 Chapter 46 of the Scottish Chiefs The day succeeded day in the execution of these beneficial designs. When fulfilled, the royal halls of Lottmarben did not long detain him who knew no satisfaction but when going about doing good. While he was thus employed, raising with a quickness of magic by the hands of his soldiers, the lately ruined hamlets into well-built villages, while the grey smoke curled from a thousand russet cottages which now spotted the sides of the snow-clad hills. While all the lowlands, wither so ever he directed his steps, breathed of comfort and abundance, he felt like the father of a large family, in the midst of a happy and vast home, where every eye turned on him with reverence, every lip with gratitude. He had hardly gone the circuit of these now cheerful valleys, when an embassy from England, which had first touched at Lachmarben, overtook him at the tower of Lamington. The ambassadors were Edmund, Earl of Arundel, a nobleman who had married the only sister of Dwarren, and Antony Beck, Bishop of Durham. At the moment their splendid cavalcade, escorted by a party from Sir Eustice Maxwell, entered the gate of Lamington. Wallace was in the hourly expectation of Edwin, and hearing the trampling of horses, he hastened into the courtyard, attended by Gregory's grandchildren. One was in his arms, two others held by his pled, and a third played with a sword he had unbuckled from his side. It was a clear frosty day, and the keenness of the air brightened the complexion of Wallace, while he deepened the roses of his infant companions. The leader of the Scottish escort immediately proclaimed to the ambassadors that this was the regent. At the sight of so uncourtly a sea-in, the haughty prelate of Durham drew back. "'This man will not understand his own interest,' said he, in a disdainful whisper to Lord Arundel. "'I am inclined to think his estimation of it will be beyond ours.' As the Earl made this reply, the officer of Maxwell informed Wallace of the names and errand of the illustrious strangers. At the mention of a southern, the elder children ran screaming into the house, leaving the youngest who continued on the breast of Wallace. The bishop drew near. "'We come,' Sir William Wallace cried the prelate, in a tone whose lordly pitch lowered when his surprised eye saw the princely dignity which shone over the countenance of the man whose domestic appearance, when described at a distance, had excited his contempt. "'We come from the King of England, with a message for your private ear.' "'And I hope, gallant chief,' joined Lord Arundel. "'What we have to impart will give peace to both nations, and establish in honour the most generous as well as the bravest of enemies.' Wallace bowed to the Earl's compliment. He knew by his title that he must be the brother of Dwarren, and, resigning the child into the arms of Graham, with a graceful welcome, he conducted the southern lords into the hall. Lord Arundel, looking around, said, "'Are we alone, Sir William?' "'Perfectly,' he replied, "'and I am ready to receive any proposals for peace, which the rites of Scotland will allow her to accept.' The Earl drew from his bosom a gold casket, and, laying it on a table before him, addressed the regent. "'Sir William Wallace, I come to you, not with the denunciation of an implacable liege lord whom a rash vassal has offended, but in the grace of the most generous of monarchs, anxious to convert a brave insurgent into the loyal friend. My Lord the King, having heard by letters from my brother-in-law, the Earl Dwarren, of the honourable manner with which you treated the English whom the fate of battle threw into your power, his majesty, instead of sending over from Flanders a mighty army to overwhelm this rebellious kingdom, has deputed me, even as an ambassador, to reason with the rashness he is ready to pardon. Also with this diadem continued the Earl, drawing a circle of jewels from the casket, which my brave sovereign tore off from the brows of a Saracen Prince on the ramparts of Acre. He sends the assurance of his regard for the heroic virtues of his enemy. And to these jewels he will add a more efficient crown, if Sir William Wallace will awake from this trance of false enthusiasm, and acknowledge, as he is in duty bound to do, the supremacy of England over this country. Speak but the word noblest of Scots added the Earl, and the Bishop of Durham has orders from the generous Edward immediately to anoint you King of Scotland. Had done my royal master will support you in your throne against every man who may dare to dispute your authority. At these words Wallace rose from his seat. My Lord said he, since I took up arms for injured Scotland I have been used to look into the hearts of men. I therefore estimate with every due respect the compliment which this message of your King pays to my virtues. Had he thought that I deserved the confidence of Scotland, he would not have insulted me with offering a price for my allegiance. To be even a crowned vassal of King Edward is far beneath my ambition. Take back the Saracen's diadem. It shall never dishonour the brows of him who was sworn by the cross to maintain the independence of Scotland, or to lay down his life in the struggle. Way well, brave sir, resumed the Earl, the consequences of this answer. Edward will soon be in England. He will march hither himself, not at the head of such armies as you have discomforted, but with countless legions, and when he falls upon any country in indignation the places of its cities are known no more. Better for a brave people so to perish, replied Wallace, than to exist in dishonour. What dishonour noble Scott can accrue from acknowledging the supremacy of your liege Lord, or to what can the proudest ambition in Scotland extend beyond that of possessing its throne? I am not such a slave, cried Wallace, as to prefer what men might call a grandestment before the higher destiny of preserving to my country its birthright independence. To be the guardian of her laws and of the individual right of every man born on Scottish ground is my ambition. Earl, should I perform the one duty were I to wrong the posterity of Alexander by invading their throne, and horrible would be my treason against the other, could I sell my confiding country for a name and a borbore into the grasp of you, Serpa? Brand not, with so unjust an epithet, the municent Edward, interlupted Lord Arundel, let your own noble nature be a witness of his. Put from you all the prejudice which the ill-conduct of his officers have excited, and you must perceive that in accepting his terms you will best repair your country's confidence by giving it peace. So great would be my damning sin in such an acceptance, cried Wallace, that I should be abhorred by God and man. You talk of noble minds, Earl, look into your own, and will it not tell you that in the moment a people bring themselves to put the command of their actions, and with that their consciences, into the hands of a usurper, and that Edward is one in Scotland our annals and his tyrannies declare, they sell their birthright, and become unworthy of the name of men. In that deed they abjure the gift with which God has entrusted them, and justly the angels of his host depart from them. You know the sacred axiom, virtue is better than life. By that we are commanded to preserve the one at the expense of the other, and we are ready to obey. Neither the threats nor the blandishments of Edward have power to shake the resolves of those who draw the sword of the Lord and of Gideon. Rebellious man, exclaimed Beck, who had listened impatiently and whose haughty spirit could ill-brook such towering language being directed to his sovereign. Since you dare quote scripture to sanction crime, hear my embassage. To meet the possibility of the flassigious obstinacy I came armed with the thunder of the church and the indignation of a justly incensed monarch, except his most gracious offers delivered to you by the Earl of Arundel. Here is the cross to receive your oath of fealty, cried he, stretching it forth, as if he thought his commands were irresistible. But beware! Keep it with a truer faith than did the traitor Bailiel, or expect the malediction of heaven, the exterminating vengeance of your liege-Lord. Wallace was not discomposed by this attack from the stormy pirate. "'My Lord of Durham,' replied he, with his usual tranquil air. Had your sovereign sent me such proposals as became a just king, and were possible for an honest scot to admit, he should have found me ready to have treated him with respect due to his rank and honor. But when he demands the sacrifice of my integrity, when he asked me to sign a deed that would again spread this renovated land with devastation, where I to consider the glowsing language of his embassy as grace and nobleness. I should belie my own truth, which tramples alike on his menaces and his pretended claims, and I ask you, Priest of Heaven, is he a God greater than Jehovah that I should fear him? And dost thou presume, audacious rebel, exclaimed Bick, that the light of Israel deigned to shine on a barbarian nation in arms against the hero of the cross? Reprobate that thou art, answer to thine own condemnation. Does not the church declare the claims of Edward to be just? And who dare again say her decrees? The voice of him you pretend to serve. He is no respecter of persons. He raises the poor from the dust, and by his arm the tyrant and his host are plunged into the overwhelming waves. Bishop, I know in whom I trust, is the minister greater than his Lord, that I should believe the word of a synod against the declared will of God. Neither anathema nor arm thousands shall make me acknowledge the supremacy of Edward. He may conquer the body, but the soul of a patriot he can never subdue. Then cried Bick, suddenly rising, black with color, and stretching his crozier over the head of Wallace, as the rod of Moses shed plagues, miseries, and death over the land of Egypt. I invoke the like judgments to afall on this rebellious land on its blasphemous leader, and thus I leave it my curse. This smiled as the terrific words fell from the lips of this demon in sacred guise. Lord Arundel observed him. You despise this malediction, Sir William Wallace. I thought more piety had dwelt with so much military nobleness. I should not regard the curses of a congregated world, replied Wallace, when my conscience as loudly proclaims that God is on my side. And is he not omniscient that he should be swayed by the prejudices of men? Does he not read the heart? Is he not master of all causes? And shall I shrink when I know that I hold his commission? Shall I not regard those anathemas, even as the artillery with which the adversary would drive me from my post? But did the clouds rain fire and the earth open beneath me? I would not stir, for I know who planted me here, and as long as he wills me to stand, neither men nor devils can move me hence. Thou art incorrigible, cried Beck. I would say firm rejoined Arundel, overrode by the majesty of virtue. Could I regard as he does the cause he has espoused? But as it is, noble Wallace, continued he. I must regret your infatuation, and instead of the peace I thought to leave with you, hurl war, never ending, extirpating war upon the head of this devoted nation. And as he spoke, he threw his lance, footnote, to throw a spear, was an ancient road of denouncing war, end footnote, against the opposite war, in which it stuck and stood shivering, then taking up the casket with its splendid contents he replaced it in his bosom. Beck had turned away enroth from the table, and advancing with the magisterial step to the door he threw it open, as if he thought that longer to breathe the same air with the person he had excommunicated would he infect him with his own curses. On opening the door a group of scots who waited in the anti-chamber hastened forward. At the sight of the prelate they laced their bonnets and hesitated to pass. He stood on the threshold, proudly neglectful of their respect. In the next minute Wallace appeared with Lord Arundel. Brave knights said the Earl, the addures of a man, as sensible of your private worth as he regrets the errors of your public opinion abide with you, were Edward sensible to virtue, like his brave subject, replied the Chief. I should not fear that another drop of blood need be shed in Scotland to convince him of his present injustice. Farewell, noble Earl. The generous candour of yourself and of your brother-in-law will ever live in the remembrance of William Wallace. While he yet spoke a youth broke from the group before them and rushing toward the regent, threw himself with a cry of joy at his feet. My Edwin, my brother, exclaimed Wallace, and immediately raising him, clasped him in his arms. The throng of scots who had accompanied their young leader from Stirling, now crowded about the Chief, some kneeling and kissing his garments, others ejaculating with uplifting hands, their thanks at seeing their protector in safety, and with redoubled glory. You forgive me, my master and friend! cried Edwin, forgetting in the happy agitation of his mind the presence of the English ambassadors. It was only as a master I condemned you, my brother, returned Wallace. Every proof of your affection must render you dearer to me. And had it been exerted against an offender not so totally in my power you would not have met my reprimand, but ever remember that the persons of prisoners are inviolable, for they lie on the bosom of mercy, and who that has honour would take them thence. O'Darrandal, who had lingered to observe this short but animated scene, now ventured to interrupt it. May I ask, noble Wallace said he, if this interesting youth be the brave young Ruthven, who distinguished himself at Dumbarton, and who, D'O' Warran told me, incurred a severe, though just, sentence from you, in consequence of his attack upon one whom, as a soldier, I blushed in aim. It is the same, replied Wallace. The valour and fidelity of such as he are as sinews to my arms, and bring a more grateful empire to my heart than all the crowns, which may be in the power of Edward to bestow. I have often seen the homage of the body, said the Earl. But here I see that of the soul. And were I a king, I should envy Sir William Wallace. Thy speech is that of a courtier or a traitor, suddenly exclaimed Bick, turning with a threatening brow on Lord Arrandal. Beware, Earl! For what has now been said must be repeated to the royal Edward, and he will judge whether flattery to this proud rebel be consistent with your allegiance. Every word that has been uttered in this conference I will myself deliver to King Edward, replied Lord Arrandal. He shall know the man on whom he may be forced by justice to denounce the sentence of rebellion. And when the puissance of his royal arm lays this kingdom at his feet, the virtues of Sir William Wallace may then find the clemency he now condemns. Beck did not condescend to listen to the latter part of this explanation, but proceeding to the courtyard had mounted his horse before his worthier colleague appeared from the hall. Taking a gracious leave of Sir John Graham, who attended him to the door, the Earl exclaimed, What miracle is before me? Not the mighty mover only of this wide insurrection is in the bloom of manhood, but all his generals that I have seen appear in the very mourning of youth, and you conquer our veterans by lung experience and hairs grown gray in camps and battles. And by our mourning judge what our day may be, replied Graham, and show your monarch that as surely as the night of death will in some hour close upon Prince and peasant, this land shall never again be overshadowed by his darkness. Listen not to their bold treasons, cried Beck, and setting spurs to his horse in no very clerical style he galloped out of the gates. The Earl made some courteous reply to Graham, then bowing to the rest of the Scottish officers who stood around, turned his steed, and followed by his escort, pursued the steps of the bishop along the snow-covered blanks of the Clyde. End of CHAPTER 46 The Scottish Chiefs by Miss Jane Porter CHAPTER 47 LAMINGTON When Wallace was left alone with Edwin, the happy youth, after expressing delight that Murray then held his headquarters in Bathwell Castle, took from his bosom two packets, one from Lord Maher, the other from the Countess. My dear cousin said he, as sent you many blessings, but I could not persuade her to register even one on paper, while my aunt wrote all this. Almost ever since her own recovery Helen has confined herself to my uncle's sick chamber, now totally deserted by the fair Countess, who seems to have forgotten all duties in the adulation of the audience hall, Wallace remarked on the indisposition of Maher and the attention of his daughter with tenderness. And Edwin, with the unrestrained vivacity of happy friendship, proceeded sportively to describe the regal style which the Countess had affected, and the absurd group with which she had welcomed the Earl's Badenoch and Athol to their native country. Indeed continued he, I cannot guess what vain idea has taken possession of her. But when I went to Snowdoon to receive her commands for you, I found her seated on a kind of throne, with ladies standing in her presence, and our younger chieftains thronging in the gallery, as if she were the regent himself. Helen entered for a moment, but amazed started back, never before having witnessed the mourning courts of stepmother. But Edwin did not relate to his friend, all that had passed in the succeeding conference between him and his gentle cousin. Blushing for her father's wife, Helen would have retired immediately to her own apartments, but Edwin drew her into one of Lady Maher's rooms, and, seating her beside him, began to speak of his anticipated meeting with Wallace. He held her hand in his. My dearest cousin, said he, will not this tender hand which has suffered so much for our brave friend? Write him one word of kind remembrance. Our Queen here will send him volumes. Then he would hardly have time to attend to one of mine, replied Helen with a smile. Besides he requires no new assurance to convince him that Helen Maher can never cease to remember her benefactor with the most grateful thoughts. And is this all I am to say to him, Helen? All, my Edwin. Not one word of the life you have led since he quitted sterling. Shall I not tell him that, when this lovely arm no longer wore the livery of its heroism in his behalf? Instead of your appearing at the gay assemblies of the Countess, you remained immured within your oratory? Shall I not tell him that since the sickness of my uncle you have sat days and nights by his couchside, listening to the dispatches from the Borders, subscribing with smiles and tears to his praises of our massulous regent? Shall I not tell him of the sweet maid who lives here the life of a nun for him, or must I entertain him with the pumps and vanities of my most unsanely aunt? Helen had in vain attempted to stop him, while, with an arch- glance at her mantling blushes, ye half whispered these insidious questions. Ah, my sweet cousin, there is something more at the bottom of that beating heart than you will allow your faithful Edwin to beep into. Helen's heart did beat violently, both before and after this remark. But conscious, whatever might be there, of the determined purpose of her soul, she turned on him a steady look. Edwin said she, there is nothing in my heart that you may not see, that it reveres Sir William Wallace beyond all other men I do not deny, but class not my deep veneration with a sentiment which may be gested on. He has spoken to me the language of friendship. You know what it is to be his friend, and having tasted of heaven I cannot stoop to earth. What pleasure can I find in pageants? What interest in the admiration of men? Is not his esteem of a value that puts to nought the homages of all else in the world? Do me then justice, my Edwin. Believe me, I am no gloomy, no sighing recluse. I am happy with my thoughts and thrice happy at the side of my father's couch. For there I meet at the image of the most exemplary of human beings, and there I perform the duties of a child to a parent, deserving all my love and honour. Ah, Helen, Helen, cried Edwin, dare I speak the wish of my heart, but you and Sir William Wallace would frown on me, and I may not. Then never utter it, exclaimed Helen, turning pale and trembling from head to foot. Too well guessing, by the generous glow in his countenance, what would have been that wish? At that instant the door opened, and Lady Marl appeared. Both rose at her entrance. She bowed her head colder to Helen. To Edwin she graciously extended her hand. Why, my dear nephew, did you not come into the audience hall? Edwin answered, smiling, that as he did not know the governor of Sterling's Lady lived in the state of Aquian, he hoped he should be excused for mistaking lords and ladies in waiting for me, and for that reason having retired till he could bid her adieu in a less public scene. Lady Marl, with much stateliness, replied, Perhaps it is necessary to remind you, Edwin, that I am more than Lord Marl's wife. I am not only heiress to the sovereignty of the Northern Isles, but like Bararach, I am of the blood of the Scottish kings. To conceal an irrepressible laugh at this proud folly in a woman, otherwise of shrewd understanding, Edwin turned toward the window. But not before the Countess had observed the ridicule which played on his lips, vexed but afraid to reprimand one who might so soon resent it, by speaking of her disparagingly to Wallace, shun burdened the swelling of her anger upon the unoffending Helen. Not doubting that she felt as Edwin did, and fancing that she saw the same expression in her countenance. Lady Helen, cried she, I request an explanation of that look of derision which I now see on your face. I wish to know whether the intoxication of your vanity dare impel you to despise claims which may one day be established to your confusion. This attack surprised Helen, who, absorbed in other meditations, had scarcely heard her mother's words to Edwin. I neither deride you, Lady Ma, nor despise the claims of your kinsmen baronoch. But since you have condescended to speak to me on the subject, I must out of respect yourself and duty to my father frankly say that the assumption of honours not legally in your possession may excite ridicule on him and even trouble to our cause. But at the just reasoning of this reply, and at being misapprehended, with regard to the object with whom she hoped to share all the reflected splendours of a throne, Lady Ma answered rather inconsiderately, Your father is an old man, and has outlived every noble emulation. He neither understands my actions, nor shall he control them. Like dumb by this unexpected declaration, Helen suffered her to proceed, and asked the Lord baronoch, giving me the rank to which my birth entitled me. That is a fully stream. I look to a greater hand. What inquired Edwin with a playful bow? Does my highness aunt expect my uncle to die, and that Bruce will come hither to lay the crown of Scotland at her feet? I expect nothing of Bruce nor of your uncle return she, with a haughty rear-ring of her head, but I look for respect from the daughter of Lord Ma, and from the friend of Sir William Wallace. She rose from her chair, and presenting Edwin with a packet for Wallace, told Helen she might retire to her own room. To my father's I will, madam, return she. Lady Ma collided this reproof, and, turning to Edwin, more gently said, You know that the dignity of his situation must be maintained, and while others attend his couch, I must his reputation. I have often heard that, fame is better than life, replied Edwin, still smiling, and I thank Lady Ma for showing me how differently people may translate the same lesson. A jeer dear Helen, said he, touching her mantling cheek with his lips. Farewell, return she, may good angels guard you. The substance of the latter part of this sea, and Edwin did relate to Wallace. He smiled at the vain follies of the Countess, and broke the seal of her letter. It was in the same style with her conversation. At one moment declaring herself his disinterested friend, in the next, uttering wild professions of never-ending attachment. She deplored the sacrifice which had been made of her when quite a child to the doting passion of Lord Ma, and complained of his want of sympathy with any of her feelings. Then picturing the happiness which must result from the reciprocal love of congenial hearts, she ventured to show how truly hers would unite with Wallace's. The conclusion of this strange epistle told him that the devoted gratitude of all her relations of the House of Common was ready, at any moment, to relinquish their claims on the Crown, to place it on Browse so worthy to wear it. The words of this letter were so artfully and so persuasively penned that had not Edwin described the inebriated vanity of Lady Ma. Wallace might have believed that she was ambitious only for him, and that could she share his heart, his throne could be a secondary object. To establish this deception in his mind, she added, I live here as at the head of a court, and fools around me think I take pleasure in it. But did they look into my actions? They would see that I serve while I seem to reign. I am working in the hearts of men for your advancement. But whether this were her real motive or not, it was the same to Wallace. He felt that she would always be, were she even free, not merely the last object in his thoughts but the first in his aversion. Therefore, hastily running over her letter, he recurred to a second perusal of Lord Ma's. In this he found satisfactory details of the success of his dispositions. Lord Loughore had possessed himself of the western coast of Scotland from the Mullafkin Tire to the furthest mountains of Glenmore. There the victorious Lord Rothven had met him, having completed the recovery of the Highlands by a range of conquests from the Spay to the Muddy Firth and in Venetia. Lord Bothwell also, as his colleague, had brought from the shore of Ross and the hills of Caithness every southern banner which had disgraced their embattled towers. Graham was sent for by Wallace to hear these pleasant tidings. Ah! cried Edward in triumph. Not a spot north of the forth now remains that does not acknowledge the supremacy of the Scottish Lion. Nor south of it either returned Graham, from the Mullaf galloway to my growl and father's government on the tweed, from the cheviots to the northern ocean, all now is our own. The door is locked against England, and Scotland must prove unfaithful to herself before the Southerns can again set feet on her borders. The more private accounts were not less gratifying to Wallace, for he found that his plans for disciplining and bringing the people into order were everywhere adopted, and that in consequence alarm and penury had given way to peace and abundance. To witness the success of his comprehensive designs, and to settle a dispute between Lord Rothven and the Earl of Athol, relative to the government of Perth, Lord Mars strungly urged him, since he had driven the enemy so many hundred miles into their own country to repair immediately to the scene of controversy, go, added the Earl, through the Lothians, and across the Queen's Ferry, directly into Perthshire. I would not have you come to sterling, lest it should be supposed that you are influenced in your judgment either by myself or my wife, but I think there cannot be a question that Lord Rothven's services to the great cause invest him with a claim which his opponent does not possess. Lord Athol has none beyond that of superior rank, but being the near relation of my wife, I believe she is anxious for his elevation. Therefore come not near us, if you would avoid female importunity, and spare me the pain of hearing what I must condemn. Lest now recollected a passage in Lady Mars' letter which, though not speaking out, insinuated how she expected he would decide. She said, as your interest is mine, my noble friend, all that belongs to me is yours. My kindred are not withheld in the gift my devoted heart bestows on you. Use them as your own. Make them bulwarks around your power, the creatures of your will, the instruments of your benevolence, the defenders of your rights. Well pleased to avoid another encounter with this lady's love and ambition, Wallace sent off the substance of these dispatches to Murray, and next morning, taking a tender leave of the venerable Gregory and his family, with Edwin and Sir John Graham, he set off for the first of fourth. End of Chapter forty-seven. It was on the eve of St. Nicholas that the boat which contained Wallace drew near to the coast of Fife. A little off the right towered the tremendous precipice of Kinghorn. Behold, Edwin, said he, the cause of all our woe. From those horrible cliffs fell the best of kings, the good Alexander. My father accompanied him in that fatal ride, and was one of the unhappy group who had the evil hap to find his mangled body among the rocks below. I have heard, observed Graham, that the sage of Ursuldam prophesied this dreadful calamity to Scotland. He did prognosticate, replied Wallace, that on the eighteenth of April a storm should burst over this land which would lay the country in ruins. Fear seized the farmers, but his prophecy regarded a nobler object than their harvests. The day came, rose unclouded, and continued perfectly serene. Lord March, to whom the seer had presaged the event, at noon reproached him with the unlikeliness of its completion. But even at the moment he was ridiculing the sage, a man on a foaming steed arrived at the gate, with tidings that the king had accidentally fallen from the precipice of Kinghorn and was killed. This, said the Lord of Ursuldam, is the scathing wind and dreadful tempest which shall long below calamity in trouble on the realm of Scotland. And surely his words have been verified for still the storm rages around our borders, and will not cease, I fear, till the present dragon of England be laid as low as our noble lion was by that mysterious blast. Alexander III was killed in this manner on the 18th of April, 1290, just seven years before the consequent calamities of his country made it necessary for Wallace to rise in its defense. The like discourse held the friends till they landed at Rosyth Castle, where they lodged for the night, and next morning, recommending their journey at daybreak, they crossed the low ones under a wintery sun, and entered Perth in the midst of a snowstorm. The regents' arrivals soon spread throughout the province, and the Hall of the Castle was speedily crowded with chieftains come to pay their respects to their benefactor, while an army of grateful peasantry from the hills filled the suburbs of the town, begging for one glance only of their beloved Lord. To oblige them, Wallace mounted his horse, and between the Lord's rythven and athel, with his bonnet off, rode from the castle to the populace-covered plain, which lay to the west of the city. He gratified their affectionate eagerness by this condescension, and received in return the sincere homage of a thousand grateful hearts. The snow-topped grampians echoed with the proud acclamations of our deliverer, our prince, the champion of Scotland, the glorious William Wallace, and the shores of the Tay resounded with similar rejoicings at sight of him who made the Scottish seamen lords of the northern ocean. Rythven beheld this eloquence of nature with sympathetic feelings. His just sense of the unequaled merits of the regent had long internally acknowledged him as his sovereign, and he smiled with approbation at every breathing amongst the people, which intimated what would at last be their general shout. Wallace had proved himself not only a warrior but a legislator. In the midst of war he had planted the fruits of peace, and now the olive and the vine waved abundant on every hill. Different were the thoughts of the gloomy athel as he rode by the side of the regent. Could he have, by a look, blasted those valiant arms, have palsied that youthful head, whose judgment shamed the whorriest temples? Gladly would he have made Scotland the sacrifice so that he might never again find himself in the triumphant train of one whom he deemed a boy and an upstart. Thus did he muse, and thus did Enby open away into his soul for those demons to enter, which were so soon to possess it with the fellest designs. The issue of Rythven's claims did not lessen Lord Athel's hatred of the regent. Wallace simply stated the case to him, only changing the situations of the opponents. He supposed Athel to be in the place of Rythven, and then asked the frowning earl if Rythven had demanded a government which Athel had bravely won and nobly secured, whether he should deem it just to be sentenced to relinquish it into the hands of his rival. By this question he was forced to decide against himself. But while Wallace had generously hoped that, by having made him his own judge, he had found an expedient both to soften the pain of disappointment and to lessen the humiliation of defeat, he had only redoubled the hatred of Athel, who thought he had thus been cajoled out of even the privilege of complaint. He, however, affected to be reconciled to the issue of the affair, and taking a friendly leave of the regent, retired to Blair. And there, amongst the numerous fortresses which owned his power, amongst the stupendous strongholds of nature, the cloud-invested mountains and the labyrinthine widening of his locks and ruins, he determined to pass his days and nights in devising the sure fall of this proud usurper, for so the bitterness of an envy he durst not yet breathe to any impelled him internally to designate the unpretending Wallace. Meanwhile, the unconscious object of this hatred, oppressed by the overwhelming crowds constantly assembling at Perth to do him homage, retired to Hunting Tower, a castle of Lord Rythven's at some distance from the town. Existed from the throng, he there arranged, with the chiefs of several clans, matters of consequence to the internal repose of the country, but receiving applications for similar regulations from the counties further north, he decided on going thither himself. Severe as the weather was at that season he bade adjude to the warm hospitalities of Hunting Tower, and accompanied by Graham and his young friend Edwin, with a small but faithful train he commenced a journey which he intended should comprehend the circuit of the Highlands. With the chieftain of almost every castle in his progress he passed a day, and according to the interest which the situation of the surrounding peasantry created in his mind he lengthened his sojourn. Everywhere he was welcomed with enthusiasm, and his glad eye beheld the festivities of Christmas with a delight which were called past emotions, till they wrung his heart. The last day of the old year he spent with Lord Locke-Awe in Kilkern Castle, and after a bounteous feast in which Lord and Vassal joined, sat up the night to hail the coming of the new season. Wallace had passed that hour twelve months ago, alone with his Marion. They sat together in the window of the eastern tower of Ellersley, and while he listened to the cheerful lils to which their servants were dancing, the hand of his lovely bride was clasped in his. Marion smiled and talked of the happiness which should await them in the year to come. I, my beloved, answered he, more than thy beautyous self will then fill these happy arms. Thy babe, my wife, will then be at thy bosom to bless with a parent's joys thy grateful husband. That time was now come round, and where was Marion, cold in the grave? Where that smiling babe, a murderer's steel had reached it ere it saw the light. Wallace groaned at these recollections. He struck his hand forcibly on his bursting heart and fled from the room. The noise of the harps, the laughing of the dancers, prevented his emotions from being observed, and rushing far from the joyous tumult till its sounds died in the breeze, or were only brought to his ear by fitful gusts, he speeded along the margin of the lake, as if he would have flown even from himself. But memory, wracking memory, followed him. Throwing himself on a bank, over which the ice hung in pointed masses, he felt not the roughness of the ground, for all within him was disturbed and at war. Why, cried he, oh, why was I selected for this cruel sacrifice? Why was this heart, to whom the acclaim of multitudes could bring no selfish joy? Why was it to be bereft of all that ever made it beat with transport? Companion of my days, partner of my soul, my lost, lost Marion. And are thine eyes for ever closed on me? Shall I never more clasp that hand which ever thrilled my frame with every sense of rapture? Gone, gone forever, and I am alone. Long and agonizing was the pause which succeeded to this fearful tempest of feeling. In that hour of grief, renewed in all its former violence, he forgot country, friends, and all on earth. The recollection of his fame was mockery to him, for where was she to whom the sound of his praises would have given so much joy? Ah! said he, it was indeed happiness to be brightened in those eyes, In the gratitude of our poor retainer's methine ear, how thou didst lay thy soft cheek to mine, and shoot its gentle warmth into my heart? At that moment he turned his face on the jellied bank, starting with wild horror he exclaimed, Is it now so cold? My Marion, my murdered wife! And rushing from the spot, he again hastened along the margin of the lock. But there he still heard the distant sound of the pipes from the castle. He could not bear their gay notes, and darting up the hill which overhung Locca's domain, he ascended, with swift and reckless steps, the rocky sides of Ben Caracan. Full of distracting thoughts, and impelled by a wild despair, he hurried from steep to steep, and was rapidly descending the western side of the mountain, regardless of the piercing sleet, when his course was suddenly checked by coming with a violent shock against another human being, who running hastily through the storm had driven impetuously against Wallace, but being the weaker of the two was struck to the ground. The accident rallied the scattered senses of the chief. He now felt that he was out in the midst of a furious winter tempest, had wandered he knew not wither, and probably had materially injured some poor traveller by his intemperate motion. He raised the fallen man, and asked whether he were hurt. The traveller, perceiving by the kind tone of the inquirer that no harm had been intended, answered, Not much, only a little lane, and all the recompense I asked for this unlucky upset is to give me a helping hand to my father's cot, it is just by. I have been out at a neighbor's to dance in the New Year with a bonny lass, who, however, may not thank you for my broken shins. As the honest lad went on telling his tale, with a great many particulars, dear to his simple wishes, Wallace helped him along, and carefully conducted him through the gathering snow, descended the declivity which led to the shepherd's cottage. When within a few yards of it Wallace heard the sound of singing, but it was not the gay caroling of mirth, the solemn chant of a more serious music mingled with a roaring blast. I am not yet too late, cried the communicative lad, I should not have run so fast had I not wanted to get home in time to make one in the New Year's hymn. They had now arrived at the little door, and the youth, without the ceremony of knocking, opened the latch. As he did so he turned and said to his companion, We have no occasion for bolts, since the brave Lord Wallace has cleared the country of our southern robbers. He pushed the door as he spoke, and displayed to the eyes of the chief a venerable old man on his knees before a crucifix. Around him knelt a family of young people with an aged dame, all joining in the sacred Thanksgiving. The youth, without a word, dropped on his knees near the door, and making a sign to his companion to do the same, Wallace obeyed, and as the anthems rose in succession on the ear, to which the low breathing of the lightly touched harp echoed its heavenly strains, he felt the tumult of his bosom gradually subside, and when the venerable sire had laid down the instrument and clashed his hands in prayer, the natural pathos of his invocations and the grateful devotions with which the young people gave their response all tended to tranquilize his mind into a holy calm. At the termination of the concluding prayer, how sweet were the emotions of Wallace when he heard these words, uttered with augmented fervor by the aged petitioner. While we thus thank thee, O gracious God, for the mercies bestowed upon us, we humbly implore thee to hold in thine almighty protection him by whose arm thou hast wrought the deliverance of Scotland. Let our preserver be saved from his sins by the blood of Christ. Let our benefactor be blessed in mind, body, and estate, and all prosper with him that he takes in hand. May the good he has dispensed to his country be returned fourfold into his bosom, and may he live to see a race of his own reaping the harvest of his virtues, and adding fresh honors to the stalwart name of Wallace. Every mouth echoed a fervent amen to this prayer, and Wallace himself inwardly breathed, and have I not even now sinned, all gracious God, in the distraction of this night's remembrance? I mourned, I would not be comforted, but in thy mercy thou hast led me hither to see the happy fruits of my labors, and I am resigned and thankful. The sacred rites over, two girls ran to the other side of the room, and between them brought forward a rough table covered with dishes and bread. While the mother, taking off a large pot, emptied its smoking contents into the different vessels. Meanwhile, the young man, introducing the stranger to his father, related the accident of the meeting, and the good old shepherd, bidding him a hearty welcome, desired him to draw near the fire and partake of their new year's breakfast. We need the fire, I assure you, cried the lad, for we are dripping. Wallace now advanced from the shadowed part of the room, where he had knelt, and drawing toward the light, certainly displayed to his host the truth of his son's observation. He had left the castle without his bonnet, and, hurrying on, regardless of the whelming storm, his hair became saturated with wet, and now streamed in water over his shoulders. The good old wife, seeing the stranger's situation was worse than her son's, snatched away the bottle out of which he was swallowing a heavy cordial, and poured it over the exposed head of her guest. Then ordering one of her daughters to rub it dry, she took off his plaid and, ringing it, hung it to the fire. During these various operations, for the whole family seemed eager to show their hospitality, the old man discovered, not so much by the costliness of his garments as by the noble mean and gentle manners of the stranger, that he was some chieftain from the castle. Your honour, said he, must pardon the uncourtliness of our ways, but we give you the best we have, and the worthy Lord Lak'ah cannot do more. Wallace gave smiling answers to all their remarks, and offers of service. He partook of their broth, praised the good wife's cakes, and sat discoursing with the family with all the gaiety and frankness of one of themselves. His unreserved manners opened every heart around him, and with confidential freedom the venerable shepherd related his domestic history, dwelling particularly on the projected marriages of his children, which he said, should now take place since the good Sir William Wallace had brought peace to the land. Wallace gratified the worthy farmer, he appearing to take an interest in all his narratives, and then allowing the happy spirits of the young people to break in upon these graver discussions he smiled with them, or looked serious with the garrulous matron, who turned the discourse to tales of other times. He listened with complacency to every legend of witch, fairy, and ghost, and his enlightened remarks sometimes pointed out natural causes for the extraordinary appearances she described. Or, at better attested and less equivocal accounts of supernatural apparitions, he acknowledged that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in philosophy. Morning dawned before the tranquilized, nay, happy Wallace, happy in the cheerful innocence of the scene, discovered that the night was past. As the gray light gleamed through the wooden shutters he arose. My friends, I must leave you, said he. There are those not far off who may be alarmed at my disappearance, for none knew when I walked abroad, and unwittingly I have been charmed all these hours to remain, enjoying the happiness of your circle, forgetful of the anxiety I have perhaps occasioned in my own. The old man declared his intention of seeing him over the hill. Wallace declined giving him that trouble, saying that as it was daylight and the snow had ceased he could easily retrace his steps to the castle. No, no, returned the shepherd, and besides, said he, as I hear the good Lord Regent is keeping the New Year with our noble Earl, who knows but that I may get a glimpse of his noble countenance, and that will be a sight to tell of till I die. God's blessing on this sweet face, cried the old woman, but I would give all the yarn in my muckled chest to catch one a look of his lucky eye. I warrant you which Norfairy could never harm me more. Ah, Father! cried the eldest of the girls, blushing. If you go near enough to him, do you know, Maggie Grant told me, if I could but get even the least bit of Sir William Wallace's hair, and give it to Donald Cameron to wear in a true lover's no one his breast, no southern will be able to do him harm as long as he lives. And do you believe it would protect your lover, my pretty genie, inquired Wallace with a sweet smile? Surely, she replied, for Maggie is a wise woman, and has the second sight. Well, then, returned he, you shall be gratified, for though I must once contradict the testimony of a wise woman, and tell you that nothing can render a man absolutely safe but the protection of heaven, yet if a hair from the head of Sir William Wallace should please you, and a glance from his eye gratify your mother, both shall be satisfied. And lifting up the old woman's shears, which lay on a working stool before him, he cut off a golden lock from the middle of his head, and put it into the hand of genie. At this action, which was performed with such noble grace that not one of the family now doubted who had been their guest, the good day fell on her knees, and genie, with a cry of joy, putting the beautiful lock into her bosom, followed the example, and in a moment all were clinging around him. The old man grasped his hand. Bravest of men, cried he, the Lord has indeed blessed this house, since he has honoured it with the presence of the Deliverer of Scotland. My prayers and the benedictions of all good men, friend or foe, must ever follow your footsteps. Brothers of pleasure started into the eyes of Wallace. He raised the family one by one from the ground, and putting his purse into the hand of the dame. There, my kind hostess, he said he, let that fill the chest of your daughters on their bridal day. They must receive it as a brother's portion to his sisters, for it is with fraternal affection that William Wallace regards the sons and daughters of Scotland. The happy sobs of the old woman stopped the expressions of her gratitude, but her son, fearing his freedom of the night before might have offended, stood abashed at a distance. Wallace stretched out his hand to him. My good Archibald, cried he, do not hold back from one who will always be your friend. I shall send from the castle this day sufficient to fill your bridal coffers also. Archibald now petitioned to be allowed to follow him in his army. No, my brave youth, replied the chief, Lord Locke-All will lead you forth, whenever there is occasion. And meanwhile your duty is to imitate the domestic duties of your worthy father. Take the neighboring valley, smile with the fruits of your industry, and raise a family to bless you, as you now bless him. Wallace, having wrapped himself in his plaid, now withdrew amidst the benedictions of the whole group, and swiftly recrossing the mountain heights, was soon on the western brow of Ben-Kurrachan. In ten minutes afterward he entered the hall of Kilkern Castle. A few servants only were a stirrer. The rest of the family were still asleep. About an hour after their friend's departure the Earl and Graham had missed him. But supposing that, whithersoever he was gone he would soon return, they made no inquiries. And when the tempest began, on Edwin expressing his anxiety to know where he was, one of the servants said he was gone to his chamber. This answer satisfied everyone, and they continued to enjoy the festal scene until the Countess of Locke-All made the signal for repose. Next morning, when the family met at the breakfast board, they were not a little surprised to hear Wallace recount the adventure of the night. And while Locke-All promised every kindness to the shepherd, and the messenger was dispatched with the purse to Archibald, Edwin learned from the Earl's servant that his reason for supposing the regent was gone to his room arose from the side of his bonnet in the outer hall. Wallace was glad that such an evidence had prevented his friends being alarmed, and retiring with Lord Locke-All, with his usual equanimity of mind, resumed the graver errand of his tour. The hospitable rites of the season being over, in the course of a few days the Earl accompanied his illustrious guest to make the circuit of Argelshire. At Castle Urgehart they parted, and Wallace, proceeding with his two friends, performed his legislative visits from sea to sea. Having traversed with perfect satisfaction the whole of the northern part of the kingdom, he returned to Hunting Tower on the very morning that a messenger had reached it from Murray. That vigilant chieftain informed the regent of King Edward's arrival from Flanders, and that he was preparing a large army to march into Scotland. We must meet him, cried Wallace, on his own shores, and so let the horrors attending the seat of war full on the country whose king would bring desolation to ours. CHAPTER XIX The gathering word was dispatched from chief to chief, to call the clans of the Highlands to meet their regent by a certain day in Clydesdale. Wallace himself set forth to summon the strength of the Lowlands, but at King Clavin Castle, on the coast of Fife, he was surprised with another embassy from Edward, a herald, accompanied by that Sir Hugh de la Spencer who had conducted himself so insolently on his first embrassage. On his entering the chamber where the regent sat with the chiefs who had accompanied him from Perthshire, the two Englishmen walked forward, but before the herald could pay the customary respects, Sir Hugh de la Spencer advanced to Wallace, and to the price of a little mind, elated at being empowered to insult with impunity he broke forth. Sir William Wallace, the contumely with which the ambassadors of Prince Edward were treated, is so resented by the King of England that he invests his own majesty in my person to tell you, that your treasons have filled up their measure, that now in the plenitude of his continental victories he descends upon Scotland to annihilate this rebellious nation and— Stop, Sir Hugh de la Spencer, cried the herald, touching him with his scepter. Whatever may be the denunciations with which our sovereign has entrusted you, you must allow me to perform my duty before you declare them, and thus I utter the gracious message with which his majesty has honoured my mouth. He then addressed Wallace, and in the King's name, accusing him of rebellion and of unfair and cruel devastations made in Scotland and in England, promised him pardon for all if he would immediately disband his followers and acknowledge his offense. Wallace motioned with his hand for his friends to keep silence, for he perceived that two or three of the most violent were ready to break forth in fierce defiance of King Edward, and, being obeyed, he calmly replied to the herald, when we were desolate, your King came to us as a comforter, and he put us in chains. While he was absent I invaded his country as an open enemy. I rifled your barns, but it was to feed a people whom his robberies had left to perish. I marched through your lands, I made your soldiers fly before me. But what spot in all your shores have I made black with the smoke of ruin? I leave the people of Northumberland to judge between me and your monarch, and that he never shall be mine or Scotland's, with God's blessing on the right, our deeds shall further prove. Vain and ruinous determination exclaimed Dullespencer, King Edward comes against you with an army that will reach from sea to sea. Wherever the hooves of his war-horse strike, their grass never grows again. The sword and the fire shall make a desert of this devoted land, and your arrogant head, proud scot, shall bleed upon the scaffold. He shall first see my fires and meet my sword in his own fields, returned Wallace, and if God continues my life I will keep my Easter in England, in despite of King Edward, and of all who bear armour in his country. As he spoke he rose from his chair, and bowing his head to the herald, the Scottish marshals conducted the ambassadors from his presence. Dullespencer twice attempted to speak, but the marshals would not allow him. They said that the business of the Embassy was now over, and should he presume further to insult their regent, the privilege of his official characters should not protect him from the wrath of the Scots. Intimidated by the frowning brows and nervous arms of all around he held his peace, and the doors were shut on him. Wallace foresaw the heavy tempest to Scotland threatened by these repeated embassies. He perceived that Edward, by sending overtures which he knew could not be accepted, by making a show of Pacific intentions, meant to throw the blame of the continuation of hostilities upon the Scots, and so overcome the reluctance of his more equitable nobility, to further persecute a people whom he had made to suffer so unjustly. The same insidious policy was likewise meant to change the aspect of the Scottish cause in the eyes of Philip of France, who had lately sent congratulations to the regent on the victory of Cambus Kenneth, and by that means deprive him of a powerful ally and zealous negotiator for an honourable peace. To prevent this last injury, Wallace dispatched a quick sailing vessel with Sir Alexander Ramsay to inform King Philip of the particulars of Edward's proposals and of the consequent continued warfare. On the 28th of February Sir William Wallace joined Lord Andrew Murray, emboth one more, where he had the happiness of seeing his brave friend again Lord of the Domains he had so lately lost in the Scottish cause. Wallace did not visit the castle. At such a crisis he forebored to unnerve his mind by awakening the griefs which lay slumbering at the bottom of his heart. Halbert came from his convent once more to look upon the face of his beloved master. The meeting cost Wallace many agonising pangs, but he smiled on his faithful servant. He pressed the venerable form in his manly arms and promised him news of his life and safety. May I die, cried the old man, ere I hear it is otherwise. But youth is no warrant for life. The vigor of those arms cannot always assure themselves a victory, and should you fall, where would be our country? With a better than I, returned the chief, in the arms of God. He will fight for Scotland when Wallace is laid low. Halbert wept. But the trumpet sounded for the field. He blessed his Lord, and they parted for ever. A strong force from the Highlands joined the troops from Stirling, and Wallace had the satisfaction of seeing before him thirty thousand well-appointed men eager for the fight. With all Scotland pressing on his heart, his eye lingered for a moment on the distant towers of Bothwell. But not delaying a moment, he placed himself at the head of his legions, and set forth through a country now budding with all the charms of the cultivation he had spread over it. In the midst of a fine glen of renovated cornfields he was met by a courier from Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, with information that the Northumbrians, being apprised of King Edward's approach, were assembling in immense bodies, and having crossed the debatable land in the night, had driven Sir Eustace Maxwell, with great loss, into Carlyverac, and though harassed by Kirkpatrick himself, were ravaging the country as far as Dumfries. The letter of the brave knight added, These southern thieves blow the name of Edward before them, and with its sound have spellbound the courage of every soul I meet. Come, then, valiant Wallace, and conjure it down again, else I shall not be surprised if the men of Anondale bind me hand and foot, and deliver me up to Algernon Percy, the leader of this in-road, to purchase mercy to their cowardice. Wallace made no reply to this message, and proclaiming to his men that the enemy were in Dumfriesshire, every foot was put to speed, and in a short time they arrived on the ridgy summits of the eastern mountains of Clydesdale. His troops halted for a rest near the village of Biggar, and at being night he ascended to the top of the highest crag, and lighted a fire, whose far-streaming light he hoped would send the news of his approach to Anondale. The air being calm and clear, the signal rose in such a long pyramid of flame, that distant shouts of rejoicing were heard breaking the deep silence of the hour. A moment after a hundred answering beacons burned along the horizon, Westerald saw the propitious blaze, he showed it to his terrified followers. Behold, that hill of fire, cried he, and ceased to despair. Wallace comes, was their response, and we will do or die. The mountain from which this beacon sent its rays has from that hour been called Tinto, or Tintok, which signifies the hill of fire, and is yet regarded by the country people with a devotion almost idolatrous. Its height is about two thousand two hundred and sixty feet from the sea. Day broke upon Wallace as he crossed the heights of Demlarig, and pouring his thousands over the almost deserted valleys of Anondale, like a torrent he swept the invaders back upon their steps. He took young Percy prisoner, and leaving him shut up in Luckmobbin, drove his flying vassals far beyond the borders. Anondale again free, he went into its various quarters, and summoning the people who now crept from their caves and woods to shelter under his shield. He reproved them for their cowardice, and showed them that unless every man possesses a courage equal to his general, he must expect to fall under the yoke of the enemy. Faith in a leader is good, said he, but not such a faith as leaves him to act without yourselves rendering that assistance to your own preservation, which heaven itself commands. When absent from you in person I left my spirit with you in the brave knights of Carlaverac and Tortharald, and yet you fled. Had I been here, and you done the same, the like must have been the consequence. What think you is in my arm that I should alone stem your enemies? The expectation is extravagant and false. I am but the head of the battle, you are the arms. If you shrink, I fall, and the cause is ruined. You follow my call to the field, you fight valiantly, and I win the day. Respect then yourselves, and believe that you are the sinews, the nerves, the strength of Sir William Wallace. Some looked up manfully at this exhortation, but most hung their heads in remembered shame, while he continued, dishonor not your fathers and your trust in God, by relying on any one human arm, or doubting that from heaven. Be confident that while the standard of true liberty is before you, you fight under God's banner. See how I, in that faith, drove those conquering Northumbrians before me like frided rose. You might and must do the same, or the sword of Wallace is drawn in vain. Partake my spirit, brethren of Annandale, fight astoundly over my grave as by my side, or before the year expires you will again be the slaves of Edward. Such language, while it covered the fugitives with confusion of face, awoke emulation in all to a face with honorable deeds the memory of their disgrace. With augmented forces he therefore marched into Cumberland, and having drawn up his array between a river and a high ground, which he covered with archers, he stood prepared to meet the approach of King Edward. But Edward did not appear till late in the next day, and then the Scots described his legions advancing from the horizon to pitch their vanguard on the plain of Stanmore. Wallace knew that for the first time he was now going to pit his soldiership against that of the greatest general in Christendom, but he did not shrink from measuring him arm to arm and mind to mind, for the assurance of his cause was in both. His present aim was to draw the English toward the Scottish lines, where at certain distances he had dug deep pits, and having covered them lightly with twigs and loose grass left them as traps for the southern cavalry. For in cavalry he was told by his spies would consist the chief strength of Edward's army. The waste in which Wallace had laid the adjoining counties rendered the provisioning of so large a host difficult, and besides, as it was composed of a mixed multitude from every land on which the King of England had set his invading foot, harmony could not be expected to continue amongst its leaders. Delay was therefore an advantage to the Scottish regent, and observing that his enemy held back, as if he wished to draw him from his position, he determined not to stir, although he might seem to be struck with awe of so great an adversary. To this end he offered him peace, hoping either to obtain what he asked, which he did not deem probable, or by filling Edward with an idea of his fear, urge him to precipitate himself forward, to avoid the danger of a prolonged sojourn in sobering a country, and to take Wallace as he might think in his panic. Instructing his heralds what to say, he sent them on to Roycross, near which the tent of the King of England was pitched. Supposing that his enemy was now at his feet, and ready to beg the terms he had before objected, Edward admitted the ambassadors, and had them deliver their message. Without further parley the herald spoke. Thus sayeth Sir William Wallace, were it not that the kings and nobles of the realm of Scotland have ever asked redress of injuries before they sought revenge, you, King of England, and invader of our country, should not now behold orators in your camp, persuading Concord, but an army in battle array advancing to the onset. Our Lord Regent being of the ancient opinion of his renowned predecessors, that the greatest victories are never of such advantage to a conqueror as an honourable and bloodless peace, sends to offer this peace to you at the price of restitution. The lives you have rifled from us you cannot restore, but the noble Lord Douglas, whom you now unjustly detain a prisoner, we demand, and that you retract those claims on our monarchy, which never had existence till ambition begot them on the basis treachery. Grant these just requisitions, and we lay down our arms, but continue to deny them, and our nation is ready to rise to a man, and with heart and hand avenge the injuries we have sustained. You have wasted our lands, burned our towns, and imprisoned our nobility. Without consideration of age or condition, women, children, and feeble old men have unresisting fallen by your sword. And why was all this? Did our confidence in your honour offend you that you put our chieftains in endurance, and deprived our yeomanry of their lives? Did the benedictions with which our prelates hailed you as the arbitrator between our princes raise your ire that you burned their churches and slew them on the altars? These, O king, were thy deeds, and for these William Wallace is in arms. But yield us the peace, we ask, withdraw from our quarters, relinquish your unjust pretensions, and we shall once more consider Edward of England as the kinsman of Alexander III, and his subjects the friends and allies of our realm. Not in the least moved by this address Edward contemptuously answered, intoxicated by a transitory success your leader is vain enough to suppose that he can discomfort the king of England, as he has done his unworthy officers by fierce and insolent words. But we are not so weak as to be overthrown by a breath, nor so base as to bear argument from a rebel. I come to claim my own, to assert my supremacy over Scotland, and it shall acknowledge its liege, Lord, or be left a desert, without a living creature to say, This was a kingdom. Depart! This is my answer to you. Your leader shall receive his at the point of my lands. Wallace, who did not expect a more favourable reply, ere his ambassadors returned, had marshaled his lines for the onset. Lord Bothwell, with Murray, his valiant son, took the lead on the left wing. Sir Eustace Maxwell and Kirk Pactrick commanded on the right. Graham, in whose quick observation and promptitude to bring it to effect, Wallace placed the first confidence, held the reserve behind the woods, and the regent himself, with Edwin and his brave standard-bearer, occupied the centre. Having heard the report of his messengers, he repeated to his troops the lines. He exhorted them to remember that on that day the eyes of all Scotland would be upon them. They were the first of their country who had gone forth to meet the tyrant in a pitched battle, and in proportion to the danger they confronted, would be their meat of glory. "'But it is not for renown merely that you are called upon to fight this day,' said he. "'Your rights, your homes, are at stake. You have no hope of security for your lives but in an unswerving determination to keep the field, and let the world see how much more might lies in the arms of a few contending for their country and hereditary liberties, than in hosts which seek for blood and spoil. Slavery and freedom lie before you. Shrink but one backward step, and yourselves are in bondage, your wives become the prey of violence. Be firm. Trust him who blesses the righteous cause, and victory will crown your arms." Though affecting to despise his young opponent, Edward was too good a general really to condemn an enemy who had so often proved himself worthy of respect. And therefore, by declaring his determination to put all the Scottish chiefs to death, and to transfer their estates to his conquering officers, he stimulated their avarice, as well as love of fame, and with every passion and arms they pushed to the combat. Wallace stood unmoved. Not a bow was drawn till the impetuous squadrons, in full charge toward the flanks of the Scots, fell into the pits. Then it was that the Highland archers on the hills launched their arrows. The plunging horses were instantly overwhelmed by others who could not be checked in their career. New showers of darts rained upon them, and sticking into their flesh made them rear and roll upon their riders, while others who were wounded, but had escaped the pits, flew back in rage of pain upon the advancing infantry. A confusion ensued, so perilous, that the king thought it necessary to precipitate himself forward, and in person attack the main body of his adversary, which yet stood inactive. Giving lispur to his Charger, he ordered his troops to press on over the struggling heaps before them, and being obeyed with much difficulty and great loss, he passed the first range of pits, but a second and wider awaited him, and there, seeing his men sink into them by squadrons, he beheld the whole army of Wallace close in upon them. Terrific was now the Havoc. The very numbers of the Southerns and the mixed discipline of their army proved its bane. In the tumult they hardly understood the orders which were given, and some, mistaking them, acted so contrary to the intended movements that Edward, galloping from one end of the field to the other, appeared like a frantic man, regardless of every personal danger, so that he could but fix others to front the same tempest of death with himself. His officers trembled at every step he took, for fear that some of the secret pits should engulf him. However, the unshrieking courage of their monarch rallied a part of the distracted army, which, with all the force of desperation, he drove against the center of the Scots. But at this juncture, the reserve under Graham, having turned the royal position, charged him in the rear, and the archers redoubling their discharge of artillery, the Flander-Kins, who were in the van of Edward suddenly giving away with cries of terror, the amazed king found himself obliged to retreat, or run the risk of being taken. He gave a signal, the first of the kind he had ever sounded in his life, and drawing his English troops around him after much hard fighting fell back in tolerable order beyond the confines of his camp. The Scots were eager to pursue him, but Wallace checked the motion. Let us not hunt the lion till he stand at bay, cried he. He will retire far enough from the Scottish borders without our leaving this vantage ground to drive him. What Wallace said came to pass. Soon no vestige of a southern soldier but the dead which strayed the road was to be seen from side to side at the wide horizon. The royal camp was immediately seized by the triumphant Scots, and the tent of King Edward, with its costly furniture, was sent to Stirling as a trophy of the victory. CHAPTER 50 Stirling Many chieftains from the north had come to Stirling to be near intelligence from the borders. They were aware that this meeting between Wallace and Edward must be the crisis of their fate. The few who remained in the citadel of those who had borne the brunt of the opening of this glorious revolution for their country were full of sanguine expectations. They had seen the prowess of their soldier, they had shared the glory of his destiny, and they feared not that Edward would deprive him of one ray. But they who, at their utmost wiles of highlands, had only heard his fame, though they had afterward seen him amongst themselves, transforming the mountain savage into a civilized man and disciplined soldier, though they had felt the effects of his military successes, yet they doubted how his fortunes might stand the shock of Edward's happy star. The lords whom he had released from the southern prisons were all of the same apprehensive opinion. For they knew what numbers Edward could bring against the Scottish power, and how hitherto unrivaled was his skill in the field. Now, thought Lord Badenach, will this brave scot find the difference between fighting with the officers of a king and a king himself, contending for what he determines shall be a part of his dominions? Full of this idea, and resolving never to fall into the hands of Edward again, for the conduct of Wallace had made the Earl ashamed of his long submission to the usurpation of rights to which he had acclaimed. He kept a vessel in readiness at the mouth of the fourth to take him as soon as the news of the regents' defeat should arrive, far from the sad consequences, to a quiet asylum in France. The meditations of Athol, Buccane and March were of a different tendency. It was their design on the earliest intimation of such intelligence to set forth and be the first to throw themselves at the feet of Edward and acknowledge him their sovereign. Thus, with various projects in their heads, which none but the three last breathed to each other, were several hundred expecting chiefs assembled round the Earl of Ma, when Edwin Ruthven, glowing with all the effulgence of his general's glory and his own, rushed into the hawk and throwing the royal standard of England on the ground exclaimed, there lies the supremacy of King Edward. Every man started to his feet. You do not mean, cried Athol, that King Edward has been beaten. He has been beaten and driven off the field, returned Edwin. These dispatches added he, laying them on the table before his uncle, will relate every particular. A hard battle our region fought, for our enemies were numberless, but a thousand good angels were his allies, and Edward himself fled. I saw the King, after he had thrice rallied his troops and brought them to the charge at last turn and fly. It was at that moment I wounded his standard barrier and seized this dragon. Thou art worthy of thy general, brave Ruthven, cried Badanock to Edwin. James added he, addressing his eldest son, who were just arrived from France, what is left to us to show ourselves also of Scottish blood. Heaven has given him all. Lord Ma, who had stood in speechless gratitude, opened the dispatches, and finding a circumstantial narrative of the battle, with the counts of the previous embassies he read them aloud. Their contents excited a variety of emotions. When the nobles heard that Edward had offered Wallace the crown, when they found that, by vanquishing that powerful monarch, he had subdued even the soul of the man who would either to held them all in awe. Though in the same breath they read that their regent had refused royalty, and was now as a servant of the people, preparing to strengthen their borders, yet the most extravagant suspicions awoke in almost every breast. The eagle flight of his glory seemed to have raised him so far above their heads, so beyond their power to restrain or to elevate him, that an envy, dark as Erebus, a jealousy which had once annihilated every grateful sentiment, every personal regard, passed like electricity from heart to heart. The eye turning from one to the other explained what no lip did utter. A dead silence reigned, while the demon of hatred was taking possession of almost every breast, and a none but the Lord's Ma baranach and lachor escaped the black contagion. When the meeting broke up, Lord Ma placed himself at the head of the offices of the garrison, and with a herald holding the banner of Edward beneath the colours of Scotland, rode forth to proclaim to the country the decisive victory of its regent. Baranach and lachor left the hall to hasten with the tidings to snod on. The rest of the chiefs dispersed. But as if actuated by one spirit, they were seen wandering about the outskirts of the town, where they soon drew together in groups and whispered among themselves these and similar statements. He refused the crown offered to him in the field by the people. He rejected it from Edward, because he would reign uncontrolled. He will now seize it as a conqueror, and we shall have an upstart's foot upon our necks. If we are to be slaves, let us have a tyrant of our own choosing. As the trumpets before Lord Ma blew the loud acclaim of triumph, Athol said to Buckan, Cousin, that is but the fore-honour of what we shall hear to announce the usurpation of this Wallace. And shall we sit tamely by and have our birthright rested from us by a man of yesterday? No. If the race of Alexander be not to occupy the throne, let us not hesitate between the monarch of a mighty nation and a low-born tyrant. Between him who will at least gild our chains with chivalric honours and an upstart whose domination must be stern as debasing. Mermorings such as these, passing from chief to chief, descended to the minor chieftains who held lands in fear of those more sovereign lords. Petty interests extinguished gratitude for general benefits, and by secret meetings at the heads of which were Athol, Buckan, and March. A conspiracy was formed to overset the power of Wallace. They were to invite Edward once more to take possession of the kingdom, and meanwhile, to accomplish this with certainty, each chief was to assume a preeminent zeal for the regent. March was to persuade Wallace to send him to Dunbar as Governor of the Lothians, to hold the refractory Suleys in check, and to divide the public cares of Lord Dunneath, who indeed found Berwick a sufficient charge for his age and comparative inactivity. Then cried the false Cospatrick. Footnote. The name by which Patrick Dunbar, Earl of March, was familiarly called. End footnote. When I am fixed at Dunbar, Edward may come round from Newcastle to that port, and by your management he must march unmolested to Stirling and seize the usurper on his throne. Such suggestions met with full approval from these dark incendiaries, and as their meetings were usually held at night, they walked forth in the day with cheerful countenances and joined the general rejoicing. They feared to hint even a word of their intentions to Lord Baranoch. For, on Bucking having expressed some discontent to him, at the homage that was paid to a man so much their inferior, his answer was, had we acted worthy of our birth, Sir William Wallace never could have had the opportunity to rise upon our disgrace. But as it is we must submit, or bow to treachery instead of virtue. This reply determined them to keep their proceedings secret from him and also from Lady Ma. For both Lord Bucking and Lord Athol had, at different times, listened to the fond dreams of her love and ambition. They had flattered her with entering into her designs. Athol gloomily affected acquiescence that he might render himself master of all that was in her mind, and perhaps in that of her lover. For he did not doubt that Wallace was as guilty as her wishes would have made him. And Bucking, ever ready to yield to the persuasions of woman, was not likely to refuse when his fair cousin promised to reward him with all the pleasures of the gayest court in Europe. For indeed both lords had conceived from the evident failing state of her veteran husband in consequence of the unhealing condition of one of his wounds that it might not belong before this visionary game would be thrown into her hands. Thus were they situated when the news of Wallace's decisive victory, distancing all their means to raise him, who was now at the pinnacle of power, determined the dubious to become at once his mortal enemies. Lord Baranoch had listened with a different temper to the first breathings of Lady Ma on her favourite subject. He told her if the nation chose to make their benefactor king he should not oppose it, because he thought that none of the blood royal deserved to wear the crown which they had all consented to hold in fear of Edward, yet he would never promote by intrigue an election which must rob his own posterity of their inheritance. But when she gave hints of her becoming one day the wife of Wallace, he turned on her with a frown. Cousin, said he, beware how you allow so guilty an idea to take possession of your heart. It is the parent of dishonour and death, and did I think that Sir William Wallace were capable of sharing your wishes? I would be the first to abandon his standard. But I believe him too virtuous to look on a married woman with the eyes of passion, and that he holds the houses of Ma and Cummins in too high a respect to breathe an illicit sigh in the ear of my kin's woman. Despairing of making the impression she desired on the mind of this severe relative, Lady Ma spoke to him no more on the subject, and Lord Baranoch, ignorant that she had imparted her criminal project to his brother and cousin, believed that his reproof had performed her cure. Thus flattering himself, he made no hesitations to be the first who should go to Snowdon to communicate to her the brilliant dispatch of the regent and to declare the freedom of Scotland to be now almost secured. He and Lord Lahore set forth, but there had been some time preceded by Edwin. The moment the Countess heard the name of her nephew announced, she made a sign for her ladies to withdraw, and starting forward at his entrance, Speak, writes she, tell me Edwin, is the regent still a conqueror? Where are my mother and Helen? replied he, to share my tidings. Then they are good, exclaimed Lady Ma, with one of her bewitching smiles. Are you sly one, like your chief, you know your power? And like him I exercise it, replied he gaily. Therefore to keep your ladyship no longer in suspense, here is a letter from the regent himself. He presented it as he spoke, and she, catching it from him, turned round and pressing it rapturously to her lips. It being the first she had ever received from him, eagerly ran over its brief contents. While re-perusing it, for she could not tear her eyes from the beloved characters, Lady Rotsman and Helen entered the room. The former hastened forward, the latter trembled as she moved, for she did not yet know the information which her cousin brought. But the first glance of his face told her all was safe, and as he broke from his mother's embrace, to clasp Helen in his arms, she fell on his neck, and with a shower of tears whispered, while his lips is well. As you would wish him re-whispered he, and with Edward at his feet. Thank God, thank God! While she spoke Lady Rotsman exclaimed, but how is our regent speak, Edwin? How is the delight of all hearts? Still the Lord of Scotland answered he, the invincible dictator of Renemes. The Poissante Edward has acknowledged the power of Sir William Wallace, and after being beaten on the plain of Stranmoire is now making the best of his way toward his own capital. Lady Mar again and again pressed the co-letter of Wallace to her burning bosom. The regent does not mention these matters in his letter to me, said she, casting an exulting glance over the glowing face of Helen. But Helen did not notice it. She was listening to Edwin, who, with joyous animation, related every particular that had befallen Wallace, from the time of his rejoining him to that very moment. The Countess heard all with complacency till he mentioned the issue of the conference with Edward's first ambassadors. Fool exclaimed she to herself, to throw away the golden opportunity that may never return. Not observing her disturbance, Edward went on with his narrative, every word of which spread the eloquent countenance of Helen, with admiration and joy. Since her heroic heart had rung from it all selfish wishes with regard to Wallace, she allowed herself to openly rejoice in his success and to look up unabashed when the resplendent glories of his character were brought before her. None but Edwin made her feel her exclusion from her soul's only home by dwelling on his gentle virtues, by portraying the exquisite tenderness of his nature which seemed to infold the objects of his love in his heart of hearts. When Helen thought on these discourses she would sigh, but it was a sigh of resignation, and she loved to meditate on the words which Edwin had carelessly spoken, that she made herself a nun for Wallace. And so I will, said she to herself, and that resolution stills every wild emotion. All is innocence in heaven, Wallace. You will there read my soul, and love me as a sister. In such a frame of mind did she listen to the relation of Edwin, did her animated eye welcome the entrance of Baranoch and Lachor, and their enthusiastic encomiums on the lord of her heart. Then sounded the trumpet, and the herald's voice in the streets proclaimed the victory of the regent. Lady Marr rushed to the window as if there she would see himself. Lady Ruthven followed, and as the acclamations of the people echoed through the air, Helen pressed the precious cross of Wallace to her bosom, and hastily left the room to enjoy the rapture of her thoughts on the blessed retirement of her own oratory. In the course of a few days after the promulgation of all his happy intelligence it was announced that the regent was on his return to Stirling. Lady Marr was not so inebriated with her vain hopes as to forget that Helen might traverse the dearest of them, should she again present herself to its object. She therefore hastened to her when the time of his expected arrival drew near, and putting on all the matron, affected to give her the counsel of a mother. As all the noble families around Stirling would assemble to hail the victor's return, the Countess said, she came to advise her, in consideration of what had passed in the chapel before the regent's departure, not to submit herself to the observation of so many eyes. Not suspecting the occult devices which worked in her stepmother's heart, Helen meekly acquiesced with a reply, I shall obey. But she inwardly thought, I, who know the heroism of his soul, need not pageants nor acclamations the multitude to tell me what he is. He is already too bright for my senses to support, and with his image pressing on my heart it is mercy to let me shrink from his glorious presence. The obey was sufficient for Lady Mar. She had gained her point. For though she did not seriously think, what she had affected to believe, that anything more had passed between Wallace and Helen than what they had openly declared, yet she could not but discern the harmony of their minds. And she feared that frequent intercourse might draw such sympathy to something dearer. She had understanding to perceive his virtues, but they found no answering qualities in her breast. The matchless beauty of his person, the penetrating tenderness of his manner, the splendour of his frame, the magnitude of his power, all united to set her impassioned and ambitious soul in a blaze. Each opposing duty seemed only a vapour through which she could easily pass to the goal of her desire. Hence art of every kind appeared to her to be no more than a means of acquiring the object most valuable to her in life. Education had not given her any principle by which she might have checked the headlunk impulse of her now aroused passions. Brought up as a worshipped object in the little court of her parents at Kirkwall in the Orkneys. Her father, the Earl of Strathen in Scotland, and her mother being a princess of Norway, whose dowry brought him the sovereignty of those Isles, their daughter never knew any law but her own will from her doting mother. And on the fearful loss of that mother, in a marine excursion of pleasure, by an accident oversetting the boat she was in, the bereaved daughter fell into such a despair on her first pang of grief of any kind that her similarly distracted father, whose little dominions happened then to be menaced by a descent of the Danes, sought a safe and cheering home for his only child at the interesting age of seventeen by sending her overseas to the protecting care of his long affianced friend, the Earl of Mar, and to his lovely Countess, then at only three years wife with one infant daughter. Though fond of admiration, the young Joanna of Orkney had held herself at too high a price to bestow a thought on the crowd of rushed sons of the Surge, chieftains of the surrounding Isles, who owned her father as Lord, who daily adulated her charms with all the costliest trophies from their ocean spoils. She trot past them, and by all the female beauties in her Isle, with the step of an undisputed right to receive and to despise. But when she crossed the mainland and found herself by the side of a woman almost as young as herself and equally beautiful, though of a different mould, soft and retreating, while hers commanded and compelled, and that the husband of that woman, whose tender adoration hovered over her with a perpetual eye, that he, though of comparative veteran years, was handsomer than any man she had ever seen, and fraught with every noble grace to delight the female heart. She felt what she had never done before, that she had met a rival and an object worthy to subdue. What Joanna began in mere excited vanity, jealous pride and ambition of conquest, ended in a fatal attachment to the husband of a renaissance and two confiding protectors, and he alas betrayed, first by her insidious wiles, and then by her overpowering and apparently restrainless demonstrations of devoted love. Was so far one, from the propriety of his noble heart, as to regard with a grateful admiration, as well as a manly pity, the beautiful victim of a passion he had so unwittingly raised. In the midst of these scenes too often acted for his peace, though not for his honor and fidelity to his marriage vow, his beloved Isabella, the wife of his bosom, until then the joy of his life, died in the pangs of a premature confinement, breathing her last sigh in the birth of a daughter. Scarcely was the Countess consigned to her bed of earth, and even in the hour after the last duties were paid to her, whose closed tomb seemed to have left unto him his house desolate, when the heart-desperate Joanna rushed into the weeping husband's presence, fearful of being now restrainingly reclaimed by her father, who had, only a short while before, intimated his intention to relieve his friends of a guardianship they had so partially fulfilled, and to send a vessel for his daughter to bring her back to Kirkwall, there to be united in marriage to the brave native Chieftain, whose singular prowess had preserved the island from a Danish yoke. Dreading this event, even while her siren tears mingled with those of the widowed mar, she wrought on him by lavish protestations of a devoted love for his two infant orphans, Helen, then a child of hardly two years, and the poor babe whose existence had just cost its mother her life, also of a never-dying dedication of herself to that mother's memory, and to the tendrous consolations of his own mourning spirit. She wrought upon him to rescue her from her now threatened, abhorrent fate, even to give her his vow, to wed her himself, in the weakness of an almost prostrated mind under the load of conflicting anguish which then lay upon him, for now fearing his own culpable infirmity in having suffered this dangerously flattering preference of him to ever ever showed itself to him, without his having done his positive duty by sending her home at once to her proper protector. In a sudden self-immolating agony of self-blame, he assented to her heart-ringing supplication that as soon as propriety would permit she should become his wife. The Earl of Strathen arrived himself within the week to condole with his friend and to take back his daughter. But the scene he met changed his ultimate purpose. Joanna declared that were she to be carried away to marry any man save that friend, whose protection during the last six months had been to her as that of all relatives in one. She should expire on the threshold of Castle Breymar, for she never would cross it alive. And as the melancholy widower, but grateful lover, verified his vow to her by repeating it to her father, within four months from that day the Earl of Mar rejoined the Lady Joanna at Kirkwall and brought her away as his bride. But to avoid exciting any invidious remarks, by immediately appearing in Scotland after such prompt nuptials, the new Countess, wearing her triumph, easily persuaded her husband to take her for a while to France, where, assuming a cold and majestic demeanour which she thought becoming her royal dissent, she resided several years. Thus changed she returned to Scotland. She found the suspicion of any former indiscretion faded from all minds, and passing her time in the stately hospitalities of her Lord's castles, conducted herself with a matronly dignity that made him the envy of all the married chieftains in his neighbourhood. Soon after her arrival at Kildromy on the River D., her then most favourite residence, she took the Lady Helen, the supplanted Isabella's first-born daughter, from her grandfather at Thelstance, where both children had been left on the departure of their father and his bride for France. Though hardly past the period of absolute childhood, the Lord Soulit at this time offered the young heiress of Mar his hand. The Countess had then no interest in wishing the union, having not yet any children of her own to make her jealous of their father's love. She permitted her daughter-in-law to decide as she pleased. A second time he presented himself, and Lady Mar still indifferent, allowed Helen a second time to refuse him. Years flew over the heads of the ill-joined pair, but while they whitened the raven locks of the Earl and withered his manly brow, the beauty of his Countess blew into fuller luxurience. Yet it was her mirror alone that told her she was fairer than all the ladies around, for non-dust invaded the serene decorum of her manners, with Soulit a whisper. Such was her state when she first heard of the rise of Sir William Wallace, and when she thought that her husband might not only lose his life, but risk the forfeiture of his family honors by joining him, for her own sake and for her children's, having recently become the mother of twins, she had then determined, if it were necessary, to make the Outlawed Chief a sacrifice. To this end she became willing to bribe Soulit's participation by the hand of Helen. She knew that her daughter-in-law had bored his character, but love, indifference or hatred, she now thought of little consequence in a marriage which brought sufficient antidotes in rank and wealth. She had never felt what real love was, and her personal vanity being no longer agitated by the raptures of a frantic rivalry, she now lived tranquilly with Lord Marl. What then was her astonishment? What the wild distraction of her heart when she first beheld Sir William Wallace, and found in her breast for him all which, in the moment of the most unreflecting intoxication, she had ever felt for her Lord, with the addition of feelings and sentiments, the existence of which she had never believed, but now knew in all their force. Love for the first time, penetrated through every nerve of her body and possessed her whole mind. Taught a theory of virtue by her husband, she was startled at wishes which militated against his honour, but no principles being grounded in her mind, they soon disappeared before the furious charge of his passions. And after a short struggle she surrendered herself to the lawless power of a guilty and ambitious love, wishes hopes and designs, which two years before she would have shuttered at, as not only sinful but derogatory to female delicacy, she now embraced with ardour, and nor seemed dreadful to her but disappointment. The prolonged life of Lord Marl cost her many tears, for the master passions of her nature, which she had laid asleep on her marriage with the Earl, broke out with redoubled violence at the sight of Wallace. His was the most perfect of manly forms, and she loved. He was great, and her ambition blazed into an extinguishable flame. These two strong passions, meeting in a breast weakened by the besetting sin of her youth, their rule was absolute, and neither virtue, honour nor humanity could stand before them. Her husband was aboard, her infant son forgotten, and nothing but Wallace and a crown could find a place in her thoughts.