 CHAPTER 34 Stirling Castle The prisoners who had been taken with Montgomery were lodged behind the town, and the wounded carried into the abbey of Canvass, Kenneth, but when Edwin came to move that earl himself, he found him too faint with loss of blood to sit a horse to snow down. He therefore ordered a litter, and so conveyed his brave prisoner to that palace of the kings of Scotland in Stirling. The priests in Wallace's army not only exercised the Levitical, but the Good Samaritans functions, and they soon obeyed the young knight's summons to dress the wounds of Montgomery. Messengers, meanwhile, arrived from Wallace, acquainting his chieftains in Stirling, with the surrender of Del Waren's army. Since no surprise was created in the breast of the wounded earl when he saw his commander enter the palace as the prisoner of the illustrious scot, Montgomery held out his hand to the Lord Warden in silence, and with a flushed cheek, blush not, my noble friend, cried Del Waren. These wounds speak more eloquently than a thousand tongues, the gallantry with which you maintain the sword that fate compelled you to surrender. But I, without a scratch, how can I meet the unconquered Edward? And yet it was not for myself I feared. My brave and confiding soldiers were in all my thoughts. For I saw it was not to meet an army that I led them. But against a whirlwind, a storm of war, with which no strength that I commanded could contend. While the English generals thus conversed, Edwin's impatient heart yearned to be again at the side of Wallace, and gladly resigning the charge of his noble prisoner to Sir Alexander Ramsey as soon as he observed the cessation in the conversation of the two earls. He drew near Montgomery to take his leave. Farewell till we meet again, said the young earl, pressing his hand. You have been a young brother rather than an enemy to me. Because returned Edwin, I follow the example of my general, who would willingly be the friend of all mankind. Waren looked at him with surprise, and who are you, who, in that stripling form, uttered gallant sentiments which might grace the maturist years. With a sweet dignity Edwin replied, I am Edwin Ruthven, the adopted brother of Sir William Wallace, and the son of him, Astor Waren, who, with Sir William Wallace, was the first to mount Dumbarton walls. At these words the cheeks of Edwin were suffused with a more animated bloom. At the moment when his courage was distinguished on the heights of Dumbarton by the vowed friendship of Wallace, he had found himself beloved by the bravest and most amiable of beings, and in his light he felt both warmth and brightness. But this question of Dowaren conveyed to him that he had found fame himself, that he was there publicly acknowledged to be an object not unworthy of being called the brother of Sir William Wallace, and casting down his eyes, beaming with exultation, from the fixed gaze of Dowaren, he answered, I am that happy Ruthven who had the honour to mount Dumbarton rock by the side of my general, and from his hand there received the stroke of knighthood. Dowaren rose much agitated, if such be the boys of Scotland need we wonder when the spirit of resistance is roused in the nation, that our strength should wither before its men. At least said Montgomery, whose admiration of what past seemed to reanimate his languid faculties, it deprives defeat of its sting, when we are consciously yielded to power that was irresistible. But my Lord added he, if the courage of this youth amazes you, what will you say or to be the fate of this country? What to be the crown of Sir William Wallace's career, when you know the chain of brave hearts by which he is surrounded? Even tender woman loses the weakness of her sex when she belongs to him. Earl Dowaren, surprised at the energy with which he spoke, looked at him with an expression that told him so. Yes, continued he. I witnessed the heroism of Lady Wallace, when she defended the character of her husband in the midst of an armed host, and preserved the secret of his retreat in Violet. I saw that loveliest of woman whom the dastard Hessell Rigger slew. Disgraced to knighthood cried Edwin with indignant vehemence. If you were a spectator of that bloody deed, retire from this house. Go to campus, Kenneth, anywhere, but leave this city before the injured Wallace arrives. Blast not his eyes with a second sight of one who could have beheld his wife murdered. Every eye was now fixed on the commanding figure of the young Edwin, who stood with the determination of being obeyed, breathing in every look. Dowaren then at once saw the possibility of so gentle a creature being transformed into the soul of Enterprise, into the fearless and effective soldier. Lord Montgomery held out his hand to Edwin. By this right arm I swear noble youth, that had I been on the spot where Hessell Rigger lifted his sword against the breast of Lady Wallace, I would have sheathed my sword in his. It was before then that I saw that matchless woman, and offended with my want of severity in the scrutiny I had made it illersly for its chief. Hessell Rigger sent me back to air, Arnolf quarreled with me there on the same subject, and I immediately retired in disgust to England. Then how? You ought to be Sir Gilbert Hambleton, replied Edwin, but whoever you are, as you were kind to the Lady Marion, I cannot but regret my late hasty charge, and for which I beseech your pardon. Montgomery took his hand and pressed it. Generous Rothfinn, your warmth is too honourable to need forgiveness. I am that Sir Gilbert Hambleton, and had I remained so, I should not now be in Scotland. But in my first interview with the Prince of Wales, after my accession to the earldom of Montgomery, his Highness told me it had been rumoured from Scotland that I was disloyal in my heart to my King. And to prove the foresword of such columniators continued the Prince. I appoint you second in command there to the Earl de Waurene. To have refused to fight against Sir William Wallace would have been to have accused myself of treason. And while I respected the husband of the murdered Lady Marion, I yet condemned him as an insurgent, and with the same spirit you follow him in the field, I obeyed the commands of my sovereign. Lord Montgomery returned, Edwin. I am rejoiced to see one who proves to me, what my general, wronged as he has been, yet always inculcates, that all the Sutherans are not base and cruel. When he knows who is indeed his prisoner, what recollections will it awaken? For till you and he again meet, I shall not intimate to him the melancholy satisfaction he is to enjoy, for with the remembrances it will arouse, your presence must bring the antidote. The brave youth then telling Ramsay in what parts of the palace the rest of the lords were to be lodged, with recovered composure descended to the courtyard to take horse for tour wood. He was galloping along under the bright light of the moon, when he heard a squadron on full speed approaching, and presently Murray appeared at his head. Hurrah, Edwin! cried he. Well met! We are come to demand the instant surrender of the citadel. Hilton's division has surrendered. The two barons had indeed come up about half an hour after Earl de Warren's division was discomfited. Sir William Wallace had sent forward to the advancing enemy two heralds, bearing the colours of de Valance and Montgomery, with the captive banner of de Warren, and requiring their present division to lay down its army also. The sight of these standards was sufficient to assure Hilton that there was no deceit in the embassy. The nature of his position precluded retreat, and not seeing any reason for ten thousand men disputing the day with the power to whom fifty thousand had just surrendered. He and his compier, with reluctance of veterans, embraced the terms of surrender. The instant Hilton put his argent banner, footnote, the arms of Hilton are argent, two bars azure. The charge on those of Blenkinsup are three weacheeves, crest, a lion rampant, grasping a rose. The ruins of the patrimonial castles of these two ancient barons are still to be seen in the north of England. The author's revered mother was a descendant from the latter venerable name, united with that of the brave and erudite race of Adamson, of further north. Footnote, into the victor's hand, Wallace knew that the castle must now be his. He had discomforted all who could have maintained it against him. Impatient to apprise Lord Ma and his family of their safety, he dispatched Murray with a considerable escort to demand its surrender. Murray gladly obeyed, and now, accompanied by Edwin, with the standards of Cresingham and Doarene trailing in the dust, he arrived before the castle, and summoned the lieutenant to the walls. But that officer, well aware of what was going to happen, feared to appear. From the battlements of the keep he had seen the dreadful conflict on the banks of the forth. He had seen the thousands of Doarene passed before the conqueror. To punish his treachery, in not only having suffered Cresingham to steal out under the armistice, but upholding also the breaking of his word to surrender at sunset, the terrified officer believed that Wallace was now come to put the whole garrison to the sword. At the first sight of Murray's approaching squadron, the lieutenant hurried to Lord Ma to offer him immediate liberty if he would go forth to Wallace and treat with him to spare the lives of the garrison. Closed up in a solitary dungeon, the Earl knew nought of what was happening without, and where the southern entered, he expected it was to lead him again to the death which had been twice averted. But the pale and trembling lieutenant had no sooner spoken the first word than Ma discerned it was a suppliant, not an executioner, he saw before him, and he was even promising that clemency from Wallace, which he knew dwelt in his heart when Murray's trumpet sounded. The lieutenant started, horror-struck. It is now too late. We have not made the first overture, and there sounds the death knell of this garrison. I saved your life, Earl cried he imploringly to Lord Ma, when the enraged Cresingham commanded me to pull the cord, which would have launched you into eternity. I disobeyed him. For my sake, then, preserve this garrison and accompany me to the ramparts. The chains were immediately knocked off the limbs of Lord Ma, and the lieutenant presenting him with a sword, they appeared together on the battlements. As the declining moon shone on their backs, Murray did not discern that it was his uncle who mounted the walls, but calling to him in a voice which declared there was no appeal, headed to the humbled colours of Edward, and demanded the instant surrender of the citadel. Let it be then, with the pledge of Sir William Wallace's mercy, cried the venerable Earl. With every pledge Lord Ma returned Murray, now joyfully recognising his uncle, which you think safe to give. Then the keys of the citadel are yours, cried the lieutenant. I only ask the lives of my garrison. This was granted, and immediately preparations were made for the admission of the Scots. As the enraptured Edwin heard the heavy chains of the portcullis drawn up, and the massy bolts of the huge doors grating in their guards, he thought of his mother's liberty, of his father's joy, in pressing her again in his arms, and hastening to the tower where Lord Ruthven held watch over the now-sleeping devalance. He told him all that had happened. Go, my father, added he, enter with Murray, and be the first to open the prison doors of my mother. Lord Ruthven embraced his son. My dear Edwin, this sacrifice to my feelings is worthy of you, but I have a duty to perform, superior even to the tenderest private ones. I am planted hereby my commander, and shall I quit my station, for any gratification till he gives me leave. Know my son, be you my representative to your mother, and while my example teaches you, above all earthly considerations, to obey your honour, those tender embraces will show her what I sacrificed to duty. Edwin no longer urged his father, and leaving his apartment, flew to the gate of the Innebaleum. It was open, and Murray already stood guard on the platform before the keep, receiving the keys to the garrison. Blessed sight cried the earl to his nephew. When I put the banner of Ma into your unpracticed hand, little could I expect that, in the course of four months, I should see my brave Andrew receive the keys of proud sterling from its commander. Murray smiled, while his plumed head bowed gratefully to his uncle, and turning to the lieutenant, now said he, lead me to the ladies Ma and Ruthven, that I may assure them they are free. The gates of the keep were now unclosed, and the lieutenant conducted his victors along a gloomy passage to a low door, studded with knobs of iron. As he drew the bolt he whispered to Lord Ma, these severities are the hard policy of Governor Cressingham. He pushed the door slowly open, and discovered a small, miserable cell. Its walls of rugged stone, having no other covering than the incrustations which tie him, and many a dripping winter, had strewn over their vaulted surface. On the ground, on a pallet of straw, lay a female figure in a profound sleep. But the light which the lieutenant held, streaming full up on the uncurtain slumberer, she started, and with a shriek of terror at the sight of so many armed men, discovered the pallet features of the Countess of Ma. With an anguish which hardly the freedom he was going to bestow could ameliorate, the Earl rushed forward, and, throwing himself beside her, caught her in his arms. Are we then to die, cried she, in a voice of horror? Has Wallace abandoned us? Are we to perish? Heartless, heartless man. Overcome by his emotions, the Earl could only strain her to his breast in speechless agitation. Edwin saw a picture of his mother's sufferings in the present distraction of the Countess, and he felt his powers of utterance locked up. But Lord Andrew, whose ever-light heart was gay, the moment he was no longer unhappy, jacocely answered, My fair aunt, there are many hearts to die by your eyes before that day, and meanwhile I come from Sir William Wallace to set you free. The name of Wallace, and the intimation that he had sent to set her free, drove every form a thought of death and misery from her mind, and again the ambrosial gales of love seemed to breathe around her. She saw not her prison walls. She felt a sale again in his presence, and in a blissful trance rather endured than participated in the warm congratulations of her husband on their mutual safety. Edwin and Murray turned to follow the lieutenant, who, preceding them, stopped at the end of the gallery. Here, said he, is Lady Rusvin's habitation, and, alas, not better than the Countess. While he spoke he threw open the door, and discovered its sad inmate also asleep. But when the glad voice of her son pierced her ear, when his fond embrace his clung to her bosom, her surprise and emotions were almost insupportable. Hardly crediting her senses that he whom she had believed was safe in the cloisters of St. Columba could be within the dangerous walls of sterling, that it was his mailed breast that pressed against her bosom, that it was his voice she heard exclaiming, Mother, we come to give you freedom. All appeared to her like a dream of madness. She listened, she felt him. She found her cheek wet with his rapturous tears. Am I in my right mind, cried she, looking at him with a fearful yet overjoyed countenance? Am I not mad? Oh, tell me, cried she, turning to Murray and the lieutenant. Is this my son that I see, or has terror turned my brain? It is indeed your son, your Edwin, my very self-returned he, alarmed at the expression of her voice and countenance. Murray gently advanced, and kneeling down by her, respectfully took her hand. He speaks truth, my dear madam. It is your son Edwin. He left his convent to be a volunteer with Sir William Wallace. He has covered himself with honour on the walls of Dumbart, and here also, a sharer in his leader's victories, he has come to set you free. At this explanation, which, being given in the sober language of reason, Lady Ruthven believed, she gave way to the full happiness of her soul, and falling on the neck of her son, embraced him with a flood of tears. And thy father Edwin, where is he? Did not the noble Wallace rescue him from here? He did, and he is here. Edwin then repeated to his mother the affectionate message of his father, and the particulars of his release. Perceiving how happily they were engaged, Murray, now with a flutter in his own bosom, rose from his knees, and requested the lieutenant to conduct him to Lady Helen Mar. His guide led the way by a winding staircase into a stone gallery, where letting Lord Andrew into a spacious apartment, divided in the middle by a vast screen of carved cedar wood, he pointed to a curtened entrance. In that chamber, said he, lodges the Lady Helen. Ah, my poor cousin, exclaimed Murray! Though she seems not to have tasted the hardships of her parents, she has shared their misery, I do not doubt. While he spoke, the lieutenant bowed in silence, and Murray entered alone. The chamber was magnificent, and illumined by a lamp which hung from the ceiling. He cautiously approached the bed, fearing too hastily to disturb her, and gently pulling aside the curtains, beheld vacancy. An exclamation of alarm had almost escaped him when, observing a half-open door at the other side of the apartment, he drew toward it, and there beheld his cousin, with her back to him, kneeling before a crucifix. She spoke not, but the further of her action manifested how earnestly she prayed. He moved behind her, but she heard him not. Her whole soul was absorbed in the success of her petition, and at last raising her clasped hands in a paroxysm of emotion, she exclaimed. If that trumpet sounded the victory of the Scots, then power of goodness received thy servants' thanks. But if the warren had conquered, where de Valance has failed, if all whom I love be lost to me here, take me then to thyself, and let my freed spirit fly to thy embraces in heaven. I, and on earth too, thou blessed angel, cried Murray, throwing himself toward her. She started from her knee, and with such a cry as the widower's surreptor, uttered when she embraced her son from the dead, hellen threw herself on the bosom of her cousin, and closed her eyes in a blissful swoon. For even while every outward sense seemed fled, the impression of joy played about her heart, and the animated throbbing of Murray's breast, while he pressed her in his arms, at last aroused her to recollection. Her glistening and uplifted eyes told all the happiness, all the gratitude of her soul. My father, all our safe-demoted chief, all my best beloved answered Murray, forgetting in his powerful emotions of his heart that what he felt and what he uttered were beyond even a cousin's limits. My uncle, the Countess, Lord and Lady Ruthburn, all our safe. And Sir William Wallace cried she, You do not mention him, I hope no ill. He is conqueror here, interrupted Murray. He has subdued every obsticable boo between Berek and Sterling, and has sent me hither to set you and the rest of the dear prisoners free. Helen's heart throbbed with a new tumult, as he spoke. She lunged to ask whether the unknown knight, from whom she had parted in the hermit's cell, had ever joined Sir William Wallace. She yearned to know that he yet lived. At the thought of the probability of his having fallen in some of these desperate conflicts, her soul seemed to gasp for existence, and dropping her head on her cousin's shoulder. Tell me, Andrew, said she, and there she paused, with an emotion for which she could not account to herself. Of what would my sweet cousin inquire, asked Murray, partaking her agitation? Nothing particular, said she, covered with blutches. But did you flight alone in these battles? Did no other knight but Sir William Wallace? Only, dearest Helen, returned Murray, in rapture of a solicitude which he appropriated to himself. Many knights joined our arms, all thought in a manner worthy of their leader, and thanks to heaven none have fallen. Thanks indeed, tried Helen, and with a hope she hardly dared whisper to herself, of seeing the unknown knight in the gallant train of the conqueror. She falteringly said, Now, Andrew, lead me to my father. Murray would perhaps have required a second bidding, had not Lord Mar, impatient to see his daughter, appeared with accountess at the door of the apartment. Hastening toward them, she fell on the bosom of her father, and while she bathed his face in hands with her glad tears, he too wept and mingled a blessing with his caresses. No coldness here met his paternal heart. No distracting confusions tore her from his arms. No averted looks by turns alarmed and chilled the bosom of tenderness. All was innocence and duty in Helen's breast, and every ingenuous action showed its affection and its joy. The estranged heart of Lady Mar had closed against him, and though he suspected not its wanderings, he felt the unutterable difference between the warm transports of his daughter and the frigid congratulations forced from the lips of his wife. Lady Mar gazed with a weird frown on the lovely form of Helen, as she wound her exquisitely turned arms round the earl in filial tenderness. Her bosom, heaving in the snowy whiteness of virgin purity, her face radiant with the softest blooms of youth, all sewing to frame an object which malignant fiends had cunged up to blast her step-dame's hope. Wallis will behold these charms, cried her, distracted spirit to herself. And then where am I? While her thoughts thus followed each other, she unconsciously darted looks at Helen, which, if an evil eye had any bewitching power, would have withered all her beauties. At one of these potentious moments the glad eyes of Helen met her glance. She started with horror. It made her remember how she had been betrayed, and all that she had suffered from Sulis. But she could not forget that she had also been rescued. And with that blessed recollection the image of her preserver rose before her. At this gentle idea her alarmed countenance took a softer expression, and, tenderly sighing, she turned to her father's question of how she came to be with Lady Rathven, when he had been taught by Lord Andrew to believe her safe at St. Philan's. Yes cried Murray, throwing herself on a seat beside her. I found in your letter to Sir William Wallis that you had been betrayed from your asylum by some traitor Scott, and but for the fullness of my joy at our present meeting I should have inquired the name of the villain. Lady Ma felt a deadly sickness at her heart, on hearing that Sir William Wallis was already so far acquainted with her daughter as to have received a letter from her, and in amazed despair she prepared to listen to what she expected would bring a death stroke to her hopes. They had met, but how, where? They wrote to each other. Then far indeed had preceded that communication of hearts which was now the aim of her life, and she was undone. Helen glanced at the face of Lady Ma and, observing its changes, regarded them as corroborations of our having been the betrayer. If conscience disturbs you thus, thought Helen, let it rend your heart, and perhaps remorse may follow. As the tide of success seemed so full for the Patriot Scots, Helen no longer feared that her cousin would rashly seek a precarious vengeance on the traitor Sulis. Then he might probably soon have an opportunity of making it certain at the head of an army. She therefore commenced her narrative from the time of Murray's leaving her at the priory, and continued to the hour in which she had met her father, a prisoner in the streets of Stirling. As she proceeded the indignation of the Earl and of Murray against Sulis became vehement. The nephew was full of immediate personal revenge, but the father, with arguments similar to those which had suggested themselves to his daughter, calmed the lover's rage, for Murray now felt that fire as well as a kinsman's, and receded himself with repressed, though burning resentment, to listen to the remainder of her relation. The quaking conscience of Lady Mar did indeed vary her cheeks with a thousand dyes, when, as Helen repeated part of her conversation with McGregor's wife, Murray abruptly said, Surely that woman could name the traitor who betrayed us into the hands of our enemies. Did she not hint it? Helen cast down her eyes, that even a glance might not overwhelm with insupportable shame, the already trembling Countess. Lady Mar saw that she was acquainted with her guilt, and expecting no more mercy than she knew she would show to Helen in the like circumstances. She hastily rose from her chair, internally vowing vengeance against her triumphant daughter and hatred of all mankind. But Helen thought she might have so erred, from her wife's alarm for the safety of the husband she professed to doubt on. And this dutiful daughter determined never to accuse her. While all the furies raged in the breast of the guilty woman, Helen simply answered. Lord Sulis would be weak as he is vile, to trust a secret of that kind with a servant, then hurried on to the relation of subsequent events. The Countess breathed the gayen, and almost deceiving herself with the idea that Helen was indeed ignorant of her treachery, listened with the emotions of another kind, when she heard of the rescue of a daughter-in-law. She saw Wallace in that brave act. But as Helen, undesignedly to herself, passed over the parts in their conversation which had most interested her, and never named the graces of his person Lady Mar thought, that to have viewed Wallace with so little notice would have been impossible. And therefore was glad of such a double conviction, that he and her daughter had never met. Which seemed verified, when Helen said that the unknown chief had promised to join his arms with those of Wallace. Murray had observed Helen while she spoke, with an impression at his heart which made it pause. Something in this interview had whispered to him what he had never dreamed before, which she was dearer to him than fifty thousand cousins. And while the blush flushed and retreated in the complexion of Helen, and her downcast eyes refused to show what was passing there, while she hastily ran over the circumstances of her acquaintance with a stranger night, Murray's own emotions declared the secret of hers. And with a lip as pale as her own, he said, But where is this brave man? He cannot have yet joined us, for surely he would have told Wallace or myself that he came from you. I warned him not to do so, replied she, for fear that your indignation against my enemies, my dear cousin, might have precipitated you into dangers to be incurred for our country alone. Then if he had joined us, replied Murray, rising from his seat, you will probably soon know who he is. Tomorrow morning Sir William Wallace will enter the citadel, attended by his principal knights. And in that gallant company you must doubtless discover the man who had laid such obligations on us all by your preservation. Murray's feelings told him the glad should he be, if the utterance of that obligation would repay it. Then herself knew not how to account for the agitation which shook her whenever she adverted to her unknown preserver, at the time of the hermit's friend, the good lay brother, having brought her to Allewa. When she explained to Lady Russven the cause of her strange arrival, she had then told her story with composure till she mentioned her deliverer. But in that moment for the first time she felt a confusion which disordered the animation with which she described his patriotism and his bravery. But it was natural, she thought, that gratitude for a recent benefit should make her heart beat high. It was something like the enthusiasm she had felt for Wallace on the rescue of her father, and she was satisfied. But a few days of quiet at Allewa had recovered her health from the shock it had received in the recent scenes, and she proposed to her aunt to send some trusty messenger to inform the imprisoned Earl at Dumbarton of her happy refuge. And Lady Russven in return had urged the probability that the messenger would be intercepted, and so her asylum be discovered, saying, Let it alone, till this night of yours, by performing his word, calls you to declare his honourable deeds. Till then, Lord Ma, ignorant of your danger, needs no assurance of your safety. This casual reference to the night had then made the tranquilised heart of Helen renew its throbbing, and turning from her aunt with an acquiescing reply, she retired to her own apartment, to quell the unusual and painful blushes she felt burning on her cheeks. Why she should feel thus she could not account, unless, said she to herself, I fear that my suspicion may be guessed at, and should my words or looks betray the royal bruise to any harm, that moment of undesigned ingratitude would be the last of my life. This explanation seemed ample to herself, and henceforth avoiding all mention of her preserver in her conversations with Lady Russven, she had confined the subject to her own breast. And thinking that she thought of him more, by her intention to speak of him less, she wondered not that whenever she was alone his image immediately rose in her mind, his voice seemed to sound in her ears, and even as the summer air wafted its soft fragrance over her cheek, she would turn as if she felt that that breath which had so gently brushed her to repose. She would then start in sigh, and repeat his words to herself, but all was serene in her bosom, for it seemed as if the contemplation of so much loveliness of soul in so noble a form, soothed instead of agitated to her heart. What a king will he be, thought she, with what transport would the virtuous Wallace set the Scottish crown on so noble a brow? Such were her meditations and feelings when she was brought to prisoner to Stirling, and when she heard of the victories of Wallace she could not but think that the brave arm of her knight was there, and that he, with the renowned champion of Scotland, would fly on the receipt of her letter to Stirling, there to repeat the valiant deeds of Dumbarton. The first blast of the Scottish trumpet under the walls found her, as she had said upon her knees, and kept her there for hardly with any intermission. With fastened prayer did she kneel before the altar of heaven till the voice of Andrew Murray at midnight called her to freedom and to happiness. Wallace and perhaps her nameless hero with him had again conquered. His idea dwelt in her heart, and faltered on her tongue, and yet, in reciting the narrative of her late sufferings to her father, when she came to the mentioning of the strangest conduct to her, with an apprehensive embarrassment, she felt her growing emotions as she drew near the subject, and, hurrying over the event, she could only excuse herself from such new perturbations by supposing that the former treason of Lady Ma now excited her alarm, with fear she should fix it on a new object. Turning cold at an idea so pregnant with horror, she hastily passed from the agitating theme to speak of devalance and the respect with which he had treated her during her imprisonment. His courtesy had professed to deny nothing to her wishes except her personal liberty, and any conference with her parents or aunt. Her father's life he declared it was altogether out of his power to grant. He might suspend the sentence, but he could not abrogate it. Yes cried the Earl, though false and inflexible, I must not accuse him of having been so barbarous in his tyranny as Cressingham, for it was not until devalance was taken prisoner that Joanna and I were divided. Till then we were lodged in decent apartments, but on that event Cressingham tore us from each other and threw us into different dungeons. My sister Janet I never saw since the hour we were separated in the streets of Stirling, until the awful moment in which we met on the roof of this castle, the moment when I expected to behold her and my wife died before my eyes. Helen now learned for the first time the base cruelties which had been exercised on her father and his family since the capture of devalance. She had been exempted from sharing them by the fears of Cressingham, who, knowing that the English Earl had particular views with regard to her, durst not risk offending him by outraging one whom he had declared himself determined to protect. During part of this conversation Murray withdrew to bring Lady Ruthven and her son to share the general joy of full domestic reunion. The happy Edwin and his mother having embraced these dear relatives, with yet more tender affections yearning in their bosoms, accompanied Murray to the door of the Barthican, which contained Lord Ruthven. They entered on the wings of conjugal and filial love. But the for once pensive Lord Andrew, with a slow amusing step, returned into the castle to see that all was safely disposed for the remainder of the night. The Scotty's Chiefs by Miss Jane Porter Chapter 35 Sterling Citadel At noon next day Murray received a message from Wallace, desiring him to acquaint the Earl of Marr that he was coming to the Citadel to offer the palace of Snodoon to the ladies of Marr, and to request the Earl to take charge of the illustrious prisoners he was bringing to the castle. Each member of the family hastened to prepare for an interview which excited different expectations in each different breast. Lady Marr well satisfied that Helen and Wallace had never met, and clinging to the vague words of Murray that he had sent to give her liberty, called forth every art of the tiring room to embellish her still-fine person. Lady Ruthven, with the respectable eagerness of a chaste matron, in prospect of seeing the man who had so often been the preserver of her brother, and who had so lately delivered her husband from a lonesome dungeon, was the first to join the Earl in the Great Gallery. Lady Marr soon after entered like Juneau in all her plumage of majesty and beauty. But the trumpet of Wallace had sounded in the gates before the trembling Helen could leave her apartment. It was the herald of his approach, and she sunk breathless into his seat. She was now going to see for the first time the man for whose woe she had so often wept, the man who had incurred them all for objects dear to her. He whom she had mourned as one stricken in sorrows, and feared for as an outlaw doomed to suffering into death, was now to appear before her, not in the garb of woe which excuses the sympathy it's where her excites, but arrayed as a conqueror, as a champion of Scotland, giving laws to her oppressors and entering in triumph over fields of their slain. Awful as this picture was to the timidity of her gentle nature, it alone did not occasion that inexpressible sensation which seemed to check the pulses of her heart. Was she or was she not to recognize in his train the young and noble Bruce, was she to be assured that he still existed, or by seeking him everywhere in vain, ascertain that he, who could not break his word, had perished, lonely and unknown? While these ideas thronged into her mind the platform below was filling with the triumphant scots, and, her door suddenly opening, Edwin entered in delighted haste. Come, cousin, cried he, Sir William Wallace has almost finished his business in the Great Hall. He has made my uncle governor of this place, and has committed nearly a thousand prisoners of rank to his care. If you be not expeditious you will allow him to enter the gallery before you. Hardly observing her face from the happy emotions which dazzled his own eyes, he seized her hand and hurried her to the gallery. Only her aunt and stepmother were yet there. Lady Ruthven sat composedly on a tapestry bench, awaiting the arrival of the company, but Lady Mar was near the door, listening impatiently to the voices beneath. At sight of Helen she drew back, but she smiled exultingly when she saw that all the splendor of beauty she had so lately beheld and dreaded was flown. Her unadorned garments gave no particular attraction to the simple lines of her form. The effulgence of her complexion was gone. Her cheek was pale, and the tremulous motion of her step deprived her of the elastic grace, which was usually the charm of her nymph-like figure. The triumph now sat in the eyes of the Countess and, with an air of authority, she waved Helen to take a seat beside Lady Ruthven. But Helen, fearful of what might be her emotion when the train should enter, had just placed herself behind her aunt, when the steps of many a mailed foot sounded upon the oaken floor of the outward gallery. The next moment the great doors of the huge screen opened and a crowd of knights and armor flashed upon her eyes. A strange dimness overspread her faculties, and nothing appeared to her but an indistinct throng approaching. She would have given worlds to have been removed from the spot, but was unable to stir, and on recovering her senses she beheld Lady Mar, who, exclaiming, ever my preserver, had hastened forward, now leaning on the bosom of one of the chiefs. His head was bent as if answering her in a low voice. By the golden locks, which hung down upon the jeweled tresses of the Countess, and obscured his face, she judged it must indeed be the deliverer of her father, the knight of her dream. But where was he who had delivered herself from a worse fate than death? Where was the dweller of her daily thoughts, the bright apparition of her unslumbering pillow? Helen sighed, now clearing to as keen a vision as before it had been dulled and indistinct, with a timid and anxious gaze glanced from face to face of the chieftains around, but all were strange. Then, withdrawing her eyes with the sad conviction that their search was indeed in vain, in the very moment of that despair they were arrested by a glimpse of the features of Wallace. He had raised his head, he shook back his clustering hair, and her secret was revealed. In that godlike countenance she recognized the object of her devoted wishes, and with a gasp of overwhelming surprise she must have fallen from her seat. Had not Lady Ruthven hearing a sound like the sigh of death turned round and caught her in her arms. The cry of her aunt drew every eye to the spot. Wallace immediately relinquished the countess to her husband and moved toward the beautiful and senseless form that lay on the bosom of Lady Ruthven. The earl in his agitated wife followed. What ails my Helen? asked the affectionate father. I know not, replied his sister, she sat behind me and I knew nothing of her disorder till she fell as you see. Murray instantly supposed that she had discovered the unknown knight, and looking from countenance to countenance amongst the train to try if he could discern the envied cause of such emotions, he read in no face an answering feeling with that of Helen's, and turning away from his unavailing scrutiny on hearing her draw a deep sigh his eyes fixed themselves on her, as if they would have read her soul. Wallace, who in the pale form before him, saw not only the woman whom he had preserved with the brother's care, but the compassionate saint who had given a hallowed grave to the remains of an angel, pure as herself, now hung over her with anxiety so eloquent in every feature that the countess would willingly at that moment have stabbed her in every vein. Lady Ruthven had sprinkled her knees with water, and as she began to revive, Wallace motioned to his chieftains to withdraw. Her eyes opened slowly, but recollection returning with every reawakened sense, she dimly perceived a press of people around her, and fearful of again encountering that face, which declared the bruce of her secret meditations and the Wallace of her declared veneration were one, she buried her blushes in the bosom of her father. At a short point of time images of past, present, and to come rushed before her, and without confessing to herself why she thought it necessary to make the vow, her soul seemed to swear on the sacred altar of a parent's heart never more to think on either idea. Separate it was sweet to muse on her own deliverer, it was delightful to dwell on the virtues of her father's preserver, but when she saw both characters blended in one, her feeling seemed sacrilege, and she wished even to bury her gratitude, where no eye but heavens could see its depth and fervor. Trembling at what might be the consequences of this scene, Lady Mar determined to hint to Wallace that Helen loved some unknown night, and, bending to her daughter, said in a low voice, yet loud enough for him to hear, retire, my child, you will be better in your own room, whether pleasure or disappointment about the person you wish to discover in Sir William's train have occasioned these emotions. Helen recovered herself at this indelicate remark, and raising her head with that modest dignity which only belongs to the purest mind, gently but firmly said, I obey you, Madam, and he whom I have seen will be too generous not to pardon the effects of so unexpected a weight of gratitude. As she spoke, her turning eye met the fixed gaze of Wallace. His countenance became agitated, and dropping on his knee beside her, gracious lady, cried he, mine is the right of gratitude, but it is dear land precious to me, a debt that my life will not be able to repay. I was ignorant of all your goodness when we parted in the Hermits Cave. But the spirit of an angel like yourself, Lady Helen, will whisper to you all her widowed husband's thanks. He pressed her hand fervently between his and, rising, left the room. Helen looked on with an immovable eye in which the heroic vow of her soul spoke in every beam. But as he arose, even then she felt its frailty, for her spirit seemed at leaving her, and as he disappeared from the door her world seemed shut from her eyes. Not to think of him was impossible. How to think of him was in her own power. Her heart felt as if suddenly made a desert. But heroism was there. She had looked upon the heaven-dedicated Wallace, on the widowed mourner of Marion, the saint and the hero, the being of another world, and as such she would regard him till in the realms of purity she might acknowledge the brother of her soul. A sacred inspiration seemed to illuminate her features, and to brace with the vigor of immortality those limbs which before had sunk under her, she forgot she was still of earth, while a holy love, like that of the dove and paradise, sat brooding on her heart. Lady Marge gazed on her without understanding the ethereal meaning of those looks, judging from her own impassioned feelings. She could only resolve the resplendent beauty which shone from the now animated face and form of Helen into the rapture of finding herself beloved. Had she not heard Wallace declare himself to be the unknown knight who had rescued Helen, she had heard him devote his life to her, and was not his heart included in that dedication. She had then heard that love vowed to another, which she would have sacrificed her soul to win. Murray, too, was confounded, but his reflections were far different from those of Lady Marge. He saw his newly self-desirned passion smothered in its first breath, at the moment in which he found that he loved his cousin above all of women's mold, an unappealable voice in his bosom made him crush every fond desire. That heart-witch, with the chaste transports of a sister, had throb so entrancingly against his, was then another's, was become the captive of Wallace's virtues, of the only man who his judgment would have said deserves Helen Marge. But when he clasped her glowing beauties in his arms only the night before, his enraptured soul then believed that the tender smile he saw on her lips was meant as the sweet earnest of the happier moment when he might hold her there forever. That dream was now past. Well, be it so, said he to himself, if this too-daring passion must be clipped on the wing, I have at least the consolation that it soared like the bird of Jove. But loveliest of created beings thought he, looking on Helen with an expression which, had she met it, would have told her all that was passing in his soul, if I am not to be thy love, I will be thy friend, and live for thee and Wallace. Believing that she had read her sentence in what she thought the triumphant glances of a happy passion, Lady Marge turned from her daughter-in-law with such a hatred kindling in her heart, she durst not trust her eyes to the inspection of the bystanders, but her tongue could not be restrained beyond the moment in which the object of her jealousy left the room. As the door closed upon Helen, who retired leaning on the arms of her aunt and Edwin, the countess turned to her lord, his eyes were looking with doting fondness toward the point where she withdrew. This sight augmented the angry tumults in the breast of his wife, and with a bitter smile she said, So, my lord, you find the icy bosom of your Helen can be thawed. How do you mean, Joanna? Returned the earl, doubting her words and looks, you surely cannot blame our daughter for being sensible of gratitude. I blame all young women, replied she, who give themselves heirs of unnatural coldness, and then, when the proof comes, behave in a manner so extraordinary, so indelically, I must say. My Lady Marge ejaculated the earl with an amazed look. What am I to think of you from this? How has my daughter behaved indelically? She did not lay her head on Sir William Wallace's bosom, and weep there till he replaced her on her natural pillow. Mine, have a care, madam, that I do not see more in this spleen than would be honourable to you for me to discover. Fearing nothing so much as that her husband should really suspect the passion which possessed her, and so remove her from the sight of Wallace, she presently recalled her former duplicity, and with the surprised and uncomprehending air, replied, I do not understand what you mean, Donald. Then turning to Lord Ruthwin, who stood uneasily viewing this scene, how, cried she, can my lord discover spleen in my maternal anxiety, respecting the daughter of the husband I love and honour above all the earth? But men do not properly estimate female reserve. Any woman would say with me that to faint at the sight of Sir William Wallace was declaring an emotion not to be revealed before so large a company, a something from which men might not draw the most agreeable inferences. It only declared surprise, madam, cried Murray, the surprise of a modest and ingenuous mind that did not expect to recognize its mountain friend in the person of the protector of Scotland. Lady Mar put up her lip, and turning to the still silent Lord Ruthwin again addressed him. Stepmothers, my lord, said she, have hard duties to perform, and when we think we fulfill them best, our suspicious husband comes with the magician's wand and turns all our good to evil. A ray your good and a less equivocal garb, my dear Joanna, answered the Earl of Mar, rather ashamed of the hasty words which, indeed, the suspicion of a moment had drawn from his lips. Judge my child by her usual conduct, not by an accidental appearance of inconsistency, and I shall ever be grateful for your solicitude. But in this instance, though she might betray the weakness of an enfeebled constitution, it was certainly not the frailty of a lovesick heart. Judge me by your own rule, dear Donald, cried his wife, landishly kissing his forehead, and you will not again wither the mother of your boy with such a look as I just now received. Glad to see this reconciliation, Lord Ruthfyn made a sign to Murray, and they withdrew together. Meanwhile the honest Earl surrendering his whole heart to the wiles of his wife poured into her not inattentive ear all his wishes for Helen, all the hopes to which her late meeting with Wallace and their present recognition had given birth. I had rather have that man, my son, said he, than see my beloved daughter placed on an imperial throne. I do not doubt it, thought Lady Mar, for there are many emperors but only one William Wallace. However, her sentiments she confined to herself, neither assenting nor dissenting, but answering so as to secure the confidence by which she hoped to traverse his designs. According to the inconsistency of the wild passion that possessed her, one moment she saw nothing but despair before her, and in the next it seemed impossible that Wallace should in heart be proof against her tenderness and charms. She remembered Murray's words, that he was sent to set her free, and that recollection reawakened every hope. Sir William had placed Lord Mar in a post as dangerous as honorable. Should the Southrins return in any force into Scotland, Sterling must be one of the first places they would attack. The Earl was brave, but his wounds had robbed him of much of his martial vigor. Might she not then be indeed set free? And might not Wallace on such an event mean to repay her for all those sighs he now sought to repress from ideas of a virtue which she could admire, but had not the courage to imitate? These wicked meditations passed even at the sight of her husband, and with a view to further every wish of her intoxicated imagination, she determined to spare no exertion to secure the support of her own family which, when agreeing in one point, was the most powerful of any in the kingdom. Her father, the Earl of Straithorne, was now a misanthroped recluse in the Orkneys. She therefore did not calculate on his assistance, but she resolved on requesting Wallace to put the names of her cousins, Athol and Badenok, into the exchange of prisoners, for by their means she expected to accomplish all she hoped. On Mar's probable speedy death, she so long thought that she regarded it as a certainty, and so pressed forward to the fulfillment of her love and ambition with as much eagerness as if he were already in his grave. She recollected that Wallace had not this time thrown her from his bosom, when in the transports of her joy she cast herself upon it. He only gently whispered, Beware, lady, there are those present who may thank my services too richly paid. With these words he had relinquished her to her husband, but in them she saw nothing inimical to her wishes. It was a caution, not a reproof, and had not his warmer address to Helen conjured up all the fiends of jealousy she would have been perfectly satisfied with these grounds of hope, slippery though they were, like the sands of the sea. Eager, therefore, to break away from Lord Mar's projects relating to his daughter, at the first decent opportunity she said, We will consider more of this, Donald. I now resign you to the duties of your office, and shall pay mine to her whose interest is our own. Lord Mar pressed her hand to his lips, and they parted. Prior to Wallace's visit to the Citadel, which was to be at an early hour the same morning, a list of the noble prisoners was put into his hand. Edwin pointed to the name of Lord Montgomery. That, said he, is the name of the person you already esteem, but how will you regard him when I tell you who he was? Wallace turned on him an inquiring look. You have often spoken to me of Sir Gilbert Hamilton, and this be he, interrupted Wallace. Edwin recounted the manner of the Earl discovering himself, and how he came to bear that title. Wallace listened in silence, and when his young Fred ended, sighed heavily, I will thank him, was all he said, and rising he proceeded to the chamber of Montgomery. Even at that early hour it was filled with his officers come to inquire after their late commander's health. Wallace advanced to the couch, and the Southerns drew back. The expression of his countenance told the Earl that he now knew him. Noblest of Englishmen cried Wallace in a low voice. I come to express a gratitude to you, as lasting as the memory of the action which gave it birth. Your generous conduct to all that was dearest to me on earth was that night in the garden of Ellersley, witnessed by myself. I was in the tree above your head, and nothing but a conviction that I should embarrass the honor of my wife's protector could at that moment have prevented my springing from my covert and declaring my gratitude on the spot. Receive my thanks now, inadequate as they are, to express what I feel. But you offered me your heart on the field of canvas, Kenneth. I will take that as a generous intimation, how I may best acknowledge my debt. Receive then my never-dying friendship, the eternal gratitude of my immortal spirit. The answer of Montgomery could not but refer to the same subject, and by presenting the tender form of his wife and her devoted love almost visibly again before her widowed husband nearly forced open the fountain of tears which he had buried deep in his heart, and rising suddenly, for fear his emotions might betray themselves, he warmly pressed the hand of his English friend and left the room. In the course of the same day the Southrin nobles were transported into the citadel, and the family of Mar removed from the fortress to take up their residence in the palace of Snodun. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE CARS OF STIRLING. The fame of these victories, the seizure of Sterling, the conquest of above sixty thousand men, and the Lord Warden with his late deputy taken prisoners, all spread through the country on the wings of the wind. Messengers were dispatched by Wallace, not only to the nobles who had already declared for the cause by sending him their armed followers, but to the clans who yet stood irresolute. To the chiefs who had taken the sight of Edward he sent no exhortation. And when Lord Bruthven advised him to do so, no, my Lord, said he, we must not spread a snare under our country, and as they had the power to befriend her they would not have collied with their enemies. They remember her happiness under the rule of our Alexanders. They see her sufferings beneath the sway of a usurper, and if they can know these things and require arguments to bring them to their duty, should they then come to it, it would not be to fulfill but to betray. Ours, my dear Lord Bruthven, is a commission from heaven. The truth of our cause is God's own signet, and it is so clear that it need only be seen to be acknowledged. All honest minds will come to us of themselves, and those who are not so, had better be avoided than shown the way by which treachery may affect what open violence cannot accomplish. This reasoning, drawn from the experience of nature, neither encumbered by the subtleties of policy nor the sophistry of the schools, was evident to every honest understanding, and decided the question. Lady Mar, unknown to anyone, again applied to her fatal pen, but with other views than for the ruin of the cause, or the destruction of Wallace. It was to strengthen his hands with the power of all her kinsmen, and finally, by the crown which they should place on his head, exalt her to the dignity of a queen. She wrote first to John Cummins, Earl of Buchan, enforcing a thousand reasons why he should now leave a sinking cause, and join the rising fortunes of his country. You see, said she, that the happy star of Edward is setting. The King of France not only maintains possession of that monarch's territory at Guyenne, but he holds him in check on the shores of Flanders. Baffled abroad, an insurrection awaits him at home, the priesthood whom he has insulted, trample name with anathemas. The nobles whom he has insulted, trample on his prerogative, and the people, whose privileges he has invaded, call aloud for redress. The proud barons of England are ready to revolt. And the lords hereford and Norfolk, those two urls whom, after madly threatening to hang, he sought to bribe to their allegiance by leaving them in the full powers of Constable and Marshal of England. They are now conducting themselves with such domineering consequence that even the Prince of Wales submits to their directions, and the throne of the absent tyrant is shaken to its center. Edward intended to send out forces to Guyenne under the command of Humphrey Earl of Hereford, the Constable and Roger Earl of Norfolk, the Marshal of England, when these two powerful nobles refused to execute his commands. A violent altercation ensued, and the king, in the height of his passion, exclaimed to the Constable, Sir Earl, by blank you shall either go or hang. By blank, Sir King, replied Hereford, I will neither go nor hang, and he immediately departed with the Marshal and their respective trains. End of footnote. Sir William Wallace has rescued Scotland from his yoke. The country now calls for her ancient lords, those who made her kings, and supported them. Come, then, my cousin, espouse the cause of right, the cause that is in power, the cause that may aggrandize the House of Common with still higher dignities than any with which it has hitherto been blazoned. With these arguments and with others more adapted to his belial mind, she tried to bring him to her purpose, to awaken what ambition he possessed, and to entice his baser passions, by offering security and a rescued country to the indulgence of senses to which he had already sacrificed the best properties of man. She dispatched her letter by a messenger whom she bribed a secrecy, and added in her postscript that the answer she should hope to receive would be an offer of his services to Sir William Wallace. While the Countess of Mar was devising her plans for the gaining of Lord Buchen was only a preliminary measure, the dispatches of Wallace had taken effect. Their simple details and the voice of fame had roused a general spirit throughout the land, and in the course of a very short time, after the different messengers had left sterling, the plain around the city was covered with a mixed multitude. All Scotland seemed pressing to throw itself at the feet of its preserver. A large body of men brought from Mar by Murray, according to his uncle's orders, were amongst the first encamped on the karst, and that part of Wallace's own particular band which he had left at Dunbarton to recover their wounds, now under the command of Stephen Ireland rejoined their lord at sterling. Neil Campbell, the brave lord of Loch Ah, and Lord Bothwell, the father of Lord Andrew Murray, with a strong reinforcement, arrived from Argyllshire. The chiefs of Ross, Dundas, Gordon, Lockhart, Logan, Elphinstone, Scott, Erskine, Lindsay, Cameron, and of almost every noble family in Scotland sent their sons at the heads of detachments from their clans to swell the ranks of Sir William Wallace. When this patriotic host assembled on the karst of sterling, every inmate of the city, who had not duty to confine him within the walls, turned out to view the glorious sight. Mounted on a rising ground they saw each little army, and the emblazoned banners of all the chivalry of Scotland floating afar over the lengthened ranks. At this moment the lines which guarded the outworks of sterling opened from right to left, and discovered Wallace advancing on a white charger. When the conqueror of Edwards hosts appeared, the Deliverer of Scotland, a mighty shout from the thousands around, rent the skies and shook the earth on which they stood. Wallace raised his helmet from his brow, as by an instinctive motion every hand bent the sword or banner it contained. He comes in the strength of David, cried the venerable bishop of Dunkeld, who appeared at the head of his church's tinnetry. Scots behold the lords anointed. The exclamation which burst like inspiration from lips of the bishop struck to every heart. Long live our William the Lion, our Scottish King, what's echoed with transport by every follower on the ground. And while the reverberating heavens seemed to ratify the voice of the people, the lords themselves, believing that he who won had the best right to enjoy, joined in the glorious cry. Galloping up from the front of their ranks, they threw themselves from their steeds, and before Wallace could recover from the surprise into which this unexpected salutation had thrown him, Lord Boffwell and Lord Loch-O, followed by the rest, had bent their knees and acknowledged him to be their sovereign. The bishop of Dunkeld at the same moment, drawing from his breast a silver dove of sacred oil, ported upon the unbonneted head of Wallace. Thus, O King, cried he, do I consecrate on earth what has already received the unction of heaven. Wallace, at this action, was awestruck, and raising his eyes to that heaven. His soul in silence breathed its unutterable devotion. Then, looking on the bishop, Holy Father said he, this unction may have prepared my brows for a crown, but it is not of this world, and divine mercy must bestow it. Rise, lords, and as he spoke, he flung himself from his horse, and, taking Lord Boffwell by the hand, as the eldest of the band, kneel not to me, cried he. I am to you what Gideon was to the Israelites, your fellow soldier. I cannot assume the scepter you would bestow. For he who rules us all has yet preserved to you a lawful monarch. Bruce lives, and where he extinct, the blood-royal flows in too many noble veins in Scotland, for me to you, Serpent's rites. The rites of the crown lie with the only man in Scotland who knows how to defend them, else reason is blind, or the nation abandons its own prerogative. What we have this moment vowed is not to be forsworn. Belial has abdicated our throne. The Bruce deserted it. All our noble slept till you awoke, and shall we bow to men who may follow, but will not lead? No, bravest Wallace, from the moment you drew the first sword for Scotland, you made yourself her lawful king. Wallace turned to the veteran Lord of Loughaw, who uttered this with a blunt determination that meant to say, the election which had passed should not be recalled. I made myself her champion to fight for her freedom, not my own grandisement. Were I to accept the honour with which this too-grateful nation will repay my service, I should not bring it that peace for which I contend. Struggling for liberty, the toils of my brave countrymen would be redoubled, for they would have to maintain the rites of an unallied king. Against the host of enemies, the circumstances of a man from the private stations of life being elevated to such a dignity would be felt as an insult by every royal house, and foes and friends would arm against us. On these grounds of policy alone, even were my heart not loyal to the vows of my ancestors, I should repel the mischief you would bring upon yourselves by making me your king. As it is, my conscience, as well as my judgment, compels me to reject it. As your general I may serve you gloriously. As your monarch, in spite of myself, I shall incur your ultimate destruction. From whom, noblest of Scots, asked the Lord of Bothwell, from yourselves my friends answered Wallace with a gentle smile. Could I take advantage of the generous enthusiasm of a grateful nation? Could I forget the duty I owe to the blood of our Alexanders and leap into the throne? There are many who would soon revolt against their own election. You cannot be ignorant that there are natures who would endure no rule did not come by the right of inheritance, a right by dispute lest they teach their inferiors the same refractory lesson. But to bend with voluntary subjection, to long obey a power raised by themselves would be a sacrifice abhorrent to their pride. After having displayed their efficiency in making a king, they would prove their independence by striving to pull him down the moment he made them feel acceptor. Such would be the fate of this election. Jealousies and rebellions would mark my reign, till even my closest adherents, seeing the miseries of civil war, would fall from my side and leave the country again open to the inroads of her enemies. These, my friends and countrymen, would be my reasons for rejecting the crown did my ambition point that way. But as I have no joy in titles, no pleasure in any power that does not spring hourly from the heart, let my reign be in your bosoms, and with the appellation of your fellow soldier, your friend, I will fight for you, I will conquer for you, I will live or die. This man, whispered Lord Buchen, who having arrived in the rear of the troops on the appearance of Wallace, advanced within hearing of what he said, this man shows more cunning in repulsing a crown than most are capable of exerting to obtain one. I, but let us see, returned the Earl of March, who accompanied him, whether it be not Caesar's coiness, he thrice refused the purple, and yet he died emperor of the Romans. He that offers me a crown, returned Buchen, shall never catch me playing the coquette with its charms. I warn you, I would embrace the lovely mischief in the first presentation. A shout rent the air. What is that? cried he, interrupting himself. He has followed your advice, answered March, with a satirical smile. It is the preliminary trumpet to long live King William the Great. Lord Buchen spurred forward to scrimgeur, whom he knew, and inquired, where the new king was to be crowned. We have not yet to thank him for the possession of scone. True, cried Sir Alexander, comprehending the sarcasm, but did Sir William Wallace accept the prayers of Scotland? Neither scone nor any other spot in the kingdom would refuse the place of his coronation. Not accept them, replied Buchen, then why the shout? Do the changelings rejoice in being refused? When we cannot gain the altitude of our desires, return the night, it is yet subject for thankfulness when we reach a step toward it. Sir William Wallace has consented to be considered as the protector of the kingdom, to hold it for the rifle sovereign under the name of Regent. I, cried March, he has only taken a mistress instead of a wife. And, trust me, when once he has got her into his arms, it will not be all the great beards in Scotland that can rest her dense again. I marvel to see how men can be cajoled and call the visor virtue. Scrimgeur had not waited for this reply of the insolent earl, and Buchen answered him. I care not, said he, whoever keeps my castle over my head, and my cellars full, is welcome to reign over John of Buchen. So onward, my gallant cost Patrick to make our bow to royalty and masquerade. When these scorners approached, they found Wallace standing uncovered in the midst of his happy nobles. There was not a man present to whom he had not given proofs of his divine commission. Each individual was snatched from a state of oppression and disgrace and placed in security and honor. With overflowing gratitude they all thronged around him, and the young, the isolated Wallace found a nation waiting on his nod, the hearts of half a million people, offered to his hand to turn and wind them as he pleased. No crown sat on his brows, but the bright halo of true glory beamed from his godlike countenance. It even checked the arrogant smiles with which the haughty march and the voluptuous Buchen came forward to mock him with their homage. As the near relations of Lady Marr he received them with courtesy, but one glance of his eye penetrated to the hollowness of both, and then, remounting his steed, the stirrups of which were held by Edwin and Kerr, he touched the head of the former with his hand. Follow me, my friend, I now go to pay my duty to your mother. For you, my lord, said he, turning to the nobles around, I shall hope to meet you at noon in the citadel, where we must consult together on further prompt movements. Nothing with us can be considered as one till all is gained. The chieftains, with bowels, acquiesced in his mandate, and fell back toward their troops. But the foremost ranks of those brave fellows, having heard much of what had passed, were so inflamed with admiration of their regent, that they rushed forward and collecting in crowds around his horse, and in his path some pressed to kiss his hand, and others his way, shouting and calling down blessings upon him, till he stopped at the gate of Snodun. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Calynda Owing to the multiplicity of affairs which engaged Wallace's attention after the capture of Sterling, the ladies of Mar had not seen him since his first visit to the citadel. The countess passed this time in writing her dispatches to the numerous lords of her house, both in Scotland and in England, and by her subtle arguments she completely persuaded her husband of the cogency of putting the names of Lord Athol and Lord Badnoch into the list of noble prisoners he should request. When this was proposed to Wallace, he recollected the conduct of Athol at Montrose, and being alone with Lord Mar, he made some objections against inviting him back into the country. But the Earl, who was prepared by his wife to overcome every obstacle in the way of her kinsmen's return, answered that he believed from the representations he had received of the private opinions both of Badnoch and Athol, that their treason was more against Ballyol than the kingdom, and that now that prince was irretrievably removed, he understood they would be glad to take part in its recovery. That may be the case with the Earl of Badnoch, replied Wallace, but something less friendly to Scotland must be in the breast of the man who could betray Lord Douglas into the hands of his enemies. So I should have thought, replied the Earl, had not the earnestness with which my wife pleads his cause convinced me she knows more of his mind than she chooses to entrust with me, and therefore I suppose his conduct to Douglas arose from personal peak. Though these explanations did not at all raise the absent lords in his esteem, yet to appear hostile to the return of Lady Mar's relations would be a violence to her, which in proportion, as Wallace shrunk from the guilty affection she was so eager to lavish upon him, he was averse to committing, wishing by showing her every proper consideration to lead her to apprehend the turpitude of her conduct, by convincing her that his abhorrence of her advances had its origin in principle rather than from personal repugnance to herself, and so she might see the foulness of her crime, and be recalled to virtue. He was therefore not displeased to have this opportunity of obliging her, and as he hoped that among so many warm friends a few cool ones could not do much injury, he gave in the names of Badnach and Athol, with those of Lord Douglas, Sir William Maitlandt, the only son of the venerable Knight of Thirlistain, Sir John Montaith, and many other brave Scots. For these, the Earls de Waren, de Valence, and Montgomery, the Barons Hilton and Blenkinsop, and others of note, were too exchanged. Those of lesser consequence, man for man, were to be returned for Scots of the same degree. In arranging preliminaries to affect the speedy return of the Scots from England, who must be known to have arrived on the borders before the English would be permitted to cross them, in writing dispatches on the subject, and on others of equal moment, had passed the time between the surrender of Stirling and the hour when Wallace was called to the plain to receive the offered homage of his grateful country. Impatient to behold again the object of her fond machinations, Lady Mar hastened to the window of her apartment, when the shouts in the street informed her of the approach of Wallace. The loud hazzaz, accompanied by the acclamations of Our Protector and Prince, seemed already to bind her brows with her anticipated diadem, and for a moment, Vanity lost the image of love in the purple with which she enveloped it. Her ambitious vision was disturbed by the crowd rushing forward. The gates were thronged with people of every age and sex, and Wallace himself appeared on his white charger with his helmet off, bowing and smiling upon the populace. There was a mild effulgence in his eye, a divine benevolence in his countenance, as his parted lip showed the brightness of his smile which seemed to speak of happiness within, of joy to all around. She hastily snatched a chaplet of flowers from her head and threw it from the window. Wallace looked up. His brow and his smile were then directed to her, but they were altered. The moment he met the congratulation of her eager eyes, he remembered what would have been the soft welcome of his marions under the like circumstance. But that tender eye was closed, that ear was shut, to whom he would have wished these plaudits to have given rapture, and they were now as nothing to him. The countess saw not what was passing in his mind, but kissing her hand to him disappeared from the window when he entered the palace. Another eye, beside the Lady's Mars, had witnessed the triumphant entry of Wallace. Triumphant in the true sense of the word, for he came a victor over the hearts of men. He came not attended by his captives one in the war, but by the people he had blessed, by throngs calling him preserver, father, friend, and prince. By every title which can inspire the soul of man with the happy consciousness of fulfilling his embassy here below. Helen was this witness. She had passed the long interval since she had seen Wallace in the state of one in a dream. The glance had been so transient that every succeeding hour seemed to lessen the evidence of her senses that she had really beheld him. It appeared impossible to her that the man whom her thoughts had hitherto dwelt on as the widowed husband of Marian, as the hero whom sorrow had wholly dedicated to patriotism and to heaven, should ever awaken in her breast feelings which would seem to break, like a sacrilegious host upon the holy consecration of his. Once she had contemplated this idea with the pensive impressions of one leaning over the grave of a hero, and she could then turn, as if emerging from the glooms of the sepulchral monuments to upper day, to the image of her unknown knight. She could then blamelessly recollect the matchless graces of his figure, the noble soul that breathed from his every word in action, the sweet, though thoughtful serenity that sat on his brow. There, whispered she to herself, are the lofty meditations of a royal mind, devising the freedom of his people. When that is affected, how will the perfect sunshine break out from that face? Ah, how blessed must Scotland be under his reign when all will be light, virtue, and joy. Bliss hovered like an angel over the image of this imaginary Bruce, while sorrow in mourning weeds seemed ever dropping tears when any circumstance recalled that of the real Wallace. Such was the state of Helen's thoughts. When in the moment, beholding the chief ellersly in the citadel, she recognized in his expected melancholy form the resplendent countenance of him whom she supposed the Prince of Scotland. That two images so opposite should at once unite, that in one bosom should be mingled all the virtues she had believed peculiar to each, struck her with overwhelming amazement. But when she recovered from her short smoon, and found Wallace at her feet, when she felt that all the devotion her heart had hitherto paid to the simple idea of virtue alone would now be attracted to that glorious mortal in whom all human excellence appeared summed up, she trembled under an emotion that seemed to rob her of herself and place a new principle of being within her. All was so extraordinary, so unlooked for, so bewildering, that from the moment in which she had retired in such a paroxysm of highly wrought feelings from her first interview in the gallery with him, she became altogether like a person in a trance, and hardly answering her aunt when she then led her up the stairs, only complained she was ill, and threw herself upon a couch. At the very time that her heart told her in a language she could not misunderstand, that she irrevocably loved this too glorious, too amiable Wallace, it as powerfully denounced to her that she had devoted herself to one who must ever be to her as a being of air. No word of sympathy would ever whisper felicity to her heart. No, the flame that was within her, which she found would be immortal as the vessel fires which resemble its purity, must burn their unknown, hidden, but not smothered. Were this a canonized saint, cried she, as she laid her throbbing head upon her pillow, how gladly should I feel these emotions? For could I not fall down and worship him? Could I not think at a world of bliss to live forever within the influence of his virtues, looking at him, listening to him, rejoicing in his praises, happy in his happiness? Yes, though I were a peasant girl and he not know that Helen Marr ever existed. And I may live thus, said she, and I may steal some portion of the rare lot that was Lady Marion's, to die for such a man. Ah! could I be in Edwin's place and wait upon his smiles, but that may not be. I am a woman, and form to suffer in silence and seclusion. But even at a distance, brave Wallace, my spirit shall watch over you in the form of this Edwin. I will teach him a double care of the light of Scotland, and my prayers also shall follow you, so that when we meet in heaven the blessed virgin shall say with what hosts of angels her intercessions, through my vigils, have surrounded thee. End of Chapter 37 CHAPTER 38 THE BOWER OR LADY'S APARTMENT Thus did Lady Helen commune with her own strangely affected heart, sometimes doubting the evidence of her eyes. Then, convinced of their fidelity, striving to allay the tumults in her mind. She seldom appeared from her own rooms. And such retirement was not questioned, her father being altogether engaged at the citadel, the countess absorbed in her own speculations, and Lady Ruthven alone interrupted the solitude of her niece by frequent visits. Little suspecting the cause of Helen's prolonged indisposition, she generally selected Wallace for the subject of conversation. She descanted with enthusiasm on the rare perfection of his character, told her all that Edwin had related of his actions from the taking of Dumbarton to the present moment, and then Bad Helen remarked the miracle of such wisdom, valor, and goodness being found in one so young and handsome. So, my child, added she, depend on it. Before he was Lady Marion's husband, he must have heard size enough from the ferris in our land to have turned the wits of half the male world. There is something in his very look. Did you meet him on the heath without better bargain than a shepherd's plaid, sufficient to declare him the noblest of men? And me thinks would excuse the gentlest lady in the land for leaving haul and bower to share his sheepcoat. But alas, and then the playful expression of her countenance altered, he is now for none on earth. With these words she turned the subject to the confidential hours he passed with the young adopted brother of his heart. Every fond emotion seemed then centred in his wife and child. When Lady Ruthven repeated his pathetic words to Edwin, she wept, she even sobbed, and paused to recover. While the deep and silent tears which flowed from the heart to the eyes of Lady Helen bathed the side of the couch on which she leaned. Alas, cried Lady Ruthven, that a man so formed to grace every relation in life, so noble a creature in all respects, so fond of a husband so full of parental tenderness, that he should be deprived of the wife on whom he doted, that he should be cut off from all hope of posterity, that when he shall die, nothing will be left of William Wallace, breaks my heart. Oh, my aunt, cried Helen, raising her head with animation, will he not leave behind him the liberty of Scotland? That is an offspring worthy of his godlike soul. True, my dear Helen, but had you ever been a parent, you would know that no achievements, however great, can heal the wound made in the father's heart by the loss of a beloved child. And those Sir William Wallace never saw the infant, ready to bless his arms, yet it perished in the bosom of its mother, and that circumstance must redouble his affliction. Horribly does it enhance the cruelty of the deed. He has in all things been a direful sacrifice, returned Helen, and with God alone dwells the power to wipe the tears from his heart. They flow not from his eyes, answered her aunt, but deep, deep is the grief that my Edwin says is still settled there. While Lady Ruthven was uttering these words, shouts in the street made her pause, and soon recognizing the name of Wallace sounding from the lips of the rejoicing multitude, she turned to Helen. Here comes our deliverer, cried she, taking her by the hand. We have not seen him since the first day of our liberty. It will do you good, as it will me, to look upon his beneficent face. She obeyed the impulse of her aunt's arm, and reached the window just as he passed into the courtyard. Helen's soul seemed rushing from her eyes. Ah, it is indeed he, thought she. No dream, no illusion, but his very self. He looked up, but not on her side of the building. It was to the window of Lady Marr, and as he bowed, he smiled. All the charms of that smile struck upon the soul of Helen, and hastily retreating, she sunk breathless into a seat. Oh, no, that man cannot be born for the isolated state I have just lamented. He has not to be forever cut off from communicating that happiness to which he would give so much enchantment. Lady Ruthven ejaculated this with fervor, her matron cheeks fleshing with a sudden and more forcible admiration of the person and mean of Wallace. There was something in that smile, Helen, which tells me that all is not chilled within. And indeed, how should it be otherwise? That generous interest in the happiness of all, which seems to flow in a tide of universal love, cannot spring from a source incapable of dispensing the softer screams of it again. Helen, whose well-poised soul was not affected by the agitation of her body, agitation she was determined to conquer, calmly answered, Such a hope little agrees with all you have been telling me of his conversation with Edwin. Sir William Wallace will never love woman more, and even to name the idea seems an offense against the sacredness of his sorrow. Blame me not, Helen, returned Lady Ruthven, that I forgot probability in grasping at possibility, which might give me such a nephew as Sir William Wallace, and you a husband worthy of your merits. I had always, in my own mind, fixed on the unknown night for your future lord. And now that I find that he and the deliverer of Scotland are one, I am not to be looked grave at for wishing to reward him with the most precious heart that ever beat in a female breast. No more of this if you love me, dear aunt, returned Helen, it neither can nor ought to be. I revere the memory of Lady Marion too much not to be agitated by the subject, so no more. She was agitated. But at that instant Edwin, throwing the door open, put an end to the conversation. He came to apprise his mother that Sir William Wallace was in the State Department's, come purposely to pay his respects to her, not having been introduced to her when the sudden illness of her niece in the castle had made them part so abruptly. I will not interrupt his introduction now, said Helen, with a faint smile. A few days' retirement will strengthen me, and then I shall see our protector as I ought. I will stay with you, cried Edwin, and I dare say Sir William Wallace will have no objection to be speedily joined by my mother, for as I came along I met my aunt Marh hastening through the gallery, and between ourselves, my sweet cousin, I do not think my noble friend quite likes a private conversation with your fair stepmother. Lady Ruthben had withdrawn before he made this observation. Why, Edwin, surely she would not do anything ungracious to one to whom she owes so great a weight of obligations. When Helen asked this, she remembered the spleen Lady Marh once cherished against Wallace, and she feared it might now be revived. Ungracious? Oh, no, the reverse of that, but her gratitude is full of absurdity. I will not repeat the fulleries with which she sought to detain him at boot, and that some new fancy respecting him is now about to menace his patience. I am convinced, for on my way hither I met her hurrying along, and as she passed me she exclaimed, Is Lord Bukheim arrived? I answered yes. Ah, then he proclaimed him king, cried she, and into the great gallery she darted. You do not mean to say, demanded Helen, turning her eyes with an expression which seemed confident of his answer, that Sir William Wallace has accepted the crown of Scotland. Certainly not, replied Edwin, but as certainly it has been offered to him, and he has refused it. I could have sworn it, returned Helen, rising from her chair. All is loyal, all is great and consistent there, Edwin. He is indeed the perfect exemplar of all nobleness rejoined the youth, and I believe I shall even love you better, my dear cousin, because you seem to have so clear an apprehension of his real character. He then proceeded, with all the animation of the most zealous affection, to narrate to Helen the particulars of the late scene on the Carse of Sterling. And while he deepened still more the profound impression the virtues of Wallace had made on her heart, he reopened its more tender sympathies by repeating, with even my neuter accuracy than he had done to his mother, details of those hours which he passed with him in retirement. He spoke of the Beacon Hill, of moonlight walks in the camp, when all but the sentinels, and his general, and himself, were sunk in sleep. These were the seasons when the suppressed feelings of Wallace would by fits break from his lips, and at last pour themselves out unrestrainedly to the ear of sympathy. As the young narrator described all the endearing qualities of his friend, the cheerful heroism with which he quelled every tender remembrance to do his duty in the day, for it is only in the night, said Edwin, that my general remembers Ellersley. Helen's tears again stole silently down her cheeks. Edwin perceived them, and throwing his arms gently around her. Weep not, my cousin, said he, for with all his sorrow I never saw true happiness till I beheld it in the eyes and heard it in the voice of Sir William Wallace. He has talked to me of the joy he should experience in giving liberty to Scotland, and establishing her peace, till his enthusiastic soul grasping hope as if it were possession. He has looked on me with a consciousness of enjoyment, which seemed to say that all bliss was summed up in a patriot's breast. And at other times, when after a conversation on his beloved Marian, a few natural regrets would pass his lips, and my tears tell how deep was my sympathy, then he would turn to comfort me, and then he would show me the world beyond this, that world which is the aim of all his deeds, the end of all his travails, and lost in the rapturous idea of meeting his Marian there, a foretaste of all would seem to seize his soul. And where I then called upon to point out the most enviable felicity on earth, I should say it is that of Sir William Wallace. It is this enthusiasm in all he believes and feels that makes him what he is. It is this eternal spirit of hope infused into him by heaven itself that makes him rise from sorrow like the sun from a cloud, brighter and with more ardent beams. It is this that bathes his lips in the smiles of paradise, that throws a divine luster over his eyes, and makes all dream of love and happiness that look upon him. Edwin paused. Is it not so, my cousin? Helen raised her thoughtful face. He is not a being of this earth, Edwin. We must learn to imitate him as well as to she hesitated, then added. As well as to revere him, I do before the altars of the saints. But not to worship, said she, interrupting herself, that would be a crime. To look on him is a glorious example of patient suffering, of invincible courage in the behalf of truth and mercy. This is the end of my reverence for him, and this sentiment, my dear Edwin, you partake. It possesses me wholly, cried the energetic youth. I have no thought, no wish, nor ever move or speak, but with the intent to be like him. He calls me his brother, and I will be so in soul, though I cannot in blood. And then, my dear Helen, you shall have two Sir William Wallace's to love. Sweetest, sweetest boy, cried Helen, putting her quivering lips to his forehead. You will then always remember that Helen so dearly loves Scotland as to be jealous, above all earthly things, for the Lord regents safety. Be his guardian angel. Beware of treason in man and woman, friend and kindred. It lurks my cousin under the most specious forms, and, as one, Mark Lord Buchan. In short, have a care of all whom any of the house of come and may introduce. Watch over your general's life in the private hour. It is not the public field I fear for him. His valiant arm will there be his own guard. But in the unreserved day of confidence, Envy will point its dagger. And then, be his eyes to his two trusting soul, as a shield, to his two confidently exposed breast. As she spoke, she strove to conceal her too eloquent face in the silken ringlets of her hair. I will be all of this, cried Edwin, who saw nothing in her tender solicitude but the ingenuous affection which glowed in his own heart. And I will be your eyes, too, my cousin, for when I am absent with Sir William Wallace, I shall consider myself your representative, and so will send you regular dispatches of all that happens to him. Thanks would have been a poor means of imparting what she felt at this assurance, and rising from her seat with some of Wallace's own resigned and enthusiastic expression on her face, she pressed Edwin's hand to her heart, then bowing her head to him in token of gratitude, withdrew into an inner apartment. End of Chapter 38. Recording by Kalinda, in Lunaburg, Germany, on March 5, 2009