Meanwhile, the unconscious object of this hatred, oppressed by the overwhelming crowds constantly assembling at Perth to do him homage, retired to Hunting-tower; a castle of Lord Ruthven’s, at some distance from the town. Secluded from the throng, he there arranged with the chiefs of several clans, matters of consequence to the internal repose of the country; but receiving applications for similar regulations, from the counties further north, he decided on going thither himself. Severe as the weather was at that season, he bade adieu to the warm hospitalities of Hunting-tower; and, accompanied by Graham and his young friend Edwin, with a small but faithful train, he commenced a journey, which he intended should comprehend the circuit of the Highlands.

With the chieftain of almost every castle in his progress, he passed a day; and according to the interest, which the situation of the surrounding peasantry, created in his mind, he lengthened his sojourn. Everywhere he was welcomed with enthusiasm; and his glad eye beheld the festivities of Christmas, with a delight which recalled past emotions, till they wrung his heart.

Wallace groaned at these recollections: he struck his hand forcibly on his bursting heart, and fled from the room. The noise of the harps, the laughing of the dancers, prevented his emotions from being observed; and rushing far from the joyous tumult, till its sounds died in the breeze, or were only brought to his ear by fitful gusts, he speeded along the margin of the lake, as if he would have flown even from himself. But memory, racking memory, followed him. Throwing himself on a bank, over which the ice hung in pointed masses, he felt not the roughness of the ground; for all within him was disturbed, and at war.

"Why;" cried he, "O! why was I selected for this cruel sacrifice? Why was this heart, to whom the acclaim of multitudes, could bring no selfish joy; why was it to be bereft of all that ever made it beat with transport? Companion of my days, partner of my soul! my lost, lost Marion! and are thine eyes for ever closed on me? shall I never more clasp that hand, which ever thrilled my frame with every sense of rapture ?—Gone, gone for ever,—and l am alone !"

Long, and agonising, was the pause, which succeeded to this fearful tempest of feeling. In that hour of grief, renewed in all its former violence, he forgot country, friends, and all on earth. The recollection of his fame, was mockery to him; for where was she, to whom the sound of his praises, would have given so much joy?

"Ah!" said he, "it was indeed happiness, to be brightened in those eyes !—When the gratitude of our poor retainers, met thine ear, how didst thou lay thy soft cheek to mine, and shoot its gentle warmth into my heart!" At that moment, he turned his face on the gelid bank :— starting with wild horror, he exclaimed, "Is it now so cold !—My Marion, my murdered wife !" and rushing from the spot, he again hastened along the margin of the loch. But there he still heard the distant sound of the pipes, from the castle: he could not bear their gay notes; and darting up the hill which overhung Loch-awe’s domains, he ascended with swift and reckless steps the rocky sides of Ben Cruachan. Full of distracting thoughts, and impelled by a wild despair, he hurried from steep to steep; and was rapidly descending the western side of the mountain, regardless of the piercing sleet, when his course was suddenly checked, by coming with a violent shock against another human being; who, running as hastily through the storm, had driven impetuously against Wallace; but being the weaker of the two, was struck to the ground. The accident, rallied the scattered senses of the chief. He now felt that he was out in the midst of a furious winter tempest; had wandered, he knew not whither; and probably had materially injured some poor traveller, by his intemperate motion.

He raised the fallen man, and asked whether he were hurt. The traveller, perceiving by the kind tone of the inquirer, that no harm had been intended, answered, "Not much; only a little lamed; and all the recompense I ask, for this unlucky upset, is to give me a helping hand to my father’s cot,—it is just by. I have been out at a neighbour’s, to dance in the new-year with a bonnie lass; who, however, may not thank you for my broken shins !"

As the honest lad went on, telling his tale, with a great many particulars dear to his simple wishes, Wallace helped him along; and carefully conducting him through the gathering snow, descended the declivity which led to the shepherd’s cottage. When within a few yards of it, Wallace heard the sound of singing: but it was not the gay carolling of mirth; the solemn chant of more serious music, mingled with the roaring blast.

"I am not too late yet!" cried the communicative lad; "I should not have run so fast, had I not wanted to have got home time enough to make one in the new-year’s hymn."

They had now arrived at the little door; and the youth, without the ceremony of knocking, opened the latch: as he did so, he turned, and said to his companion, "We have no occasion for bolts, since the brave Lord Wallace has cleared the country of our Southron robbers." He pushed the door as he spoke, and displayed to the eyes of the chief, a venerable old man on his knees before a crucifix; around him, knelt a family of young people, and an aged dame, all joining in the sacred thanksgiving. The youth, without a word, dropped on his knees near the door; and making a sign to his companion to do the same, Wallace obeyed: and as the anthems rose in succession on his ear, to which the low breathings of the lightly touched harp echoed its heavenly strains, he felt the tumult of his bosom gradually subside; and when the venerable sire laid down the instrument, and clasped his hands in prayer, the natural pathos of his invocations, and the grateful devotions with which the young people gave their response, all tended to tranquillise his mind into a holy calm.

At the termination of the concluding prayer, how sweet were the, emotions of Wallace, when he heard these words, uttered with augmented fervour by the aged petitioner !—

"While we thus thank thee, O gracious God! for thy mercies bestowed upon us, we humbly implore thee to hold in thine Almighty protection, him, by whose arm thou hast wrought the deliverance of Scotland. Let our preserver be saved from his sins by the blood of Christ! Let our benefactor be blessed in mind, body, and estate; and all prosper. with him, that he takes in hand! May the good he has dispensed to his country, be returned four-fold into his bosom ;—and may he live to see a race of his own, reaping the harvest of his virtues, and adding fresh honours to the stalworth name of Wallace!"

Every mouth echoed a fervent amen, to this prayer; and Wallace himself inwardly breathed, "And have I not, even now, sinned, All-gracious God! in the distraction of this night’s remembrance? I mourned,—! would not be comforted. But in thy mercy thou hast led me hither, to see the happy fruits of my labour and,! am resigned, and thankful!"

The sacred rites over, two girls ran to the other side of the room, and between them brought forward a rough table covered with dishes and bread; while the mother, taking off a large pot, emptied its smoking contents into the different vessels. Meanwhile the young man, introducing the stranger to his father, related the accident of the meeting; and the good old shepherd, bidding him a hearty welcome, desired him to draw near the fire, and partake of their new year’s breakfast.

"We need the fire, I assure you," cried the lad, "for we are dripping."

Wallace now advanced from the shadowed part of the room, where he had knelt, and drawing towards the light, certainly displayed to his host the truth of his son’s observation. He had left the castle without his bonnet; and hurrying on regardless of the whelming storm, his hair became saturated with wet, and now streamed in water over his shoulders. The good old wife, seeing the stranger’s situation was worse than her son’s, snatched away the bottle out of which he was swallowing a hearty cordial, and poured it over the exposed head of her guest; then ordering one of her daughters to rub it dry, she took off his plaid, and wringing it, hung it to the fire.

During these various operations—for the whole family seemed eager to show their hospitality—the old man discovered, not so much by the costliness of his garments, as by the noble mien and gentle manners of the stranger, that he was some chieftain from the castle. "Your honour," said he, "must pardon the uncourtliness of our ways: but we give you the best we have; and the worthy Lord Loch-awe cannot do more."

Wallace gave smiling answers, to all their remarks, and offers of service. He partook of their broth, praised the good wife’s cakes, and sat discoursing with the family, with all the gaiety and frankness of one of themselves. His unreserved manners, opened every heart around him: and with confidential freedom the venerable shepherd related his domestic history; dwelling particularly on the projected marriages of his children, which, he said, "should now take place, since the good Sir William Wallace had brought peace to the land."

Wallace gratified the worthy father, by appearing to take an interest in all his narratives; and then allowing the happy spirits of the young people to break in upon these graver discussions, he smiled with them; or looked serious with the garrulous matron, who turned the discourse to tales of other times. He listened with complacency; to every legend of witch, fairy, and ghost: and his enlightened remarks, sometimes pointed out natural causes for the extraordinary appearances she described; or, at better attested, and less equivocal accounts of supernatural apparitions, he acknowledged, that there are "more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in philosophy."

Morning dawned before the tranquillised, nay, happy Wallace,—happy in the cheerful innocence of the scene,—discovered that the night was past. As the grey light gleamed through the wooden shutter, he arose. "My friends, I must leave you:" said he; "there are those not far off, who may be alarmed at my disappearance; for none knew when I walked abroad; and, unwittingly, I have been charmed all these hours to remain; enjoying the happiness of your circle, forgetful of the anxiety I have perhaps occasioned in my own."

The old man declared his intention of seeing him over the hill. Wallace declined giving him that trouble; saying, that as it was daylight, and the snow had ceased, he could easily retrace his steps to the castle.

"No, no;" returned the shepherd; "and besides:" said he, "as I hear the good Lord Regent is keeping the new-year with our noble Earl, who knows but I may get a glimpse of his noble countenance; and that will be a sight to tell of till I die!"

"God’s blessing on his sweet face I" cried the old woman; "but I would give all the yarn in my muckle chest, to catch one look of his lucky eye! I warrant you, witch nor fairy could never harm me more."

"Ah, father," cried the eldest of the girls, blushing "if you go near enough to him! Do you know, Madgie Grant told me, if I could but get even the least bit of Sir William Wallace’s hair, and give it to Donald Cameron to wear in a true-lover’s knot on his breast, no Southron will be able to do him harm as long as he lives!"

"And do you believe it would protect your lover, my pretty Jeannie ?" inquired Wallace, with a sweet smile.

"Surely," she replied; "for Madgie is a wise woman, and has the second sight."

"Well, then;" returned he, "you shall be gratified. For though I must for once contradict the testimony of a wise woman, and tell you that nothing can render a man absolutely safe, but the protection of Heaven; yet, if a hair from the head of Sir William Wallace would please you—and a glance from his eye gratify your mother—both shall be satisfied." And lifting up the old woman’s shears, which lay on a working stool before him, he cut off a golden lock from the middle of his head, and put it into the hand of Jeannie. At this action, which was performed with such a noble grace, that not one of the family now doubted who had been their guest, the good dame fell on her knees; and Jeannie, with a cry of joy, putting the beautiful lock into her bosom, followed her example; and in a moment all were clinging around him. The old man grasped his hand. "Bravest of men!" cried he, "the Lord has indeed blest this house, since he has honoured it with the presence of the deliverer of Scotland! My prayers, and the benedictions of all good men, friend or foe, must ever follow your footsteps!"

Tears of pleasure started into the eyes of Wallace. He raised the family one by one from the ground, and putting his purse into the hand of the dame, "There, my kind hostess:" said he, "let that fill the chests of your daughters, on their bridal day; they must receive it as a brother’s portion to his sisters; for, it is with fraternal affection, that William Wallace regards the sons and daughters of Scotland." 

The happy sobs of the old woman, stopped the expressions of her gratitude: but her son, fearing his freedom of the night before, might have offended, stood abashed at a distance. Wallace stretched out his hand to him: "My good Archibald," cried he, "do not hold back from one who will always be your friend. I shall send from the castle this day, sufficient to fill your bridal coffers also."

Archibald now petitioned to be allowed to follow him in his army.—"No, my brave youth;" replied the chief: "Lord Loch-awe will lead you forth, whenever there is occasion; and, meanwhile, your duty is to imitate the domestic duties of your worthy father. Make the neighbouring valley smile, with the fruits of your industry; and raise a family, to bless you, as you now bless him."

Wallace, having wrapped himself in his plaid, now withdrew amidst the benedictions of the whole group; and swiftly recrossing the mountain heights, was soon on the western brow of Ben Cruachan. In ten minutes afterwards, he entered the hall of Kilchurn castle. A few servants only were astir; the rest of the family were still asleep. About an hour after their friend’s departure, the Earl and Graham had missed him; but supposing that, whithersoever he was gone, he would soon return, they made no inquiries; and when the tempest began, on Edwin expressing his anxiety to know where he was, one of the servants said he was gone to his chamber. This answer satisfied every one; and they continued to enjoy the festal scene, until the Countess of Loch-awe made the signal for repose.

Next morning, when the family met at the breakfast-board, they were not a little surprised to hear Wallace recount the adventure of the night; and while Loch-awe promised every kindness to the shepherd, and a messenger was despatched with a purse to Archibald, Edwin learnt from the Earl’s servant, that his reason for supposing the Regent was gone to his room, arose from the sight of his bonnet in the outer hall. Wallace was glad that such an evidence had prevented his friends being alarmed; and retiring with Lord Loch-awe, [The descendants of this chief; have been long renowned; the sons, for their loyalty and bravery; the daughters, for beauty, and the fairest feminine graces.] with his usual equanimity of mind resumed the graver errand of his tour.

The hospitable rites of the season being over, in the course of a few days the Earl accompanied his illustrious guest to make the circuit of Argyleshire. At Castle-Urquhart, they parted; and Wallace, proceeding with his two friends, performed his legislative visits from sea to sea. Having traversed with perfect satisfaction the whole of the northern parts of the kingdom, he returned to Hunting-tower [Hunting-tower, a castle of the Lords Ruthven in the near neighbourhood of Perth, is still a fine structure. It consists of two square towers connected by other buildings. Much has fallen to ruin, but the banqueting-hall remains. The situation is delightful; and every acre about it is heroically consecrated ground. Two of its ancient owner’s young descendants, who wandered there, some thirty years ago, have sincs laid down their brave heads, each in a "soldier’s sepulchre."—(1840)] on the very morning that a messenger had reached it from Murray. That vigilant chieftain informed the Regent of King Edward’s arrival from Flanders, and that he was preparing a large army to march into Scotland.