed the Earl of Gloucester from the apartment in the castle, it was entered by Sir Piers Gaviston. He demanded the minstrel. Bruce replied he knew not where he was. Gaviston, eager to convince the king that he was no accomplice with the suspected person, put the question a second time, and in a tone which he meant should intimidate the Scottish prince, where is the minstrel? I know not, replied Bruce. And will you dare to tell me, Earl? asked his interrogator, that within this quarter of an hour he has not been in this tower, nay in this very room. The guards in your anti-chamber have told me that he was, and can Lord Carrick stoop to utter a falsehood, to screen a wandering beggar. While he was speaking, Bruce stood, eyeing him with increasing scorn. Gaviston paused. You expect me to answer you, said the prince. Out of respect to myself I will, for such is the unsullied honour of Robert Bruce that even the heir shall not be tainted with slander against his truth, without being repurified by its confutation. Gaviston, you have known me five years. Two of them we passed together in the jasts of Flanders, and yet you believe me capable of falsehood. Know then, unworthy of the esteem I have bestowed on you, that neither to save mean or great would I deviate from the strip line of truth. The man you seek may have been in this tower, in this room, as you present are. And as little am I bound to know where he now is, as whither you go when you relieve me from an inquisition which I hold myself accountable to no man to answer. "'Tis well,' cried Gaviston, and am I to carry this haughty message to the king. "'If you deliver it as a message,' answered Bruce, you will prove that they who are ready to suspect falsehood find its utterance easy. My reply is to you. When King Edward speaks to me I shall find the answer that is due to him. "'These attempts to provoke me into a private quarrel,' cried Gaviston, will not succeed. I am not to be so foiled in my duty. I must seek the man through your apartments.' "'By whose authority?' demanded Bruce. "'By my own, as the loyal subject of my outraged monarch. He bad me bring the traitor before him, and thus I obey.' While speaking, Gaviston beckoned to his attendants to follow him to the door when Swallis had disappeared. Bruce threw himself before it. "'I must forget the duty I owe to myself before I allow you or any other man to invade my privacy. I have already given you the answer that becomes, Robert Bruce, and in respect to your knighthood instead of compelling I request you to withdraw.' Gaviston hesitated, but he knew the determined character of his opponent, and therefore with no very good grace, muttering that he should hear of it from a more powerful quarter, he left the room. And certainly his threats were not in this instance vain, for prompt was the arrival of a Marshal and his officers to force Bruce before the King. "'Robert Bruce, Earl of Cleveland, Carrick, and Annandale, I come to summon you into the presence of your liege Lord Edward of England.' "'The Earl of Cleveland obeys,' replied Bruce, and with a fearless step he walked out before the Marshal. When he entered the presence chamber, Sir Piers Gaviston stood beside the royal couch, as if prepared to be his accuser. The King sat supported by pillows, paler with the mortifications of jealousy and baffled authority than with the effects of his wounds. "'Robert Bruce,' cried he, the moment his eyes fell on him. But the sight of his morning habit made a stroke upon his heart that sent out evidence of remorse in large globules on his forehead. He paused, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and resumed, "'Are you not afraid, presumptuous young man, thus to provoke your sovereign?' "'Are you not afraid that I shall make that audacious head answer for the man whom you thus dare to screen from my just revenge?' "'Bruce felt all the injuries he had suffered from this proud King rush at once upon his memory. And without changing his position, or lowering the loft expression of his looks, he firmly answered, "'The judgment of a just King I cannot fear. The sentence of an unjust one I despise.'" "'This day's Majesty's face!' exclaimed Sully's. "'Insolence, rebellion, justizement, even death!' were the words of which murmured round the room at the honest reply. Edward had too much good sense to echo any one of them. But turning to Bruce with a sensation of shame he would gladly have repressed, he said that in consideration of his youth he would pardon him what had passed, and reinstate him in all the late Earl of Carrick's honours, if he would immediately declare where he had hidden the offending minstrel. "'I have not hidden him,' cried Bruce, "'nor do I know where he is. But had that been confided to me, as I know him to be an innocent man, no power on earth should have wrenched him from me.'" "'Self-sufficient boy!' exclaimed Earl Buchan, with a laugh of contempt. Do you flatter yourself that he would trust such a novice as you are with secrets of this nature?" Bruce turned on him an eye of fire. "'Buchan,' replied he, "'I will answer you one other ground. Meanwhile, remember that the secrets of good men are open to every virtuous heart. Those of the wicked they would be glad to conceal from themselves.'" "'Robert Bruce,' cried the King, "'before I came this northern journey I ever found you one of the most devoted of my servants, the gentlest youth in my court. And how do I see you at this moment, braving my nobles to my face? How is it that until now this spirit never broke forth? Because,' answered the Prince, "'until now I have never seen the virtuous friend whom you call upon me to betray.'" "'Then you confess,' cried the King, "'that he was an instigator to rebellion.'" "'I avow,' answered Bruce, "'that I never knew what true loyalty was till he taught it me. I never knew the nature of real chastity till he explained it to me, nor comprehended what virtue might be, till he allowed me to see in himself incorruptible fidelity, bravery undaunted, and a purity of heart not to be contaminated. And this is the man on whom these lords would fasten a charge of treason and adultery. But out of the filthy depths of their own breast arise the streams from which they would blacken his fairness. "'Your vindication,' cried the King, "'confirms his guilt. You admit that he is not a minstrel in reality. Wherefore, then, did he steal an ambuscade into my palace, but to betray either my honour or my life, perhaps both? His errand here was to see me.'" "'Rash, boy,' cried Edward, "'then you acknowledge yourself a premeditated conspirator against me?' Soulis now whispered in the King's ear, but so low that Bruce did not hear him. Penetrate further my liege. This may be only a false confession to shield the Queen's character. She, who has once betrayed her duty, finds it easy to reward such handsome advocates. The scarlet of inextinguishable wrath now burned on the face of Edward. I will confront them,' returned he, surprised them into betraying each other. By his immediate orders the Queen was brought in. She leaned on the Countess of Gloucester. "'Jane,' cried the King, "'leave that woman, let her impudence sustain her.'" "'Rather her innocence, my lord,' said the Countess, bowing and hesitating to go. "'Leave her to that,' returned the incensed husband, and she would grovel on the earth like her own base-passions. But stand before me, she shall, and without other support than the devils within her.' "'For pity,' cried the Queen, extending her clasped hands toward Edward and bursting to tears, "'have mercy on me, for I am innocent.'" "'Prove it, then,' cried the King, by agreeing with this confidant of your minstrel, and at once tell me by what name you addressed him when you allured him to my court. Is he French, Spanish or English?' "'By the Virgin's holy purity, I swear,' cried the Queen, sinking on her knees, "'that I never allured him to this court. I never beheld him, till I saw him at the Bishop's banquet, and for his name I know it not.' "'Oh, vilest of the vile!' cried the King, fiercely grasping his couch, "'and didst thou become a wanton at a glance? From my sight this moment, or I shall blast thee!' The Queen dropped senseless into the arms of the Earl of Gloucester, who at that moment entered from seeing Wallace through the cavern. At sight of him, Bruce knew that his friend was safe, and fearless for himself, when the cause of outraged innocence was at stake, he suddenly exclaimed, "'By one word, King Edward, I will confirm the blamelessness of this injured Queen. Listen to me, not at a monarch and an enemy, but with the unbiased judgment of man with man, and then ask your own brave heart if it would be possible for Sir William Wallace to be a seducer. Every mouth was dumb at the annunciation of that name. None dared open a lip in accusation, and the King himself, thunderstruck alike with the boldness of the conqueror venturing within the grasp of his revenge, and at the daringness of Bruce, in thus declaring his connection with him, for a few minutes he knew not what to answer. Only he had received conviction of his wife's innocence. He was too well acquainted with the history and uniform conduct of Wallace to doubt his honour in this transaction, and though a transient fancy of the Queen's might have had existence, yet he had now no suspicion of her actions. "'Bruce,' said he, "'your honesty has saved the Queen of England.' "'Though Wallace is my enemy, I know him to be of an integrity which neither man nor woman can shake, and therefore,' added he, turning to the lords, "'I declare before all who have heard me so fiercely arraign, my injured wife, that I believe her innocent of every offence against me, and whoever after this mentions one word of what has passed in these investigations, or even whispers that they have been held shall be punished as guilty of high treason. Bruce was then ordered to be reconducted to the Round Tower, and the rest of the lords withdrawing by command the King was left with Gloucester, his daughter Jane, and the now reviving Queen to make his peace with her, even on his knees. Bruce was more closely immured than ever. Not even his senecae was allowed to approach him, and double guards were kept constantly around his prison. On the fourth day of his seclusion an extra row of iron bars was put across his windows. He asked the captain of the party the reason for this new rivet on his captivity, but he received no answer. His own recollection, however, sold the doubt, for he could not but see that his own declaration, respecting his friendship with Wallace, had increased the alarm of Edward respecting their political views. One of the warders, on having the same inquiry put to him which Bruce had addressed to his superior, in a rough tone replied, he had best not asked questions, lest he should hear that his Majesty had determined to keep him under Bishop Beck's padlock for life. Bruce was not to be deprived of hope by a single evidence, and smiling said, there are more ways of getting out of a tyrant's prison than by the doors and windows. Why, you would not eat through the walls, cried the man. Certainly, replied Bruce, if I have no other way, and through the guards too. We'll say to that, answered the man, and feel it too, my sturdy jailer, returned the prince, so look to yourself. Bruce threw himself recklessly into a chair as he spoke, while the man, eyeing him as scants, and remembering how strangely the minstrel had disappeared, began to think that some people born in Scotland inherited from nature a necromantic power of executing whatever they determined. Though careless in his manner of treating the warder's information, Bruce thought of it with anxiety, and lost in reflection as checkered with hope and doubt of his ever-effecting an escape, he remained immovable on the spot where the man had left him, till another sentinel brought in a lamp. She set it down in silence, and withdrew. Bruce then heard the boats on the outside of his chamber pushed into their guards. There they go, said he to himself, and those are to be the morning and evening sounds to which I am to listen all my days. At least Edward would have it so. Such is the gratitude he chose to the man who restored to him his wife, who restored to him the consciousness of possessing that honour unsullied, which is so dear to every married man. Well, Edward, kindness might bind generous minds even to forget their rights, but thanks to you neither in my own person, nor for any of my name do I owe you ought, but to behold me, King of Scotland, please God that you shall, if the prayers of faith may burst these double-stealed gates and set me free. While invocations to the power in which he confided, and resolutions respecting the consequences of his hoped for liberty, by turns occupied his mind, he heard the tread of a foot in the adjoining passage. He listened, breathless, for no living creature he thought could be in that quarter of the building, as he had suffered none to enter it since Wallace had disappeared by that way. He half rose from his couch, as the door at which he had seen him last gently opened. He started up, and Gloucester, with a lantern in his hand, stood before him. The earl put his finger on his lip, and, taking Bruce by the hand, led him, as he had done Wallace, down into the vault, which leads to Finkley Abbey. When safe in that subterraneous cloister the earl replied to the impatient gratitude of Bruce, who saw that the generous Gloucester meant he should follow the steps of his friend, by giving him a succinct account of his motives for changing his first determination, and now giving him liberty. He had not visited Bruce since the escape of Wallace, that he might not excite any new suspicion in Edward, and the tower being fast locked at every usual avenue, he had now entered it from the Finkley side. He then proceeded to inform Bruce that after his magnanimous forgetfulness of his own safety to ensure that of the queen had produced a reconciliation between her and her husband, Buchen, Soulis and Athol, with one or two English lords, joined the next day to persuade the king that Bruce's avowal respecting Wallace had been merely an invention of his own to screen some baser friend and royal mistress. They succeeded in reawakening doubts in Edward, who, sending for Gloucester, said to him, "'Unless I could hear from Wallace's own lips, and in my case the thing is impossible, that he has been here, and that my wife is guiltless of this foul stain, I must ever remain in horrible suspense. These base scots, ever fertile in maddening suggestions, have made me even more suspect that Bruce had other reasons for his apparently generous risk of himself than a love of justice. While these ideas floated in the mind of Edward, Bruce had been more closely immured, and Gloucester, having received the promised letter from Wallace, determined to lay it before the king. Accordingly, one morning the earl, gliding unobserved into the present chamber before Edward was brought in, laid the letter under his majesty's cushion. As Gloucester expected, the moment the king saw the superscription, he knew the hand, and hastily breaking the seal, read the letter twice over to himself without speaking a word. But the clouds which had hung on his countenance all passed away, and with a smile reaching the packet to Gloucester, he commanded him to read aloud that silencer of all doubts, respecting the honour of Margaret of France and England. Gloucester obeyed, and the astonished nobles looking on each other, one and all assented to the credit that ought to be given to Wallace's word, and deeply regretted having ever joined in a suspicion against her majesty. Thus, then, all appeared amicably settled. But the embers of discord still glowed. The three Scottish lords, afraid lest Bruce might again be taken into favour, laboured to show that his friendship with Wallace, attempted to his throwing off the English yoke, and independently assuming the Scottish crown. Edward required no arguments to convince him of the probability of this, and he readily complied with Bishop Beck's request to allow him to hold the royal youth his prisoner. But when the Cummins won this victory over Bruce, they gained nothing for themselves. During the king's vain inquiries, respecting the manner in which Wallace's letter had been conveyed to the apartment, they had ventured to throw hints of Bruce having been the agent by some secret means, and that however innocent the queen might be, he is certainly evinced by such solicitude for her exculpation, and more than usual interest in her person. These latter innuendos the king crushed in the first whisper. I have done enough with Robert Bruce," said he. He is condemned a prisoner for life, and a mere suspicion shall never provoke me to give sentence for his death. Irritated by this reply, and the contemptuous glance with which it was accompanied, the vindictive triumvirate turned from the king to the court, and having failed in accomplishing the destruction of Bruce and his more renowned friend, they determined at least to make a wreck of their moral fame. The guilt of Wallace and the queen, and the participation of Bruce, was now whispered through every circle, and credited in proportion to the evil disposition of the hearers. One of his pages at last brought to the ears of the king the stories which these lords so basely circulated, and sending for them he gave them so severe a reprimand that, retiring from his presence with stifled wrath, they agreed to accept the invitation of young Lord Badenach, return to their country, and support him in the regency. Next morning Edward was informed they had secretly left Durham, and fearing that Bruce might also make his escape, a consultation was held between the king and Beck, of so threatening a complexion that Gloucester no longer hesitated to run all risks, but immediately to give the Scottish prince his liberty. Having led him to safety through the vaulted passage, they parted in the cemetery of Finkley, Gloucester to walk back to Durham by the banks of the Weir, and Bruce to mount the horse the good Earl had left tied to a tree to convey him to Hartley Poole. There he embarked for Normandy. When he arrived at Caen, he made no delay, but taking a rapid course across the country toward Rouen, on the second evening of his travelling, having pursued his route without sleep, he felt himself so overcome with fatigue, that in the midst of a vast and dreary plain, he found it necessary to stop for rest at the first habitation he might find. It happened to be the abode of one of those poor but pious matrons, who, attaching themselves to some neighbouring order of charity, live alone in desert places for the purpose of suckering distressed travellers. Here Bruce found the widow's cruise, and a pallet to repose his weary limbs. CHAPTER 61 Normandy. Wallace, having separated from the Prince Royal of France, pursued his solitary way toward the capital of Normandy, till night overcame him ere he was aware. Clouds obscured the sky that not a star was visible, and his horse, terrified at the impenetrable darkness and the difficulties of the path which lay over a barren and stony moor, suddenly stopped. This aroused Wallace from a long fit of musing to look around him, but on which side lay the road to Rouen he could form no guess. To pass the night in so exposed a spot must be dangerous, and spurring the animal he determined to push onward. He had ridden nearly another hour when the dead silence of the scene was broken by the roll of distant thunder. Then forked lightning shooting from the horizon showed a line of country unmarked by any vestige of human habitation. Still he proceeded. The storm approached, till breaking in peels over his head it discharged such sheets of livid fire at his feet that the horse reared, and plunging amidst the blaze flashed the light of his rider's armor on the eyes of a troop of horsemen, who also stood under the tempest, gazing with a fright at the scene. Wallace, by the same transitory illumination, saw the travelers, as they seemed to start back at his appearance, and, mistaking their apprehension, he called to them that his well-managed, though terrified steed, would do theirs no harm. One of them advanced and respectfully inquired of him the way to Rouen. Wallace replied that he was a stranger in this part of the country, and was also seeking that city. While he was yet speaking the thunder became more tremendous, and the lightning rolled in volumes along the ground, the horses of the troop became restive, and one of them through its rider. Cries of lamentation, mingling with the groans of the fallen person, excited the compassion of Wallace. He rode toward the spot from whence the latter proceeded, and asked the nearest bystander, for several had alighted, whether the unfortunate man was much hurt. The answer returned was full of alarm for the sufferer, and anxiety to obtain some place of shelter, for rain began to fall. In a few minutes it increased to torrents, and the lightning ceasing deepened the horrors of the scene by preventing the likelihood of discovering any human abode. The men gathered round their fallen companion, bewailing the prospect of his perishing under these inclemencies, but Wallace cheered them by saying he would seek a shelter for their friend, and blow his bugle when he had found one. With the word he turned his horse, and as he galloped along called aloud on any Christian man who might live near, to open his doors to a dying traveller. After riding about in all directions he saw a glimmering light for a moment, and then all was darkness, but again he called aloud for charity, and a shrill female voice answered, I am a lone woman with already one poor traveller in my house, but for the virgin's sake I will open my door to you, whatever you may be. The good woman relighted her lamp, which the rain had extinguished, and on her unlatching the door Wallace briefly related what had happened, in treating her permission to bring the unfortunate person into the cottage. She readily consented, and giving him a lantern to guide his way, he blew his bugle, which was instantly answered by so glad and loud a shout that it assured him his companions could not be far distant, and that he must have made many a useless circuit before he had stopped at this charitable door. The men directed him through the darkness by their voices, for the lantern threw its beams but a very little way, and arriving at their side by his assistants the bruised traveller was brought to the cottage. It was a poor hovel, but the good woman had spread a clean wooden coverlet over her own bed, in the inner chamber, and though their Wallace carried the invalid. He seemed in great pain, but his kind conductor answered their hostess's inquiries respecting him, with a belief that no bones were broken. But yet, cried she, sad may be the effects of internal bruises on so emaciated a frame. I will venture to disturb my other guest, who sleeps in the loft, and bring down a decoction that I keep there. It is made from simple herbs, and I am sure will be of service. The old woman, having shown to the attendants where they might put their horses under a shelter of a shed which projected from the cottage, ascended a few steps to the chamber above. Meanwhile, the Scottish chief, assisted by one of the men, disengaged the sufferer from his wet garments, and covered him with the blankets of the bed. Recovered to recollection by the comparative comfort of his bodily feelings, the stranger opened his eyes. He fixed them on Wallace, then looked around and turned to Wallace again. Generous knight, cried he, I have nothing but thanks to offer for this kindness. You seem to be of the highest rank, and yet have suckered one who the world abjures. The knight returned a courteous answer, and the invalid, in a paroxysm of emotion, added, Can it be possible that a prince of France has dared to act so contrary to his peers? Wallace, not apprehending what had given rise to this question, supposed the stranger's wits were disordered, and looked with that inquiry toward the attendant. Just at that moment a step, more active than that of their aged hostess, sounded above, and an exclamation of surprise followed it, in a voice that startled Wallace. He turned hastily around, and a young man sprung from the cottage stairs into the apartment. Joy danced in every feature, and the ejaculation, Wallace, Bruce, burst at once from the hearts of the two friends as they rushed into each other's arms. All else present was lost to them in the delight of meeting after so perilous a separation, a delight not confined for its object to their individual selves. Each saw in the other the hope of Scotland, and when they embraced it was not merely with the ardour of friendship, but with that of patriotism, rejoicing in the preservation of its chief dependence. While the chief spoke freely in their native tongue, before a people who could not be supposed to understand them, the aged stranger on the bed reiterated his moans. Wallace, in a few words, telling Bruce the manner of his re-encounter with the sick man, and his belief that he was disordered in his mind, drew toward the bed, and offered him some of the decoction which the woman now brought. The invalid drank it, and gazed earnestly, first on Wallace and then on Bruce. Pierre, withdraw, cried he to his personal attendant. The man obeyed. Sit down by me, noble friends, said he to the Scottish chiefs, and read a lesson which I pray ye lay to your hearts. Bruce glanced a look at Wallace that declared he was of his opinion. Wallace drew a stool while his friend seated himself on the bed. The old woman, perceiving something extraordinary in the countenance of the bruised stranger, thought he was going to reveal some secret heavy on his mind, and also withdrew. You think my intellects are injured, returned he, turning to Wallace, because I addressed you as one of the House of Philip. Those jewel-billies round your helmet led me into the airer. I never before saw them granted to other than a prince of the blood. But think not, brave man, I respect you less, since I have discovered that you are not of the race of Philip, that you are other than a prince. Look on me at this emaciated form, and behold the reverses of all earthly grandeur. This palsied hand once held a scepter. These hollow temples were once bound with a crown. He that used to be followed as the source of honour, as the fountain of prosperity, with suppliance at his feet and flatterers at his side, would now be left to solitude were it not for these few faithful servants, who in spite of all changes have preserved their allegiance to the end. Look on me, chiefs, and behold him who was the King of Scots. At this declaration both Wallace and Bruce struck with surprise and compassion at meeting their ancient enemy reduced to such abject misery, with one impulse bowed their heads to him with an air of reverence. The action penetrated the heart of Ballyol. For when at the meeting a mutual exclamation of the two servants, he recognized in whose presence he lay, he fearfully remembered that, by his base submissions, turning the scale of judgment in his favour, he had defrauded the grand sire of the very Bruce, now before him, of a fair decision on his rights to the crown. And when he looked on Wallace, who had preserved him from the effects of his accident, and brought him to a shelter from the raging terrors of the night, his conscience doubly smote him. For from the hour of his elevation to that of his downfall, he had ever persecuted the family of Wallace, and at the hour which was the crisis of her fate, had denied them the right of drawing their swords in defence of Scotland. He, her King, had resigned her into the hands of a usurper. But Wallace, the injured Wallace, had arisen, like a star of light on the deep darkness of her captivity, and Scotland was once more free. In the tempest, the exiled monarch had started the blaze of the unknown night's jeweled panoply. At the declaration of his name he shrumped before the brightness of his glory, and falling back on the bed he groaned aloud. To these young men, so strangely brought before him, and both of whom he had wronged, he determined immediately to reveal himself, and see whether they were equally resentful of injuries, as those he had served had proved ungrateful for benefits received. He spoke, and when instead of seeing the pair rise in indignation on his pronouncing his name, they bowed their heads and sat in respectful silence, his desolate heart expanded at once to admit the long estranged emotion, and he burst into tears. He caught the hand of Bruce, who sat nearest to him, and, stretching out the other to Wallace, exclaimed, I have not deserved this goodness from either of you. Perhaps you two are the only men now living whom I ever greatly injured, and you, accepting my four poor attendants, are perhaps the only men living who would compassion it my misfortunes. These are lessons, King, returned Wallace with reverence, to fit you for a better crown, and never, in my eyes, did the descendant of Alexander seem so worthy of his blood. The grateful monarch pressed his hand. Bruce continued to gaze on him with a thousand awful thoughts occupying his mind. Ballyol read in his expressive countenance the reflections which chained his tongue. Behold, how low was laid the proud rival of your grandfather, exclaimed he, turning to Bruce. I compassed a throne I could not fill. I mistook the robes, the homage, for the kingly dignity. I bartered the liberties of my country for a crown I knew not how to wear, and the insidious trafficker not only reclaimed it, but repaid me with a prison. There I expiated my crime against the upright Bruce. Not one of all the Scottish lords who crowded Edward's court came to beguile a moment of sorrow from their captive monarch. Lonely I lived, for the tyrant ever deprived me of the comfort of seeing my fellow prisoner Lord Douglas, he whom attachment to my true interest had betrayed to an English prison. I never saw him after the day of his being put into the tower until that of his death. Wallace interrupted the afflicted Ballyol with an exclamation of surprise. Yes, added he, I myself closed his eyes. At that awful hour he petitioned to see me, and the boon was granted. I went to him, and then with his dying breath he spoke truths to me, which were indeed messengers from heaven. They taught me what I was and what I might be. He died. Edward was then in Flanders, and you, brave Wallace, being triumphant in Scotland, and laying such a stress in your negotiations for the return of Douglas, the southern cabinet agreed to conceal his death, and by making his name an instrument to excite your hopes and fears, turn your anxiety for him to their own advantage. A deep scarlet kindled over the face of Bruce. With what a race have I been so long connected? What means subterfuges, what dastardly deceits, for the leaders of a great nation to adopt? Oh, king, exclaimed he, turning to Ballyol. If you have errors to atone for, what then must be the penalty of my sin, for holding so long with an enemy as vile as he is ambitious? Scotland! Scotland! I must weep tears of blood for this! He rose in agitation. Ballyol followed him with his eyes. Amiable Bruce, you too severely arraign a fault that was venial in you. Your father gave himself to Edward, and his son accompanied the tribute. Bruce vehemently answered, If King Edward ever said that, he uttered a falsehood. My father loved him, confided in him, and the ingrate betrayed him. His fidelity was no gift of himself, an acknowledgement of inferiority. It was the pledge of a friendship exchanged on equal terms on the fields of Palestine. And well did King Edward know that he had no right over either my father or me, for in the moment he doubted our attachment he was aware of having forfeited it. He knew he had no legal claim on us, and for getting every law, human and divine, he made us prisoners. But my father found liberty in the grave, and I am ready to take a sure revenge in—he would have added—Scotland, but he forbore to give the last blow to the unhappy Ballyol, by showing him that his kingdom had indeed passed from him, and that the man was before him who might be destined to wield his scepter. Bruce paused, and sat down in generous confusion. Hesitate not, said Ballyol, to say where you will take your revenge. I know that the brave Wallace has laid open the way. Had I possessed such a leader of my troops, I should not now be a mendicant in this hobble. I should not be a creature to be pitied and despised. Wear him, Bruce. Wear him in your heart's core. He gives the throne he might have filled. Make not that a subject of praise, cried Wallace, which if I had left undone would have stamped me a traitor. I have only performed my duty, and may the holy anointer of the hearts of kings guide Bruce to his kingdom, and keep him there in peace and honour. Ballyol rose in his bed at these words. Bruce said he, approach me near. He obeyed. The feeble monarch turned to Wallace. You have supported what was my kingdom through its last struggles for liberty. Put forth your hand and support its exiled sovereign in his last legal act. Wallace raised the king, so as to enable him to assume a kneeling posture. Dizzy with the exertion, for a moment he rested on the shoulder of the chief, and then, looking up, he met the eyes of Bruce gazing on him with a compassionate interest. The unhappy monarch stretched out his arms to heaven. May God pardon the injuries which my fatal ambition did to you and yours, the miseries I brought upon my country, and let your reign redeem my errors. May the spirit of wisdom bless you, my son. His hands were now laid with pious fervour on the head of Bruce, who sunk on his knees before him. Whatever rights I had to the crown of Scotland, by the worthlessness of my reign they are forfeited, and I resign all unto you, even to the participation of the mere title of king. It has been as the ghost of my former self, as an accusing spirit to me, but I trust an angel of light to you, it will conduct your people into all happiness. Exhausted by his feelings, he sunk back into the arms of Wallace. Bruce, rising from his knees, poured a little of the herb balm into the king's mouth, and he revived. As Wallace laid him back on his pillows he gazed wistfully at him, and grasping his hand said in a low voice, How did I throw a blessing from me? But in those days, when I rejected your services at Dunbar, I knew not the almighty arm which brought the boy of Ellersley to save his country. I scorned the patriot flame that spoke your mission, and the mercy of heaven departed from me. This renunciation of Balliol's in favour of Bruce is an historical fact, and it was made in France. Memory was now busy with the thoughts of Bruce. He remembered his father's weak, if not criminal, devotion at that time to the interests of Edward. He remembered his heart-rung death, and looking at the desolate old age of another of Edward's victims, his brave soul melted to pity and regret, and he retired into a distant part of the room, to shed unobserved the tears he could not restrain. Wallace soon after saw the eyes of the exhausted king close in sleep, and cautious of awakening him he did not stir, but leaning against the thick, oaken frame of the bed was soon lost in as deep a repose. After some time of complete stillness, for the old dame and the attendants were at rest in the outer chamber, Bruce, whose low size were echoed by the wind alone, which swept in gust by the little casement, looked toward the abdicated monarch's couch. He slept profoundly, yet frequently started, as if disturbed by troubled dreams. Wallace moved nod on his hard pillow, and the serenity of perfect peace rested upon all his features. How tranquil is the sleep of the virtuous, thought Bruce, as he contemplated the difference between his state and that of Balliol. There lies an accusing conscience. Here rests one of the most faultless of created beings. It is, it is the sleep of innocence. Come ye slanderers, continued he, mentally calling on those he had left at Edward's court, and tell me if an adulterer could look thus when he sleeps. Is there one trace of a regular passion about that placid mouth? Does one of those heavenly composed features bear testimony to emotions which leave marks even when subdued? No, virtue has set up her throne in that breast, and well-made kings come to bow to it. The entrance of the old woman, about an hour after sunrise, awakened Wallace, but Balliol continued to sleep. On the chief's opening his eyes, Bruce, with a smile, stretched out his hand to him. Wallace rose, and whispering the widow to abide by her guest till they should return, the twain went forth to enjoy the mutual confidence of friendship. A wood opened its unbridged arms at a little distance, and thither, over the dubious mangled grass, they bent their way. The birds sung from tree to tree, and Wallace, meeting himself under an overhanging beach, which canopied a narrow winding of the River Seine, listened with mingled pain and satisfaction to the communications which Bruce had to impart relative to the recent scenes at Durrell. So rapid had been the events observed the Scottish Prince, when he concluded his narrative, that all appears to me a troubled vision, and blessed indeed was the awakening of last night, when your voice, sounding from the room below that in which I slept, called me to embrace my best friend, as became the son of my ancestors, free and ready to renew the brightness of their name. The discourse next turned to their future plans. Wallace, narrating his adventure with the Red Reaver, proposed that the favour he should ask in return, the King of France being earnest to bestow on him some special mark of gratitude, should be his interference with Edward to grant the Scots a peaceable retention of their rights. In that case, my prince, said he, you will take possession of your kingdom with the olive branch in your hand. Bruce smiled but shook his head. And what then will Robert Bruce be, a king, to be sure, but a king without a name? Who won me my kingdom? Who accomplished this peace? Was it not William Wallace? Can I then consent to mount the throne of my ancestors, so poor, so inconsiderable a creature? I am not jealous of your fame, Wallace, I glory in it, for you are more to me than the light to my eyes, but I would prove my right to the crown by deeds worthy of a sovereign. Till I have shown myself in the field against Scotland's enemies, I cannot consent to be restored to my inheritance, even by you. And is it in more alone, returned Wallace, that you can show deeds worthy of a sovereign? Think a moment, my honoured prince, and then scorn your objection. Look on the annals of history, nay, on the daily occurrences of the world, and see how many are brave and complete generals, how few wise legislatures, how few such efficient rulers as to procure obedience to the laws, and so give happiness to their people. This is the commission of a king, to be the representative on earth of the Father who is in heaven. Here is exercise for courage, for enterprise, for fortitude, for every virtue which elevates the character of a man. This is the godlike jurisdiction of a sovereign. To go to the field, to lead his people to scenes of carnage, is often a duty in kings, but it is one of those necessities, which more than the trifling circumstances of sustaining nature by sleep and food reminds the conqueror of the degraded state of mortality. The one shows the weakness of the body, the other the corruption of the soul. For how far must man have fallen beneath his former, heavenly nature before he can delight in the destruction of his fellow men? Isn't not, then, brave and virtuous prince, that I have kept your hands from the stains of blood? Show yourself beyond the vulgar apprehension of what is fame, and conscious of the powers with which the Creator has endowed you, assume your throne with the dignity that is there due. Whether it be to the cabinet or to the field that he calls you to act, obey, and rely on it, a name greater than that of the hero of Macedon will await Robert, king of Scots. Under the great one day said to his friend Hephestian that the business of eating and drinking compelled him to remember, and with a sense of abasement his mortal nature, although he was the son of Ammon. You almost persuade me, returned Bruce, but let us see Philip, and then I will decide. As morning was now advanced the friends turned toward the cottage, intending to see Ballyol safe, and then proceed together to Ghien to the rescue of Lady Helen. Had accomplished they would visit Paris and hear its monarch's determination. On entering the humble mansion they found Ballyol awake, and inquiring anxiously of the widow what was become of the two knights. At sight of them he stretched out his hands to both, and said he should be able to travel in a few hours. Wallace proposed sending to Rouen for a litter to carry him the more easily thither. No, cried Ballyol with a frown, Rouen shall never see me again within its walls. It was coming from thence that I lost my way last night, and though my poor servants would gladly have returned with me sooner than see me perish in the storm, yet rather would I have been found dead on the road, a reproach to the kings who have betrayed me, than have taken an hour's shelter in that inhospitable city. While the friends took the simple breakfast prepared for them by the widow, Ballyol related, that in consequence of the interference of Philip the Bell with Edward he had been released from the Tower of London and sent to France, but under an oath never to leave that country. Philip gave the exiled king the Castle of Galeard for a residence, where for some time he enjoyed the shadow of royalty, having still a sort of court composed of his own noble followers, some of whom were now with him and the barons of the neighborhood. Philip allowed him guards and a splendid table. But on the peace being signed between France and England, in order that Edward might give up his ally the Earl of Flanders to his offended liege, Lord, the French monarch consented to relinquish the cause of Ballyol. And though he should continue to grant him a shelter in his dominions, he removed from him all the appendages of a king. Accordingly, continued Ballyol, the guard was taken from my gates, my establishment reduced to that of a private nobleman, and no longer having it in my power to gratify the aphidity or to flatter the ambition of those who came about me, I was soon left nearly alone. All but the poor old liege is whom you see, and who had been faithful to me through every change of my life, instantly deserted the forlorn Ballyol. In vain I remonstrated with Philip. Either my letters never reached him, or he disdained to answer the man whose claims he had abandoned. Things were in this state when, the other day, an English Lord found it convenient to bring his suit to my castle. I received him with hospitality, but soon found that what I gave in courtesy he seized as a right. In the true spirit of his master Edward, he treated me more like the keeper of an hostel than a generous host. And on my attempting to plead with him for a Scottish lady whom his turbulent passions have forced from her country, and reduced to a pitiable state of illness, he derided my arguments, sarcastically telling me that had I taken care of my kingdom, the door would not have been left open for him to steal its fairest prize. Wallace interrupted him. Heaven grant you may be speaking of Lord de Valence and Lady Helen Marr. I am, replied Ballyol. They are now at Galiard, and as her illness seems a lingering one, de Valence declared to me his intentions of continuing there. He seized upon the best apartments, and carried himself with so much haughtiness that, provoked beyond endurance, I ordered my horse, and accompanied by my honest courtiers rode to Rwanda to obtain redress from the Governor. But the unworthy Frenchman advised me to go back, and by flattering de Valence to try to regain the favour of Edward. I retired in indignation, determined to assert my rights in my own castle, but the storm overtook me, and being forsaken by false friends I am saved by generous enemies. Wallace explained his errand respecting Lady Helen, and anxiously inquired of Ballyol whether he meant to return to Galiard. Immediately, replied he, go with me, and if the Lady consents, which I do not doubt, for she scorns his prayers for her hand, and passes night and day in tears, I engage to assist in her escape. Ballyol then advised they should not all return to the castle together. The sight of two nights of their appearance accompanying his host being likely to alarm de Valence. The quietest way, continued the deposed King, is the surest. Follow me at a short distance, and toward the shadows of evening knock at the gates and request a night's entertainment. I will grant it, and then your happy destiny, ever fortunate Wallace, must do the rest. This scheme being approved, a litter of hurdles was formed for the invalid monarch, and the old woman's pallet spread upon it. I will return it to you, my good widow, said Ballyol, and with proofs of my gratitude. The two friends assisted the King to rise. When he set his foot on the floor, he felt so surprisingly better that he thought he could ride the journey. Wallace overruled this wish, and with Bruce supported his emaciated figure toward the door. The widow stood to see her guest depart. As Ballyol mounted the litter, he slid a piece of gold into her hand. Wallace saw not what the King had given, and gave a purse as his reward. Bruce had not to bestow. He had left Durham with little, and that little was expended. My good widow, said he, I am poor in everything but gratitude. In lieu of gold you must accept my prayers. May they, sweet youth, replied she, return on your own head, giving you bread from the barren land and water out of sterile rock. And have you no blessing for me, mother? asked Wallace, turning round and regarding her with an impressive look. Some spirit you whisked not of, speaks in your words. Then it must be a good spirit, answered she, for all around me betokens gladness. The scripture saith, Be kind to the way-faring man, for many have so entertained angels unawares. Yesterday at this time I was the poorest of all the daughters of charity. Last night I opened my doors in the storm. You enter and give me riches. He follows and endows me with his prayers. Am I not then greatly favoured by him who dispenses to all who trust in him? His mercy and your goodness shall not be hidden, for from this day forth I will light a fire each night in a part of my house, once it may be seen on every side from a great distance. Like you, princely night, whose gold will make it burn, it shall shine afar, and give light and comfort to all who approach it. And when you look on it, said Wallace, tell your beads for me. I am a son of war, and it may blaze when my vital spark is expiring. The widow paused, gazed on him subtly, and then burst into tears. It is possible, cried she, that beautiful face may be laid in dust, that youthful form lay cold and clay, and these aged limbs survive to light a beacon to your memory. And it shall arise, it shall burn like a holy flame, and incense to heaven for the soul of him who has suckered the feeble, and made the widow's heart to sing for joy. Wallace pressed the old woman's withered hand. Bruce did the same. She saw them mount their horses, and when they disappeared from her eyes, she returned into her cottage and wept. When Ballyol arrived within a few miles of Chateau Gallard, he pointed to a wooded part of the forest, and told the friends that under its groves they had best sheltered themselves till the sunset, soon after which he should expect them at the castle. Long indeed seemed the interval. It usually happens that in contemplating a project, while the period of its execution appears distant, we think on it with composure, but when the time of action is near, when we only wait the approach of an auxiliary, or the lapse of an hour, every passing moment seems an age, and the impatient soul is ready to break every bound, to grasp the completion of its enterprise. So Wallace now felt, felt as he had never done before, for in all his warlike exploits each achievement had immediately followed the moment of resolve. But here he was delayed, to grow in order as he contemplated an essay in which every generous principle of man was summoned into action. He was going to rescue a helpless woman from the hands of a man of violence. She was also the daughter of his first ally in the great struggle for Scotland, and who had fallen in the cause. Glad was he then to see the sun sink behind the distant hills. At that moment he and his friend closed their visors, mounted their horses, and set off at full speed toward the chateau. When they came in view of the antique towers of Galiard they slackened their pace, and leisurely advanced to the gates. The bugle of Wallace demanded admittance. A courteous assent was brought by the water, the gates unfolded, the friends entered, and in the next instant they were conducted into a room where Balial sat. De Valance was walking to and fro in a great shape. He had started at sight of the princely armor of Wallace, for he, as Balial had done, now conceived from the lily diadem that the stranger must be of the royal house of France, and composing his turbulent spirit he bowed respectfully to the supposed prince. Wallace returned the salutation, and Balial, rising, accosted him with a dignified welcome. He saw the mistake of De Valance, and perceived how greatly it might facilitate the execution of their project. On his host's return to the chateau, De Valance had received him with more than his former insolence, for the Governor of Rouen had sent him information of the despised monarch's discontent, and when the despotic lord heard a bugle at the gate, and learned that it was answered by the admission of two traveling knights, he flew to Balial in displeasure, commanding him to recall his granted leave. At the moment of his wrath Wallace entered, and covered him with confusion. Struck at seeing a French prince in one of the persons he was going to treat with such indignity, he shrunk into himself, and bowed before him with all the cowering meanness of a base and haughty soul. Wallace, feeling his real preeminence, bent his head in acknowledgment, with a majesty which convinced the Earl that he was not mistaken. Balial welcomed his guest in a manner not to dispel the illusion. Happy am I, cried he, that the hospitality which John Balial intended to show a mere traveller, confers on him the distinction of serving one of a race whose favour confers protection and its friendship honour. Wallace returned a gracious reply to this speech, and turning to Bruce said, This night is my friend, and though from peculiar circumstances neither of us chooses to disclose his name during our journey, yet whatever they may be, I trust you will confide in the word of one whom you have honoured by the address you have now made, and believe that his friend is not unworthy the hospitality of him who was once King of Scots. Devalance now approached, and announcing who he was, assured the knights in the name of the King of England, whom he was going to represent in Guyenne, of every respect from himself, assistance from his retinue, to bring them properly on their way. I return you the thanks due to your courtesy, replied Wallace, and shall certainly remain to-night a burden on King Balial, but in the morning we must depart as we came, having a vow to perform which excludes the service of attendance. A splendid supper was served, at the board of which Devalance sat, as well as Balial. From the moment that the strangers entered, the English Earl never withdrew, so cautious was he to prevent Balial informing his illustrious guests of the captivity of Lady Helen Marne. Wallace ate nothing, he sat with his visor still closed, and almost in profound silence, never speaking but when spoken to, and then only answering in as few words as possible. Devalance supposed that this taciturnity was connected with his vow, and did not for the remarket, but Bruce, who at Cain had furnished himself with a complete suit of black armor, appeared, though equally invisible, under his visor, infinitely more accessible. The humbler fashion of his marshal accoutrement did not announce the prince, his conversation bespoke so accomplished to mind and bravest spirit, that Devalance did not doubt that both men before him were of the royal family. He had never seen Charles de Valois, and believing that he now saw him in Wallace, he directed all that discourse to Bruce, which he meant should reach the ear of de Valois, and from him passed to that of the King of France. Bruce guessed what was passing in his mind, and with as much amusement as design, led forward the earl's mistake, but rather by allowing him to deceive himself, than by any actual means on his side to increase the deception. Devalance threw out hints respecting a frontier town in Guien, which he said he thought his royal master could be persuaded to yield to the French monarch, as naturally belonging to Gascony. But then the affair must be properly represented, he added, and had he motive enough to investigate some partchments in his possession, he believed he could place the affair in a true light, and convince Edward of the superior claims of the French king. Then casting out hints of the claim he had, by right of his ancestors, to the scenery of Valence and Dauphiney, he gave them to understand that if Philip would invest him with the revenues of Valence on their own, he would engage that the other town in question should be delivered to France. Notwithstanding Valial's resolution to keep awake and assist his friends in their enterprise, he was so overcome by fatigue that he fell asleep soon after supper, and so gave Devalance full opportunity to unveil his widely grasping mind to the Scottish chiefs. Wallace now saw that the execution of his project must depend wholly upon himself, and how to inform Helen that he was in the castle, and of his plan to get her out of it, hardly occupied him more than what to devise to detain Devalance in the banqueting-room, while he went forth to prosecute his design. As these thoughts absorbed him, by an unconscious movement he turned toward the English earl. Devalance paused, and looked at him, supposing he was going to speak. But finding him still silent, the earl addressed him, though with some hesitation, feeling an inexplicable awe of directly saying to him what he had so easily uttered to his more approachable companion. I seek not, illustrious stranger, said he, to inquire the name you have already intimated must be concealed, but I have sufficient faith in that brilliant circlet around your brows to be convinced, as none other than the royal hand of Philip could bestow it, that it distinguishes a man of the first honour. You now know my sentiments, Prince, and for the advantage of both kings I confide them to your services. Wallace rose. Whether I am Prince or vassal, replied he, my services shall ever be given in the cause of justice, and of that, earl Devalance, you will be convinced when you next hear of me. My friend, cried he, turning to Valleol, you will remain with our host. I go to perform the vigils of my vow. Bruce understood him. It was not merely with their host he was to remain, but to detain Devalance, and opening at once the versatile powers of his abundant mind, his vivacity charmed the earl, while the magnificence of his views in policy corroborated to Devalance the idea that he was conversing with one, whose birth had placed him beyond even the temptations of those ambitions, which were at that moment subjecting his auditors' soul to every species of flattery, meanness, and in fact, disloyalty. Bruce in his turn listened with much apparent interest to all Devalance's dreams of a grandisement, and recollecting his reputation for a love of wine, he replenished the earl's goblet so often that the fumes made him forget all reserve, and after pouring forth the whole history of his attachments to Helen, and his resolution to subdue her of whorents by love and grandeur, he gradually lowered his key, and at last fell asleep. Meanwhile Wallace wrapped himself in Balial's blue cloak, which lay in the ante-room, and enveloping even his helmet in the friendly mantle, he moved swiftly along the gallery toward the chamber of Helen. To be prepared for obstacles he had obtained from Balial a particular description of the situation of every apartment leading to it. It was now within an hour of midnight. He passed through several large vacant rooms, and at last arrived at the important door. It opened into a small chamber in which two female attendants lay asleep. He gently raised the latch, and with caution taking the lamp which burned on the table, glided softly through the curtains which filled the cedar arch that led into the apartment of Helen. He approached the bed, covering the light with his hand, while he observed her. She was in a profound sleep, but pale as the sheet which enveloped her. Her countenance seemed troubled, her brows frequently knit themselves, and she started as she dreamed, as if in apprehension. Once he heard her lips faintly murmur, Save me, my father, on you alone—there she stopped. His heart bled at this appeal. Thy father's friend comes to save thee, he would have cried, but he checked the exclamation. His hand dropped at the same instant from before the lamp, and the blaze striking full on her eyes waked her. She looked up, and she believed her dream realized, devalance leaning over the bed, and herself holy in his power. A shriek of horror was bursting from her lips, when Wallace hastily raised his visor. At the moment when despair was in her orphan heart, and her whole soul turned with abhorrence from the supposed devalance, she met the eyes of the dearest friend to her on earth, those of indeed her father's friend. Looking forth her arms, for an instant she seemed flying to the protection of him, to whose honor she had been bequeathed, but falling back again on her bed, the glad surprise of seeing him, who in her estimation was her only earthly security now that her father was no more, shook her with such emotion that Wallace feared to see her delicate frame sink into some deadly swoon. Alarmed for her life, or the accomplishment of her deliverance, he threw himself on his knees beside her, and softly whispered, Be composed, for the love of heaven and your own safety, be collected and firm, and you shall fly this place with me to-night. Hardly conscious of the action, Helen grasped the hand that held hers, and would have replied, but her voice failing she fainted on his arm. Wallace now saw no alternative but to remove her hints, even in this insensible state, and raising her gently in his arms, enveloped in the silk coverlet, with cautious steps he bore her through the curtain entrance, and passed the sleeping damsels into the enter rooms. She would meet any of devalence's men while in the situation would betray all. To avoid this he hastened through the illuminated passages, and turning into the apartment appointed for himself, laid the now reviving Helen upon a couch. Water, said she, and I shall soon be myself again. He gave her some, and at the same time laying a page's suit of clothes, which Balliol had provided beside her, dress yourself in these, Lady Helen, said he, I shall withdraw meanwhile into the passage, but your safety depends on expedition. Before she could answer he had disappeared. Helen instantly threw herself on her knees to thank a higher power for this commencement of her deliverance, and to beseech his blessing on its consummation. She rose strengthened, and obeying Wallace the moment she was equipped, she laid her hand upon the latch, but the watchful ear of her friend hurt her, and he immediately opened the door. The lamps of the gallery shone full upon the light grace of her figure, as shrinking with blushing modesty and yet eager to be with her preserver, she stood hesitating before him. He threw his cloak over her, and putting her arm through his, in the unobscured blaze of his princely armor, he descended to the lower hull of the castle. One man only was there. Wallace ordered him to open the great door. It is a fine night, said he, and I shall ride some miles before I sleep. The man asked if he were to saddle the horses. He was answered in the affirmative, and the gate being immediately unbarred. Wallace led his precious charge into the freedom of the open air. As soon as she saw the outside of those towers, which she had entered as the worst of all prisoners, her heart so overflowed with gratitude to her deliverer that, sinking by his side upon her knees, she could only grasp his hand and bathe it with the pure tears of rescued innocence. Her manner penetrated his soul, and he raised her in his arms, as she, dreading that she had perhaps done too much, convulsively articulated, my father, his blessing, was a rich endowment, Lady Helen, returned Wallace, and you shall ever find me deserving of it. Her head leaned on his breast. But how different was the lambent flame which seemed to emanate from either heart, as they now beat against each other, from the destructive fire which shot from the burning veins of Lady Mar, when she would have polluted with her unchaste lips this shrine of a beloved wife. This bosom consecrated to her sacred image. Wallace had shrunk from her, as from the touch of some hideous contagion. But with Lady Helen it was soul meeting soul. It was innocence resting on the bosom of virtue. No thought that saints would not have approved was there. No emotion, which angels might not have shared, glowed in their grateful bosoms. She, grateful to him, both grateful to God. The man brought the horses from the stable. He knew that two strangers had arrived at the castle, and not noticing Helen's stature, suppose they were both before him. He had been informed by the servants that the taller of the two was the Count de Valois, and he now held the stirrup for him to mount. But Wallace placed Helen on Bruce's horse, and then, vaulting on his own, put a piece of gold into the attendant's hand. "'You will return, noble prince,' inquired the man. "'Why should you doubt it?' answered Wallace. "'Because,' replied the servant, "'I wish the brother of the King of France to know the foul deeds which are doing in his dominions.' "'By whom?' asked Wallace, surprised at this address. "'By the Earl de Valois's prince,' answered he. "'He has now in this castle a beautiful lady whom he brought from a foreign land, and treats in a manner unbecoming a night or a man.' "'And what would you have me do?' said Wallace, willing to judge whether this applicant were honest in his appeal. "'Come in the power of your royal brother,' answered he, and demand the Lady Helen Marr of Lord de Valois. Helen, who had listened with trepidation to this dialogue, drew nearer Wallace, and whispered it in an agitated voice, "'Ah, let us hasten away.' The man was close enough to hear her. "'Ha!' cried he in a burst of doubtful joy. "'Is it so? Is she here? Say, noble knight, and Joppa Grimsby will serve you both forever.' "'Grimsby,' cried Helen, recalling his voice the moment he had declared his name. "'What? The honest English soldier? I and my preserver will indeed value so trusty a follower.' The name of Grimsby was too familiar to the memory of the Prince, too closely associated with his most cherished meditations, for him not to recognize it with melancholy pleasure. He had never seen Grimsby, but he knew him well worthy of his confidence, and ordered him, if he really desired to follow Lady Helen, to bring two more horses from the stables. When they were brought, Wallace made the joyful signal concerted with Bruce and Ballyol to sound the Scottish priest as soon as he and his fair charge were out of the castle. The happy tidings met the year of the Prince while anxiously watching the sleeping of de Valence, for fear he should awake, and leaving his room, interrupt Wallace in his enterprise. What then was his transport when the first note of the horn burst upon the silence around him? He sprung on his feet. The impetuosity of the action roused Ballyol, who had been lying all the while sound asleep in his chair. Bruce made a sign to him to be silent, and pressing his hand with energy, forgot the former Ballyol in the present, and for a moment bending his knee, kissed the hand he held. Then rising disappeared in an instant. He flew through the open gates. Wallace, perceiving him, rode out from under the shadow of the trees. The bright light of the moon shone on his sparkling crest. That was sufficient for Bruce. And Wallace, falling back again into the shade, was joined the next moment by his friend. Who this friend was, for whom her deliverer had told Helen he waited, she did not ask, for she dreaded, while so near danger to breathe a word. But she guessed that it must be Murray or Edwin. DeValence had barbarously told her that not only her father was no more, but that her uncles, the lords Bothwell and Ruthven, had both been killed in the last battle. Hence with a saddened joy, one of her two bereaved cousins she now prepared to see, and every filial recollection pressing on her heart, her tears flowed silently in abundance. As Bruce approached, his black mantle so wrapped him she could not distinguish his figure. Wallace stretched forth his hand to him in silence. He grasped it with the warm but mute congratulation of friendship, and throwed himself on his horse triumphantly, exclaimed, Now for Paris. Helen recognized none she knew in that voice, and drawing close to the white coarser of Wallace, with something like disappointment mingling with her happier thoughts, she made her horse keep pace with the fleetness of her companions. End of Chapter 63