The meditations of Athol, Buchan, and March, were of a different tendency. It was their design, on the earliest intimation of such intelligence, to set forth, and be the first to throw themselves at the feet of Edward, and acknowledge him their sovereign. Thus, with various projects in their heads (which none but the three last breathed to each other), were several hundred expecting chiefs assembled round the Earl of Mar; when Edwin Ruthven, glowing with all the effulgence of his general’s glory, and his own, rushed into the hall and throwing the royal standard of EngIand on the ground, exclaimed, "There lies the supremacy of King Edward !"

Every man started on his feet. "You do not mean," cried Athol, "that King Edward has been beaten?" —"He has been beaten, and driven off the field !" returned Edwin. "These despatches," added he, laying them on the table before his uncle, "will relate every particular. A hard battle our Regent fought, for our enemies were numberless; but a thousand good angels were his allies; and Edward himself fled. I saw the king, after he had thrice rallied his troops, and brought them to the charge, at last turn and fly. It was at that moment, I wounded his standard-bearer, and seized this dragon."

"Thou art worthy of thy general, brave Ruthven!" cried Badenoch to Edwin. "James," added he, addressing his eldest son, who had just arrived from France, "what is left to us, to show ourselves also, of Scottish blood ? Heaven has given him all !"

Lord Mar, who had stood in speechless gratitude, opened the despatches; and finding a circumstantial narrative of the battle, with accounts of the previous embassies, he read them aloud. Their contents excited a variety of emotionsions. When the nobles heard that Edward had offered Wallace the crown; when they found that by vanquishing that powerful monarch, he had subdued even the soul of the man who had hitherto held them all in awe ;—though in the same breath, they read that their regent had refused royalty; and was now, as a servant of the people, preparing to strengthen their borders ;—yet the most extravagant suspicions awoke in almost every breast. The eagle flight of his glory, seemed to have raised him so far above their heads, so beyond their power to restrain or to elevate him, that an envy, dark as Erebus,—a jealousy, which at once annihilated every grateful sentiment, every personal regard,—passed like electricity from heart to heart. The eye, turning from one to the other, explained, what no lip dared utter. A dead silence reigned, while the demon of hatred was taking possession of almost every breast; and none but the lords Mar, Badenoch, and Loch-awe, escaped the black contagion.

When the meeting broke up, Lord Mar placed himself at the head of the officers of the garrison, and with a herald holding the banner of Edward beneath the colours of Scotland, rode forth to proclaim to the country the decisive victory of its Regent. Badenoch and Loch-awe left the ball, to hasten with the tidings to Snawdoun. The rest of the chiefs dispersed. But as if actuated by one spirit, they were seen wandering about the outskirts of the town, where they soon drew together in groups, and whispered among themselves, these, and similar sentiments :—"He refused the crown, offered to him in the field by the people; he rejected it from Edward; because he would reign uncontrolled. He will now seize it as a conqueror, and we shall have an upstart’s foot upon our necks.  If we are to be slaves, let us have a tyrant of our own choosing.!"

As the trumpets before Lord Mar, blew the loud acclaim of triumph, Athol said to Buchan, "Cousin, that is but the forerunner of what we shall hear to announce the usurpation of this Wallace. And shall we sit tamely by, and have our birthright wrested from us, by a man of yesterday ?—No; if the race of Alexander be not to occupy the throne, let us not hesitate between the monarch of a mighty nation, and a low-born tyrant; between him who will at least gild our chains with chivalric honours; and an upstart, whose domination must be as stern as debasing!"

Murmurings, such as these, passing from chief to chief, descended to the minor chieftains, who held lands in fee of those more sovereign lords. Petty interests, extinguished gratitude for general benefits; and by secret meetings, at the heads of which were Athol, Buchan, and March, a conspiracy was formed to overset the power of Wallace. They were to invite Edward once more to take possession of the kingdom; and meanwhile, to accomplish this with certainty, each chief was to assume a pre-eminent zeal for the Regent. March was to persuade Wallace, to send him to Dunbar as governor of the Lothians, to hold the refractory Soulis in check; and to divide the public cares of Lord Dundaff; who indeed found Berwick a sufficient charge for his age, and comparative inactivity. "Then;" cried the false Cospatrick, [The flame by which Patrick Dunbar Earl of March was familiarly called.] "when I am fixed at Dunbar, Edward may come round from Newcastle, to that port; and, by your management, he must march unmolested to Stirling, and seize the usurper on his throne."

Such suggestions met with full approval from these dark incendiaries; and as their meetings were usually held at night, they walked forth in the day, with cheerful countenances, and joined the general rejoicing.

They feared to hint even a word of their intentions to Lord Badenoch; for on Buchan having expressed some discontent to him, at the homage that was paid to a man so much their inferior, his answer was, "Had we acted worthy of our birth, Sir William Wallace never could have had the opportunity to rise upon our disgrace. But as it is, we must submit; or bow to treachery, instead of virtue." This reply determined them to keep their proceedings secret from him; and also from Lady Mar; for both Lord Buchan, and Lord Athol, had, at different limes, listened to the fond dreams of her love and ambition. They had flattered her with entering into her designs. Athol, gloomily affected acquiescence, that he might render himself master of all that was in her mind; and perhaps in that of her lover: for he did not doubt that Wallace was as guilty as her wishes would have made him. And Buchan, ever ready to yield to the persuasions of woman, was not likely to refuse, when his fair cousin promised to reward him with all the pleasures of the gayest court in Europe. For, indeed, both lords had conceived, from the evident failing state of her veteran husband, in consequence of the unhealing condition of one of his wounds, that it might not be long before this visionary game would be thrown into her hands.

Thus were they situated, when the news of Wallace's decisive victory, distancing all their means to raise him who was now at the pinnacle of power, determined the dubious to become at once his mortal enemies. Lord Badenoch had listened with a different temper, to the first breathings of Lady Mar on her favourite subject. He told her, if the nation chose to make their benefactor king, he should not oppose it; because he thought that none of the blood-royal deserved to wear the crown which they had all consented to hold in fee of Edward; yet he would never promote by intrigue, an election, which must rob his own posterity of their inheritance. But when she give hints of her becoming one day the wife of Wallace, he turned on her with a frown. "Cousin," said he, "beware how you allow so guilty an idea to take possession of your heart! It is the parent of dishonour and death. And did I think that Sir William Wallace were capable of sharing your wishes, I would be the first to abandon his standard. But I believe him too virtuous, to look on a married woman with the eyes of passion; and that he holds the houses of Mar and Cummin in too high a respect, to breathe an illicit sigh in the ear of my kinswoman."

Despairing of making the impression she desired, on the mind of this severe relative, Lady Mar spoke to him no more on the subject. And Lord Badenoch, ignorant that she had imparted her criminal project to his brother, and cousin, believed that his reproof had performed her cure. Thus flattering himself, he made no hesitation to be the first who should go to Snawdoun, to communicate to her the brilliant despatches of the Regent; and to declare the freedom of Scotland to be now almost secured. He and Lord Loch-awe set forth; but they had been some time preceded by Edwin.

The moment the Countess heard the name of her nephew announced, she made a sign for her ladies to withdraw; and starting forward at his entrance, "Speak !" cried she; tell me, Edwin, is the Regent still a conqueror ? "—"Where are my mother and Helen!" replied he, "to share my tidings ?"—"Then they are good!" exclaimed Lady Mar, with one of her bewitching smiles. "Ah ! you sly one, like your chief, you know your power ! "—"And like him I exercise it," replied he gaily; "therefore, to keep your Ladyship no longer in suspense, here is a letter from the Regent himself." He presented it as he spoke; and she, catching it from him, turned round, and pressing it rapturously to her lips (it being the first she had ever received from him), eagerly ran over its brief contents. While re-perusing it, for she could not tear her eyes from the beloved characters, Lady Ruthven and Helen entered the room. The former hastened forward; the latter trembled as she moved; for she did not yet know the information which her cousin brought. But the first glance of his face, told her all was safe; and as he broke from his mother’s embrace, to clasp Helen in his arms, she fell upon his neck, and, with a shower of tears, whispered, "Wallace lives? Is well ? "—"As you would wish him," re-whispered he; "and with Edward at his feet."—"Thank God, thank God!" While she spoke, Lady Ruthven exclaimed—"But how is our Regent?" Speak, Edwin ! - How is the delight of all hearts?"—" Still the Lord of Scotland," answered he; "the invincible dictator of her enemies !—The puissant Edward has acknowledged the power of Sir William Wallace; and after being beaten on the plain of Stanmore, is now making the best of his way towards his own capital."

Lady Mar again and again pressed the cold letter of Wallace to her burning bosom. "The Regent does not mention these matters in his letter to me," said she, casting an exalting glance over the glowing face of Helen. But Helen did not notice it; she was listening to Edwin; who, with joyous animation, related every particular that had befallen Wallace, from the lime of his rejoining him to that very moment. The Countess heard all with complacency, till he mentioned the issue of the conference with Edward’s first ambassadors. "Fool!" exclaimed she to herself, "to throw away the golden opportunity, that may never return !" Not observing her disturbance, Edwin went on with his narrative; every word of which spread the eloquent countenance of Helen with admiration and joy.

Since her heroic heart had wrung from it all selfish wishes with regard to Wallace, she allowed herself to openly rejoice in his success; and to look up unabashed, when the resplendent glories of his character were brought before her. None but Edwin made her feel her exclusion from her soul’s only home, by dwelling on his gentle virtues; by portraying the exquisite tenderness of his nature, which seemed to enfold the objects of his love in his heart of hearts. When Helen thought on these discourses, she would sigh; but it was a sigh of resignation: and she loved to meditate on the words which Edwin had carelessly spoken —that "she made herself a nun for Wallace!"—"And so I will:" said she to herself; "and that resolution stills every wild emotion. All is innocence in heaven, Wallace! You will there read my soul, and love me as a sister?"

In such a frame of mind, did she listen to the relation of Edwin; did her animated eye, welcome the entrance of Badenoch and Loch-awe, and their enthusiastic encomiums on the lord of her heart. Then sounded the trumpet; and the herald’s voice in the streets proclaimed the victory of the Regent. Lady Mar rushed to the window, as if there she would see himself. Lady Ruthven. followed; and as the acclamations of the people echoed through the air, Helen pressed the precious cross of Wallace to her bosom, and hastily left the room to enjoy the rapture of her thoughts in the blessed retirement of her own oratory.

In the course of a few days after the promulgation of all this happy intelligence, it was announced that the Regent was on his return to Stirling. Lady Mar was not so inebriated with her vain hopes, as to forget that Helen might traverse the dearest of them, should she again present herself to its object. She therefore hastened to her, when the time of his expected arrival drew near; and putting on all the matron, affected to give her the counsel of a mother.

As all the noble families around Stirling would assemble to hail the victor’s return, the Countess said, she came to advise her, in consideration of what had passed in the chapel before the Regent’s departure, not to submit herself to the observation of so many eyes. Not suspecting the occult devices which worked in her step-mother’s heart, Helen meekly acquiesced, with the reply—"I shall obey." But she inwardly thought—"I, who know the heroism of his soul, need not pageants, nor acclamations of the multitude, to tell me what he is. He is already too bright for my senses to support; and with his image pressing on my heart, it is mercy to let me shrink from his glorious presence."

The "obey;" was sufficient for Lady Mar; she had gained her point. For though she did not seriously think (what she had affected to believe), that anything more had passed between Wallace and Helen than what they had openly declared, yet she could not but discern the harmony of their minds; and she feared that frequent intercourse, might draw such sympathy to something dearer. She had understanding to perceive his virtues, but they found no answering qualities in her breast. The matchless beauty of his person, the penetrating tenderness of his manner, the splendour of his fame, the magnitude of his power, all united to set her impassioned and ambitious soul in a blaze. Each opposing duty seemed only a vapour through which she could easily pass to the goal of her desire. Hence art of every kind appeared to her to be no more than a means of acquiring the object most valuable to her in life. Education had not given her any principle by which she might have checked the headlong impulse of her now aroused passions. Brought up as a worshipped object, in the little court of her parents, at Kirkwall, in the Orkneys; her father,—the Earl of Strathean, in Scotland; and her mother being a princess of Norway, whose dowry brought him the sovereignty of those isles ;—their daughter never knew any law but her own will, from her doting mother. And, on the fearful loss of that mother, in a marine excursion of pleasure, by an accident oversetting the boat she was in; the bereaved daughter, fell into such a despair, on her first pang of grief of any kind, that her similarly distracted father, (whose little dominions happened then to be menaced by a, descent of the Danes,) sought a safe and cheering home for his only child, (at the interesting age of seventeen,) by sending her over sea, to the protecting care of his long-affianced friend, the Earl of Mar; and to his lovely countess, then an only three years’ wife, with one infant daughter. Though fond of admiration, the young Joanna of Orkney, had held herself at too high a price, to bestow a thought on the crowd of rough sons of the surge, (chiefs of the surrounding isles, who owned her father as lord,) who daily adulated her charms with all the costliest trophies from their ocean-spoils. She trod past them; and by all the female beauties in her isle, with the step of an undisputed right to receive, and to despise. But when she crossed to the mainland; and found herself by the side of a woman almost as young as herself; and equally beautiful, though of a different mould soft, and retreating; while hers commanded, and compelled; --and, that the husband of that woman, whose tender adoration hovered over her with a perpetual eye ;—that he, though of comparative veteran years, was handsomer than any man she had ever seen, and fraught with every noble grace, to delight the female heart ;—she felt, what she had never done before, that she had met a rival, and an object worthy to subdue.

What Joanna began in mere excited vanity, jealous pride, and ambition of conquest, ended in a fatal attachment to the husband of her innocent and too confiding protectress. And he, alas! betrayed, first by her insidious wiles; and then by her overpowering, and apparently restrainless demonstrations of devoted love,—was so far won "from the propriety" of his noble heart, as to regard with a grateful admiration, as well as a manly pity, the beautiful victim of a passion he had so unwittingly raised. In the midst of these scenes, too often acted for his peace, (though not for his honour, and fidelity to his marriage vow,) his beloved Isabella, the wife of his bosom, and, till then, the joy of his life! died in the pangs of a premature confinement; breathing her last sigh in the birth of a daughter. Scarcely was the countess consigned to her bed of earth; and even in the hour after the last duties were paid to her, whose closed tomb seemed to have left unto him "his house desolate!" when the heart-desperate Joanna rushed into the weeping husband’s presence; fearful of being now restrainingly reclaimed by her father; who had, only a short while before, intimated his intention, to relieve his friends of a guardianship they had so partially fulfilled; and to send a vessel for his daughter, to bring her back to Kirkwall; there, to be united in marriage to the brave native chieftain, whose singular prowess had preserved the island from a Danish yoke. Dreading this event, even while her syren tears mingled with those of the widowed Mar, she wrought on him, by lavished protestations of a devoted love for his two infant orphans ;—(Helen, then a child of hardly two years; and the poor babe, whose existence had just cost its mother her life ;)—also, of a never-dying dedication of herself to that mother’s memory; and to the tenderest consolations of his own mourning spirit !—She wrought upon him to rescue her from her now-threatened abhorrent fate, even to give her his vow—to wed her himself! In the weakness of an almost prostrated mind, under the load of conflicting anguish which then lay on him ;—for now feeling his own culpable infirmity, in having suffered this dangerously flattering preference of him, to have ever showed itself to him, without his having done his positive duty, by sending her home at once to her proper protector ;—in a sudden self-immolating agony of self-blame, he assented to her heart-wringing supplication, that as soon as propriety would permit, she should become his wife.