WHILE Wallace, accompanied by his brave
friends, was thus carrying all before him from the Grampian to the Cheviot
Hills, Bruce was rapidly recovering. His eager wishes seemed to heal his
wounds; and on the tenth day after the departure of Wallace, he left that
couch, which had been beguiled of its irksomeness by the smiling
attentions of the tender Isabella. The ensuing Sabbath beheld him still
more restored; and having imparted his intentions to the Lords Ruthven and
Douglas, who were both with him, the next morning he joyfully buckled on
his armour. Isabella, when she saw him thus clad, started, and the roses
left her cheek. "I am armed to be your guide, to Hunting-tower,"
said he, with a look that showed her he read her thoughts. He then
called for pen and ink, to write to Wallace. The re-assured Isabella,
rejoicing in the glad beams of his brightening eyes, held the standish. As
be dipped his pen, he looked at her with; grateful tenderness that
thrilled to her soul, and made her bend her blushing face, to hide
emotions which whispered bliss in every beat of her happy heart. Thus,
with a spirit wrapt in felicity, for victory hailed him from without, and
love seemed to woo him to the dearest transports within; he wrote the
following letter to Wallace:-
"1 am now well, my best friend! This day I attend my lovely nurse,
with her venerable guardian, to Hunting-tower. Eastward of Perth, almost
every castle of consequence is yet filled by the Southrons, whom the folly
of James Cummin allowed to reoccupy the places whence you had so lately
driven them. I go to root them out; to emulate in the north, what you are
now doing in the south! You shall see me again, when the banks of the Spey
are as free as you have made the Forth. In all this, I am yet Thomas de
Longueville. Isabella, the sweet soother of my hours, knows me as no
other; for would she not despise the unfamed Bruce? To deserve, and win
her love, as De Longteville, and to marry her as King of Scotland, is the
fond hope of your friend and brother Robert. God speed me! and I shall
send you despatches of my proceedings."
Wallace had just made- a successful attack upon the outworks of
Berwick, when this letter was put into his hand. He was surrounded by his
cbieftains and having read it, he informed them that Sir Thomas de
Longueville was going to the Spey, to rid its castles of the enemy.
"The hopes of his enterprising spirit," continued Wallace,
"are so seconded by his determination, I doubt not that what he
promises, God, and the justice of our cause, will perform; and we may soon
expect to hear, Scotland has no enemies in her Highlands."
But in this hope, Wallace was disappointed. Day after day passed, and
no tidings from the north. He became anxious; Bothwell and Edwin too,
began to share his uneasiness. Continued successes against Berwick, had
assured them of a speedy surrender, when unexpected succours being thrown
in by sea, the confidence of the garrison became re-excited; and the
ramparts appearing doubly manned, Wallace saw the only alternative was to
surprise— take possession of the ships, and turn the siege into a
blockade. Still trusting that Bruce would be prosperous in the Highlands,
he calculated on full leisure to await the fall of Berwick upon this plan;
and so much bloody might be spared. Intent, and execution, were twin-born
in the breast of Wallace. By a masterly stroke, he effected his design on
the shipping; and having closed the Southrons within their walls, he
despatched Lord Bothwell to Hunting-tower, to learn the state of military
operations there; and above all, to bring back tidings of The Prince’s
health.
On the evening of the very day in which Murray left Berwick, a
desperate sally was made by the garrison; but they were beaten back with
such effect, that Wallace gained possession of one of their most
commanding towers. The contest did not end till night; and after passing a
brief while in the council-tent, listening to the suggestions of his
friends relative to the use that might be made of the new acquisition, he
retired to his own quarters at a late hour. At these momentous periods he
never seemed to need sleep; and seated at his table, settling the
dispositions for the succeeding day, he marked not the time, till the
flame of his exhausted lamp expired in the socket.—He replenished it;
and had again resumed his military labours, when the curtain which covered
the door of his tent was drawn aside and an armed man entered. Wallace
looked up; and seeing that it was the Knight of the Green Flume, asked if
anything had occurred from the town.
"Nothing," replied the Knight, in an agitated voice, and
seating himself beside Wallace. "Any evil tidings from Perthshire?"
demanded Wallace, who now hardly doubted that ill news had arrived of
Bruce. "None," was the Knight’s reply: "but I am come to
fulfil my promise to you; to unite myself for ever, heart and soul, to
your destiny; or you behold me this night for the last time."
Surprised at this address, and the emotion which shook the frame of the
unknown warrior, Wallace answered him with expressions of esteem and
added, "If it depend on me, to umite so brave a man to my friendship
for ever, only speak the word, declare your name, and I am ready to seal
the compact."—" My name," returned the Knight," will
indeed put these protestations to the proof. I have fought by your side,
Sir William Wallace; I would have died at any moment, to have spared that
breast a wound; and yett l dread to raise this visor, to show you who I
am. A look will make me live, or blast me."—"Your language
confounds me, noble Knight;" replied Wallace; "I know of no man
living, saving the base violators of Lady Helen Mar’s liberty, who need
tremble before my eyes. It is not possible, that either of these men is
before me; and whoever you are, whatever you may have been, brace chief;
your deeds have proved you worthy of a soldier’s friendship, and I
pledge you mine."
The Knight was silent.—He took Wallace’s hand—he grasped it;—the
arms that held it, did indeed tremble. Wallace again spoke.—"What
is the meaning of this? I am no tyrant, no monarch, to excite these
dreads. I have a power to benefit, but none to injure."—"To
benefit, and to injure!" cried the Knight in a transport of emotion;
"you have my life in your hands. Oh! grant it, as you
value your own happiness and honour! Look on me, and say whether I am
to live or die." As the warrior spoke, he cast himself impetuously on
his knees, and threw open his visor. Wallace saw a fine but flushed face.—It
was much overshadowed by the helmet. "My friend," said he,
attempting to raise him by the hand which clasped his; "your words
are mysteries to me; and so little right can I have to the power you
ascribe to me, that, although it seems to me as if I , had seen your
features before, yet—" —"You forget me," cried the
Knight, starting on his feet, and throwing off his helmet to the wound:
"again look on this face, and stab me at once by a second
declaration, that I am remembered no more!"
The countenance of Wallace now showed that be too well remembered it.
He was pale and aghast. "Lady Mar;" cried he, "not
expecting to see you under a warrior’s casque—you will pardon me, that
when so apparelled, I should not immediately recognise the widow of my
friend." She gasped for articulation; "And is it thus"
cried she, "you answer the sacrifices I have made for you? For you, I
have committed an outrage on my nature; I have put on me this abhorrent
steel: I have braved the dangers of many a hard-fought, day; and all to
guard your life! to convince you of a love unexampled in woman! and thus
you recognise her, who has risked honour and life for you—with coldness
and reproach !"—"With neither, Lady Mar," returned he;
"I am grateful for the generous motives of your conduct; but for the
sake of the fair fame, you confess you have endangered; in respect to the
memory of him whose name you bear, I cannot but wish, that so hazardous an
instance of interest in me, had been left undone."—"If that is
all," returned she, drawing towards him, "it is in your power to
ward from me every stigma! Who will dare to cast one reflection on my fair
fame, when you bear testimonv to my purity? Who will asperse the name of
Mar, when you displace it with that of Wallace? Make me yours, dearest of
men," cried she, clasping his hands, "and you will
receive one to your heart, who never knew how to love before; who will be
to you, what woman never yet was; and who will endow you with territories
nearly equal to those of the King of Scotland. My father is no more; and
now, as Countess of Strathearn and Princess of the Orkneys, I have it in
my power to bring a sovereignty to your head, and the fondest of wives to
your bosom." As she vehemently spoke, and clung to Wallace, as if she
had already a right to seek comfort within his arms, her tears and violent
agitations so disconcerted him, that for a few moments he could not find a
reply. This short endurance of her passion, aroused her almost drooping
hopes; and, intoxicated with so rapturous an illusion, she threw off the
little restraint in which her awe of Wallace’s coldness had confined
her, and flinging herself on his breast, poured forth all her love, and
fond ambitions for him. In vain he attempted to interrupt her; to raise
her with gentleness from her indecorous situation; she had no perception,
but for the idea which had now taken possession of her heart; and,
whispering him softly, said, "Be but my husband, Wallace and all
rights shall perish, before my love, and your aggrandisement. In these
arms, you shall bless the day you first saw Joanna of Strathearn !"
The prowess of the Knight of the Green Plume, the respect he owed to
the widow of the Earl of Mar, the tenderness he ever felt for all of
womankind, were all forgotten in the disgusting blandishments of this
disgrace to her sex. She wooed to be his wife; but not with the chaste
appeal of the widow of Marion. "Let me find favour in thy sight, for
thou hast comforted me! Spread thy garment over me, and let me be thy wife
!" said the fair Moabitess, who in a strange land cast herself at the
feet of her deceased husband’s friend. She was answered, "I will do
all that thou requirest, for thou art a virtuous woman !" But neither
the, actions, nor the words, of Lady Mar, bore witness that she deserved
this appellation. They were the dictates of a passion, impure as it was
intemperate. Blinded by its fumes, she forgot the nature of the heart, she
sought to pervert to sympathy with hers. She saw not, that every look and
movement on her part, filled Wallace with aversion; and not, until he
forcibly broke from her; did. she doubt the, success of her fond caresses.
"Lady Mar," said he, "I must repeat, that I am not
ungrateful for the proofs, of regard you have bestowed on me; but such
excess of attachment is lavished upon a man that is a bankrupt in love. I
am cold as monumental marble to every touch of that passion, to which I
was once but too entirely devoted. Bereaved of the object, I am punished;
thus is my heart doomed to solitude on earth, for haying made an idol of
the angel, that was sent to cheer, my path to heaven." Wallace said
even more than this. He remonstrated with her on the shipwreck she was
making of her own happiness, in adhering thus tenaciously to a man
who could only regard her with the general sentiment of esteem. He urged,
her beauty, and yet youthful years; and how many would be eager to, win
her love and to marry her with honour. While he continued to speak to her
with the tender consideration of a brother, she, who knew no gradations in
the affections of the heart, doubted his words; and believed that a latent
ire glowed in his breast, which her art might yet blow into a flame. She
threw herself upon her knees, she wept, she implored his pity, she wound
her arms around his, and bathed his hands with her tears; but still he
continued to urge her, by every argument of female delicacy, to relinquish
her ill directed love; to return to her domains, before her absence could
be generally known.—She looked up to read his countenance. A friend’s
anxiety, nay, authority, was there, but no glow of passion; all was calm
and determined. Her beauty, then, had been shown to a man without eyes;
her tender eloquence, poured on an ear that was deaf; her blandishments,
lavished on a block of marble! In a paroxysm of despair, she dashed the
hand she held, far from her; and standing proudly on her feet—"Hear
me, thou man of stone!" cried she, "and answer me on your life
and honour; for both depend on your reply: Is Joanna of Strathearn to be
your wife?"
"Cease to urge me, unhappy lady:" returned Wallace; "you
already know the decision of this ever-widowed heart." Lady Mar
looked steadfastly at him: "Then receive my last determination!"
and drawing near him, with a desperate and portentous countenance, as if
she meant to whisper in his ear, she suddenly plucked St. Louis’s dagger
from his girdle, and struck it into his breast. He caught the hand which
grasped the hilt. Her eyes glared with the fury of a maniac, and, with a
horrid laugh, she exclaimed, "I have slain thee, insolent triumpher
in my love and agonies!—Thou shalt not now deride me in the arms of thy
minion; for, I know, that it is not for the dead Marion you have trampled
on my heart, but for the living Helen!" As she spoke, he moved her
hold from the dagger, and drew the weapon from the wound. A torrent of
blood flowed over his vest, and stained the hand that grasped hers. She
turned of a deadly paleness, but a demoniac joy still gleamed in her eyes.
"Lady Mar," cried he, while he thrust the thickness of his scarf
into the wound," I pardon this outrage. Go in peace; and I shall
never breathe to man, nor woman, the occurrences of this night Only
remember, that with regard to Lady Helen, my wishes are as pure as her own
innocence?"—"So they may be now, vainly boasting, immaculate
Wallace !" answered she, with bitter derision; "men are saints,
when their passions are satisfied. Think not to impose on her, who knows
how this vestal Helen followed you in page’s attire, and without one
stigma being cast on her maiden delicacy. I am not to learn the days, and
the nights, she passed alone with you in the woods of Normandy !—Did you
not follow her to France?—Did you not tear her from the arms of Lord
Aymer de Valence? and now, relinquishing her yourself, you leave a
dishonoured bride to cheat the vows of some honester man !—Wallace, I
now know you; and as I have been fool enough to love you beyond all woman’s
love, I swear by the, powers of heaven and hell, to make you feel the
weight of woman’s hatred!"
Her denunciations had no effect on Wallace: but her slander against her
unoffending daughter-in-law, agitated him with an indignation that almost
dispossessed him of himself. In hurried and vehement words, he denied all
that she had alleged against Helen; and appealed to the whole court of
France, to witness her spotless innocence. Lady Mar exulted in this
emotion, though every sentence, by the interest it displayed in its
object, seemed to establish the truth of a suspicion, which she had at
first only uttered from the vague workings of her revenge. Triumphing in
the belief that he had found another as frail as herself; and yet maddened
that another should have been preferred before her, her jealous pride
blazed into redoubled flame. "Swear;" cried she, "till I
see the blood of that false heart, forced to my feet; and still I shall
believe the base daughter of Mar, a wanton. I go, not to proclaim her
dishonour to the world, but to deprive her of her lover; to yield the
rebel Wallace into the hands of justice! When on the scaffold, proud
exulter in those, by me, now detested beauties, remember that it was
Joanna of Strathearn who laid thy matchless head upon the block; who
consigned those limbs, of Heaven’s own statuary, to decorate the spires
of Scotland! Remember, that my curse pursues you, here, and
hereafter!" - A livid fire seemed to dart from her scornful eyes; her
countenance was torn, as by some internal fiend; and, with the last
malediction thundering from her tongue, she darted from his sight.