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HELEN’S fleet steps
carried her in a few minutes through the intervening dungeons, to the door
which would restore to
her eyes the being with whose life her existence seemed blended. The bolts
had yielded to her hands. The iron latch now gave way; and the ponderous
oak, grating dismally on its hinges, she looked forward, and beheld the
object of all her solicitude, leaning along a couch; a stone table was
before him, at which he seemed writing. He raised his head at the sound.
The peace of virtue was in his eyes; and a smile on his lips, as if he had
expected some angel visitant.
The first glance at his pale, but
heavenly countenance, struck to the heart of Helen; veneration, anguish,
shame, all rushed on her at once. She was in his presence! but how might
he turn from consolations he had not sought! The intemperate passion of
her step-mother, now glared before her: his contempt of the Countess’s
unsolicited advances, appeared ready to be extended to her rash
daughter-in-law; and, with an irrepressible cry, which seemed to breathe
out her life, Helen would have fled; but her failing limbs bent under her,
and she fell senseless into the dungeon. Wallace started from his
reclining position. He thought his senses must deceive him,—and yet the
shriek was Lady Helen’s. He had heard the same cry on the Pentland
hills; in the chamber of Château Galliard! He arose agitated; he
approached the prostrate youth; and bending to the inanimate form, took
off the Norman hat; he parted the heavy locks which fell over her brow,
and recognised the features of her who alone had ever shared his
meditations with his Marion. He sprinkled water on her face and hands: he
touched her cheek; it was ashy cold, and the chill struck to his heart.
"Helen !" exclaimed he; "Helen, awake! Speak to thy
friend!"
Still she was motionless.
"Dead!" cried he, with increased emotion. His eye, and his
heart, in a moment discerned, and understood the rapid emaciation of those
lovely features—now fearing the worst; "Gone so soon!" repeated
he.—"Gone to tell my Marion, that her Wallace comes. Blessed angel
!" cried he, clasping her to his breast, with an energy of which he
was not aware, "take me, take me with thee!" The pressure, the
voice, roused the dormant life of Helen. With a torturing sigh, she
unsealed her eyes from the death-like load that oppressed them, and found
herself in the arms of Wallace.
All her wandering senses,
which from the first promulgation of his danger had been kept in a
bewildered state, now rallied; and, in recovered sanity, smote her to the
soul. Though still overwhelmed with grief, at the fate which threatened to
tear him from her and life, she now wondered how she could ever have so
trampled on the retreating modesty of her nature, as to have brought
herself thus into his presence; and in a voice of horror, of despair,
believing that she had for ever destroyed herself in his opinion, she
exclaimed, "O! Wallace! how came I here?—I
am lost,—and innocently;—but God—the pure God! can read the
soul?"
She lay in hopeless
misery on his breast, with her eyes again closed, almost unconscious of
the support on which she leaned. "Lady Helen;" returned he,
"was it other than Wallace, you sought, in these dungeons? I dared to
think, that the Parent we both adore, had sent you hither, to be his
harbinger of consolation!" Recalled to self-possession, by the
kindness of these words, Helen turned her head on his bosom, and in a
burst of grateful tears, hardly articulated, "And will you not abhor
me, for this act of madness? But I was not myself. And yet, where should I
live or die, but at the feet of my benefactor?" The steadfast soul of
Wallace was subdued by this language, and the manner of its utterance. It
was the disinterested dictates of a pure, though agitated, spirit, which,
he now was convinced, did most exclusively love him, but with the passion
of an angel; and the tears of a sympathy,
which spoke their kindred natures, stole from his eyes, as he bent his
cheek on her head. She felt them; and rejoicing in such an assurance, that
she yet possessed his esteem, a blessed calm diffused itself over her
mind, and raising herself, with a look of virtuous confidence, she
exclaimed, "Then you do understand me, Wallace? you pardon me, this
apparent forgetfulness of my sex; and you recognise a true sister in Helen
Mar? I may administer to that noble heart, till—" she paused,
turned deadly pale, and then clasping his hand in both hers, in bitter
agony added, "till we meet in heaven !"
"And blissful, dearest
saint, will be our union there," replied he," where soul meets
soul, unencumbered of these earthly fetters; and mingles with each other,
even as thy tender tear-drops now glide into mine! But there, my Helen, we
shall never weep. No heart will be left unsatisfied; no spirit will mourn,
in unrequited love; for that happy region is the abode of love:—of love
without the defilements, or the disquietudes of mortality; for there it is
an everlasting, pure enjoyment. It is a full, diffusive tenderness; which,
penetrating all hearts, unites the whole in one spirit of boundless love,
in the bosom of our God! Who, the source of all love, as John the beloved
disciple saith, ‘so loved a lost world, that he sent his only Son, to
redeem it from its sins, and to bring it to eternal blessedness !"
"Ah!" cried
Helen, throwing herself on her knees, in holy enthusiasm; join then your
prayers with mine, most revered of friends, that I may be admitted into
such blessedness! Petition our God, to forgive me; and do you forgive me,
that I have sometimes envied the love you bear your Marion! But I now love
her so entirely, that to be hers, and your ministering spirit in Paradise,
would amply satisfy my soul."—"O! Helen;" cried Wallace,
grasping her uplifted hands in his, and clasping them to his heart,
"thy soul and Marion’s are indeed one, and as one I love ye!"
This unlooked for
declaration, almost overpowered Helen in its flood of happiness; and, with
a smile, which seemed to picture the very heavens opening before her, she
turned her eyes from him, to a crucifix which stood on the table, and
bowing her head on its pedestal, was lost in the devotion of rapturous
gratitude.
At this juncture, when,
perhaps, the purest bliss that ever descended on woman’s heart, now
glowed in that of Helen, the Earl of Gloucester entered. His were not
visits of consolation; for he knew that his friend, who had built his
heroism on the rock of Christianity, did not require the comfortings of
any mortal hand. At sight of him, Wallace, pointing to the kneeling Helen,
beckoned him into the inner cell, where his straw pallet lay; and there,
in a low voice, declared who she was; and requested the Earl to use his
authority, to allow her to remain with him to the last.
"After that,"
said he,"I rely on you, generous Gloucester, to convey safely back to
her country, a being, who seems to have nothing of earth about her, but
the terrestrial body which enshrines her angelic soul!"
The sound of a voice
speaking with Wallace, aroused Helen from her happy trance. Alarmed that
it might be the fatal emissaries of the tyrant, come prematurely to summon
him to his last hour, she started on her feet; "Where are you,
Wallace?" cried she, looking distractedly around her; "I must be
with you, even in death!"
Hearing her fearful cry, he
hastened into the dungeon, and relieved her immediate terror, by naming
the Earl of Gloucester, who followed him. The conviction that Wallace was
under mortal sentence, which the heaven-sent impression of his eternal
bliss had just almost obliterated, now glared upon her with redoubled
honors. This world again rose before her, in the person of Gloucester. It
reminded her, that she and Wallace were not yet passed into the hereafter,
whose anticipated reunion had wrapt her in such sweet elysium.—He had
yet the bitter cup of death to drink to the dregs; and all of human
weakness, again writhed within her bosom, "And is there no
hope?" faltered she, looking earnestly on the disturbed face of
Gloucester, who had bowed with a pitying respect to her, as he approached
her.—And then, while he seemed hesitating for an answer, she more
firmly, but imploringly, resumed:—"Oh, let me seek your King! once,
he was a crusade prince! The cross was then on his breast;—and the love
of him who came to redeem lost man, nay, even his direst enemies, from
death unto life! must have been then in your King’s heart. Oh, if once
there, it cannot be wholly extinguished now. Let me, gracious Earl, but
recall to him, that he was then beloved by a queen, who to this day is the
glory of her sex. On that spot of holy contest, she preserved his life,
from an assassin’s poison, by daring the sacrifice of her own!—But she
lived, to bless him, and to be blessed herself! While Sir William
Wallace—also a Christian knight—anointed by virtue and his
cause—hath only done for his own country, and its trampled land, what
King Edward then did for Christendom, in Palestine. And, he was roused to
the defence, by a deed, worse than ever infidel inflicted!—The wife of
his bosom—who had all of angel about her, but that of her mortal
body!—was stabbed by a murderous Southron governor in Scotland, because
she would not betray her husband to his desolating brand! I would relate
this, on my knees, to your royal Edward, and call on the spirit of his
sainted queen, to enforce my suit, by the memory of her love, and her
devotedness."
Helen, who had risen, in
her energy of speech and supplication, suddenly paused;—clasped her
hands, and stood with upward eyes;—looking as if she beheld the
beatified object of her invocation.
"Dearest sister of my
soul!" cried Wallace, who had forborne to interrupt her, taking her
clasped hands in his, "thy knees shall never bend to any less, than
to the blessed Lord of all mankind, for me! Did He will my longer
pilgrimage on this earth, of which my spirit is already weary, it would
not be in the power of any human tyrant, to hold me in these bonds.—And,
for Edward! believe, that not all thy tender eloquence, could make one
impression, where a long obdurate ambition hath set so deep a seal. I am
content to go, my sister !—and angels whisper me I "—- (and his
voice became subdued, though still calm, while he added, in a lowered
tone, like that angel whisper—.) "that thy bridal bed will be in
William Wallace’s grave!" She spoke not, but at this assurance,
turned her tearful eyes upon him, with a beam of delight:—with such
delight, the vestal consigns herself to the cloister: with such delight,
the widowed mourner lays her head to rest, on the tomb of him she
loved.—But with such delight, none are acquainted, who know not what it
is to be wedded to the soul of a beloved being, when the body, which was
once its vestment, lies mouldering in the earth.
Gloucester contemplated
this chaste union of two spotless hearts, with an admiration almost
amounting to devotion. "Noble lady," said he, "the message
that I came to impart to Sir William Wallace, bears with it a show of
hope; and, I trust, that your gentle spirit will yet be as persuasive, as
consolatory. A deputation has just arrived from our border-counties,
headed by the good Barons De Hilton and De Blenkinsopp, [These two worthy
barons have been noted before as kinsmen. There are many wild legends
extant, about the castle of Hilton, and the apparition of the last male
heir, a boy, who still haunts its old heathy hills.
The domains of his brother baron, too, have fallen to the female line, the
daughters of whom were of old proverbially called "the
fair-handed;" and the sons "the straight-handed."—My own
revered mother, who was one of the last of the name, bore the double
attribute, in her own upright mind and once beautiful person. —(1840.)]
praying the royal mercy for their gallant foe; who had been most generous
to them, they set forth, in their extremity. And the King was listening to
them, with what temper I know not, when a private embassy, as opportunely,
made its appearance from France, on the same errand. In short, to
negociate with Edward, for the safety of our friend, as a prince of that
realm. I left the ambassadors," continued the Earl, turning to
Wallace, "in debate with his Majesty; and he has at length granted a
suspension; nay, has even promised a repeal of the horrible injustice,
that was to be completed to-morrow; if you can be brought to accord with
certain proposals, now to be laid before you.—Accept them, and Edward
will comply with all King Philip’s demands in your behalf."
"Then you will accept
them?" cried Helen, in a tumult of suspense. The communication of
Gloucester, had made no change in the equable pulse of Wallace; and he
replied, with a look of tender pity upon her animated countenance,
"The proposals of Edward, are too likely to be snares for that honour,
which I would bear with me uncontaminated to the grave. Therefore, dearest
consoler of my last hours, do not give way to hopes, which a greater King
than Edward, may command me to disappoint." Helen bowed her head in
silence. The colour again faded from her cheek, and despair once more
seized on her heart.
Gloucester resumed; and,
after narrating some particulars concerning the conference, between the
King and the ambassadors, he suggested the impracticability of secretly
retaining Lady Helen, for any length of time, in the state dungeon.
"I dare not;" continued he, "be privy to her presence here,
and yet conceal it from the King. I know not what messengers he may send,
to impart his conditions to you; and should she be discovered, Edward,
doubly incensed, would tear her from you; and, as an accessory, so involve
me in his displeasure, that I should be disabled from serving either of
you further. Were I so to honour his feelings as a man, as to mention it
to him, I do not believe that he would oppose her wishes; but how to
reveal such a circumstance, with any regard to her fair fame, I know not;
for all are not sufficiently virtuous, to believe her spotless
innocence." Helen hastily interrupted Gloucester, and with firmness
said, "When I entered these walls, the world and I parted for ever.
The good, or the evil opinion, of the impure in heart, can never affect
me:-they shall never see me more. The innocent will judge me by
themselves, and by the end of my race. I came to minister with a
sister’s duty, to my own and my father’s preserver; and while he
abides here, I will never consent to leave his feet. When he goes hence,
if it be to bless mankind again, I shall find the longest life too short
to pour forth all my gratitude, and for that purpose I will dedicate
myself in some nunnery of my native land. But should he be taken from a
world, so unworthy of him,—soon, very soon, I shall cease to feel its
aspersions, in the grave."
"No aspersions, which
I can avert, dearest Helen," cried Wallace, "shall ever tarnish
the fame of one, whose purity can only be transcended by her who is now
made perfect in heaven! Consent, noblest of women, to wear for the few
days I may yet linger here, a name, which thy sister angel, has sanctified
to me. Give me a legal right to call you mine, and Edward himself will not
then dare to divide what God has joined together!"
Helen paused—even her
heart seemed to cease its pulsation, in the awful moment. Did she hear
aright? was she indeed going to invade the rights of the wife, she had so
often vowed to regard as the sole object of Wallace’s
dearest wishes? Oh, no: it was not the lover, that shone in his luminous
eyes; it was not the mistress that glowed in her bosom. Words might be
breathed; but no change would be wrought in the souls of them, who were
already separated from the earth. With these thoughts Helen turned towards
Wallace; she attempted to answer, but the words died on the seraphic smile
which beamed upon her lips, and she dropped her head upon his breast.
Gloucester, who saw no
other means of ensuring to his friend the comfort of her society, was
rejoiced at this mutual resolution. He had longed to propose it; but
considering the peculiarities of their situation, knew not how to do so,
without seeming to mock their sensibility and fate. It was now near
midnight: and having read the consent of Helen, in the tender emotion
which denied her speech, without further delay he quitted the apartment,
to summon the confessor of the warden to unite their hands.
On his re-entrance, he
found Helen sitting, dissolved in tears, with her hand clasped in his
friend’s. The sacred rite was soon performed, which endowed her with all
the claims upon Wallace, which her devoted heart had so long contemplated
with resigned hopelessness:—to be his helpmate on earth, his partner in
the tomb, his dear companion in heaven! With the last benediction, she
threw herself on her knees before him, and put his hand to her lips in
eloquent silence. Gloucester, with a look of kind farewell, withdrew with
the priest.
"Thou noble daughter,
of the noblest Scot!" said Wallace, raising her from the ground,
"this bosom is thy place, and not my feet. Long, it will not be given
me to hold thee here: but even in the hours or years of our separation, my
spirit will hover near thee, to bear thine to our everlasting home."
The heart of Helen
alternately beat violently, and stopped, as if the vital currents were
suddenly impeded. Hope and fear agitated her by turns; but clinging to the
flattering ideas, which the arrival of the ambassadors had excited, she
timidly breathed a hope, that, by the present interference of King Philip,
Edward might not be found inexorable.
"Disturb not the holy
composure of your soul, by such an expectation," returned Wallace;
"I know my adversary too well, to anticipate his relinquishing the
object of his vengeance, but at a price more infamous than the most
ignoble death. Therefore, best-beloved of all on earth! look for no
deliverance for thy Wallace, but what passes through the grave; and to me,
dearest Helen, its gates are on golden hinges turning; for all is light
and bliss which shines on me from within their courts!"
Helen’s thoughts, in the
idea of his being torn from her, could not wrest themselves from the
direful images of his execution; she shuddered, and in faltering accents
replied, "Ah! could we glide from sleep, into so blessed a death, I
would hail it, even for thee! But the threatened horrors; should they fall
on thy sacred head, will in that hour, I trust, also divorce my soul from
this grievous world!"
"Not so, my
Helen," returned he, "keep not thy dear eyes for ever fixed on
the gloomy appendages of death. The scaffold, and the grave, have nought
to do with the immortal soul; it cannot be wounded by the one, nor
confined by the other. And, is not the soul, thy full and perfect Wallace?
It is that, which now speaks to thee; which will cherish thy beloved idea,
for ever. Lament not, then, how soon this body, its mere apparel, is laid
down in the dust. But rejoice still in my existence, which, through Him
who ‘led captivity captive,’ will never know a pause! Comfort then thy
heart, my soul’s dear
sister, and sojourn a little while on this earth, to bear witness for thy
Wallace, to the friends he loves."
Helen, who felt the import
of his words in her heart, gently bowed her head, and he proceeded:-
"As the first who
stemmed with me the torrent, which, with God’s help, we so often laid
into a calm, I mention to you my faithful men of Lanark. Many of them
bled, and died in the contest; and to their orphans, with the children of
those who yet survive, I consign till of the world’s wealth that yet
belongs to William Wallace: Ellerslie and its estates are theirs. [This
bequest of Wallace is a fact] To Bruce, my sovereign and my friend—the
loved companion of the hour in which I freed you, my Helen, from the arms
of violence! To him I bequeath this heart, knit to him by bonds more dear
than even loyalty. Bear it to him; and when he is summoned to his heavenly
throne, then let his heart and mine fill up one urn. To Lord Ruthven, to
Bothwell, to Lockhart, to Scrymgeour, and to Kirkpatrick, I give my
prayers and blessings."
Here Wallace paused. Helen
had listened to him with a holy attention, which hardly allowed a sigh to
breathe from her steadfast heart; she spoke; but the voice was scarcely
audible:—"And what for him, who loves you, dearer than life? for
Edwin? He cannot be forgotten!" Wallace started at this: then she was
ignorant of the death of that too faithful friend! In a hurrying accent he
replied, "Never forgotten! Oh! Helen! I asked for him life; and
Heaven gave him long life, even for ever and ever!" Helen’s eyes
met his, with a look of awful inquiry; "That would mean he is gone
before, you?" The countenance of Wallace answered her. "Happy
Edwin !" cried she, and the tears rained over her cheeks, as she bent
her head on her arms. Wallace continued; "He laid down his life, to
preserve mine, in the hovel of Lumloch. The false Monteith could get no
Scot to lay hands on their true defender; and even the foreign ruffians he
brought to the task, might have spared the noble boy, but an arrow from
the traitor himself, pierced his heart. Contention was then no more, and I
resigned myself to follow him."
"What a desert does
the world become!" exclaimed Helen; then turning on Wallace with a
saint-like smile, she added, "I would hardly now withhold you. You
will bear him Helen’s love, and tell him, how soon I shall be with you.
If our Father will not allow my heart to break, in his mercy he may take
my soul, in the prayers which I shall hourly breathe to him!
"—"Thou hast been lent to me, as my sweet consolation here, my
Helen," replied he; "and the Almighty dispenser of that comfort,
will not long banish you from the object of your innocent wishes."
While they thus poured into
each other’s bosoms the ineffable balm of friendship’s purest
tenderness, the eyes of Wallace insensibly closed. "Your gentle
influence;" gently murmured he, "brings that sleep to my
eyelids, which has not visited them since I first entered these walls.
Like my Marion, Helen, thy presence brings healing on its
wings."—"Sleep, then," replied she, "and Marion’s
angel spirit will keep watch with mine."
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