 The
darkness was almost impenetrable. Musing on
what had passed with Monteith, and on the
little likelhood of any
hero appearing, who, by freeing his country,
could ever claim the privilege of
investigating the mystery which was now his
care, Wallace rode on; till crossing the
bridge of Lanark, he saw the rising moon
silver the tops of the distant hills; and then
his meditations embraced a gentler subject.
This was the time he had promised Marion he
should be returned, and he had yet five long
miles to go, before he could reach the glen of
Ellerslie; He thought of her being alone—of
watching, with an anxious heart, the minutes
of his delay. Scotland and its wrongs he now
forgot, in the idea of her whose happiness was
dearer to him than life. He could not achieve
the deliverance of the one, but it was his
bliss to preserve the peace of the other; and
putting spurs to his horse, under the now
bright beams of the moon he hastened through
the town.
Abruptly
turning an angle leading to the Mouse river, a
cry of murder arrested his ear. He checked his
horse and listened. The clashing of arms told
him the sound had issued from an alley to the
left. He alighted in an instant, and drawing
his sword, threw away the scabbard; (prophetic
omen!) then, leaving his horse with one of his
servants, hastened, with the other three, to
the spot whence the noise proceeded.
On
arriving, he discovered two men in tartans,
with their backs to the opposite wall,
furiously assaulted by a throng of Edward’s
soldiers. At this sight, the Scots who
accompanied Wallace were so enraged that,
blowing their bugles to encourage the
assailed, they joined hand to band with their
gallant leader, and attacking the banditti,
each man cut his opponent to the ground.
Such
unexpected assistance reanimated the drooping
strength of one of the two, from whom the cry
had issued. He sprang from the wall with the
vigour of a tiger, but at the moment received
a wound in his back, which would have thrown
him at the feet of his enemies, had not
Wallace caught him in his left arm, and with
his right cleared the way, while he cried to
his men who were fighting near him—"To
the Glen!" As he spoke, he threw the now
insensible stranger into their arms. The other
man, whose voice had first attracted Wallace,
at that instant sunk, covered with blood, on
the pavement.
Two
of the servants, obeying their master, carried
their senseless burden towards the horses; but
the third, being hemmed in by the furious
soldiers, could not move. Wallace made a
passage to his rescue, and effected it; but
one base wretch, while the now wounded Scot
was retreating, made a stroke which would have
severed his head from his body, had not the
trusty claymore" [Claymore,
an ancient Scottish sword.] of Wallace struck
down the pending weapon of the coward, and
received his rushing body upon its point he
fell with bitter imprecations, calling aloud
for vengeance.
A
dreadful cry was now raised by the whole band
of assassins:—" Murder !—treason !
—Arthur Heselrigge is slain!" The
uproar became general. The windows of the
adjoining houses were thrown open; people
armed and unarmed issued from their doors, and
pressed forward to inquire the cause of the
alarm. Wallace was nearly overpowered; a
hundred swords flashed in the torchlight; but
at the moment he expected they would be
sheathed in his heart, the earth gave way
under his feet, and he sunk into utter
darkness.
He
fell upon a quantity of gathered broom; and
concluding that the weight of the thronging
multitude had burst his way through the arch
of a cellar, he sprung on his feet: and though
he heard the curses of several wretches, who
had fallen with him and fared worse, he made
but one step to a half-opened door, pointed
out to him by a gleam from an inner passage.
The men uttered a shout, as they saw him
darken the light which glimmered through it;
but they were incapable of pursuit; and
Wallace, aware of his danger, darting across
the adjoining apartment, burst open a window,
and leaped out at the foot of the Lanark
hills.
The
oaths of the soldiers, enraged at his escape,
echoed in his ears, till distance sunk them
into hoarse murmurs. He pursued his way over
the craigs; through the valley, and across the
river, to the cliffs which embattle the garden
of Ellerslie. Springing on the projecting
point of the nearest, he leaped into a thicket
of honeysuckles. This was the favourite bower
of his Marion! The soft perfume as it saluted
his senses, seemed to breathe peace and
safety; and as he emerged from its fragrant
embrace, he walked with a calmer step towards
the house. He approached a door which led into
the garden. It was open. He beheld his beloved
leaning over a couch, on which was laid the
person he had rescued. Halbert was dressing
his wounds.
Wallace
paused for a moment, to contemplate his lovely
wife in this more lovely act of charity. Her
beautiful hands held a cup to the lips of the
stranger; while her long hair, escaped from
its band, fell in jetty ringlets, and mingled
with his silver locks.
"Marion
!" exclaimed the overflowing soul of her
husband. She looked up at the well-known
sound, and with a cry of joy, rushing forward,
threw herself into his arms: her tears flowed,
she sobbed—she clung to his breast. It was
the first time Wallace had been from her; she
had feared it would have been the last. The
hour— the conflict—the bleeding stranger!
But now he was returned—he was safe!
"Art
thou indeed here !" exclaimed she. Blood
fell from
his forehead upon her face and bosom: "O
my Wallace !" cried she, in agony.
"Fear
not, my love! all is well, since our wounded
countryman is safe."
"But
you bleed!" returned she. No tears now
impeded her voice. Terror had checked their
joyful currents; and she felt as if she
expected his life-blood to issue from the
wound on which she gazed.
"I
hope my preserver is not hurt?" inquired
the stranger.
"Oh,
no!" replied Wallace, putting back the
hair from his forehead; "a mere
trifle!" That the action had discovered
the gash to be wider than he thought, he saw
in the countenance of his wife! She turned
deadly pale. "Marion," said he,
"to convince you how causeless your fears
are, you shall cure me yourself; and with no
other surgery than your girdle !"
When
Lady Wallace heard his gay tone, and saw the
unforced smiles on his lips, she took courage;
and, remembering the deep wounds of the
stranger, which she had just assisted to
dress, without any alarm for his life, she
began to hope that she need not now fear for
the object dearest to her in existence. Rising
from her husband’s arms, with a languid
smile she unbound the linen fillet from her
waist; and Halbert having poured some balsam
into the wound, she prepared to apply the
bandage; but when she lifted her husband’s
hair from his temple—that hair which had so
often been the object of her admiration, as it
hung in shining masses over his arching brows
!—when the clotted blood met her fingers, a
mist seemed to pass over her sight: she paused
for a moment; but rallying her strength, as
the cheerful sound of his voice conversing
with his guest assured her, fear was
groundless, she tied the fillet; and, stealing
a soft kiss on his cheek when she had
finished, she seated herself, yet trembling,
by his side.
"Gallant
Wallace!" continued the stranger, -
agitation had prevented her hearing what had
preceded this,—" it is Donald Earl of
Mar, who owes his life to you."
"Then
blest be my arm," exclaimed Wallace,
"that has preserved a life so precious to
my country !"
"May
it indeed be blest !" cried Lord Mar; "for
this night it has made the Southrons [Southrons
and Saxons were the common appellations with
which the Scots denominated the invading
armies of Edward I. :—they were chiefly
composed of Irish and Welsh, and foreigners.—(1809.)]
feel, there is yet one man in Scotland who
does not fear to resist oppression, and to
punish treachery."
"What
treachery?" inquired Lady Wallace, her
alarmed spirit still hovering about her soul’s
far dearer part: "is any meant to my
husband ?"
"None
to Sir William Wallace, more than to any other
brave Scot," replied the earl: "but
we all see the oppression of our country; we
all know the treachery by which it was
subjugated; and this night, in my own person,
I have felt the effects of both. The English
at Lanark, despatched a body of men to
Bothwell castle, (where my family now are,) on
a plea, that as its lord is yet absent, they
presume he is adverse to Edward; and therefore
they must search his dwelling for documents to
settle the point. Considering myself the
representative of my brother-in-law, Lord
Bothwell, and suspecting that this might be
only a private marauding party, I refused to
admit the soldiers; and saw them depart,
swearing to return the next day with a
stronger force, and storm the castle. To be
ascertained of their commission, and to appeal
against such unprovoked tyranny, should it be
true, I followed the detachment to Lanark.
"I
saw Heselrigge the governor.—He avowed the
transaction; but awed by the power which he
thinks I possess in the country, he consented
to spare Bothwell, while I and my family
remain in it. It being nearly dark, I took my
leave, and was proceeding towards my servants
in the court-yard, when a young man accosted
me. I recognised him to be the officer who had
commanded the party I had driven from the
castle. Heselrigge having told me that he was
his nephew, I made no hesitation to go back
with him, when he informed me his uncle had
forgotten something of importance, and begged
me to return. I followed his steps; but
instead of conducting me to the room in which
I had conversed with Heselrigge, he led me
along a dark passage into a small apartment,
where, telling me his uncle would attend me,
he suddenly retreated out of the door, and
before I could recollect myself I heard him
bolt it after him.
I
now saw myself a prisoner; and alarmed at what
might be intended to my defenceless family, I
made every essay to force the door, but it was
in vain. Driven to despair, I remained in a
state of mind not to be described, when the
bolt was undrawn, and two men entered, with
manacles in their hands. They attempted to
seize me, telling me I was the prisoner of
King Edward. I did not listen further, but
wounding one with my dagger, felled the other
to the ground; and, darting past him, made my
way through what passages I cannot tell, till
I found myself in a street leading from behind
the governor’s house. I ran against some one
as I rushed from the portal; it was my servant
Neil. I hastily told him to draw his sword and
follow me. We then hurried forward; he telling
me he had stepped out to observe the night,
while the rest of my men were awaiting me in
the house, wondering at my delay.
"Rejoiced
at my escape, and fearing the worst of
consequences from the treachery of Heselrigge,
I was hastening onward, determined to pursue
my way on foot to the protection of my family,
when, at the turning of an angle which leads
to the Bothwell road, we were suddenly
surrounded by armed men. The moon shone full
on their faces, and I discovered they were
Southrons, and that young Heselrigge was at
their head.
"He
aimed a blow at my head with his battle-axe,
and in a voice of triumph exclaimed to his
soldiers, ‘The plunder of Bothwell, my lads!
Down with its lord! all but the lady Helen
shall be yours!’
"In
a moment every sword was directed towards me.
They wounded me in several places; but the
thought of my daughter, gave supernatural
vigour to my arm, and I defended myself till
the cries of my servant brought you, my brave
deliverer, to my rescue. But, while I am safe,
perhaps my treacherous pursuer has marched
towards Bothwell, too sure to commit the
horrid violence he meditates: there are none
to guard my child but a few domestics,
the unpractised sword of my stripling nephew,
and the feeble arms of my wife."
"Be
easy on that head," interrupted Wallace:
"I believe the infamous leader of the
banditti fell by my hand, for the soldiers
made an outcry that Arthur Heselrigge was
killed; and then pressing on me to take
revenge, their weight broke a passage into a
vault, through which I escaped—"
"Save,
save yourself, my master !" cried a man
rushing in from the garden. "You are
pursued—"
While
he spoke he fell insensible at Wallace’s
feet. It was Dugald—whom he had rescued from
the blow of Heselrigge, and who, from the
state of his wound, had been thus long in
reaching Ellerslie.
Wallace
had hardly time to give him to the care of
Halbert, when the voice of war assailed his
ears. The tumult of men demanding admittance,
and the terrific sound of spears rattling
against the shields of their owners, told the
astonished group within that the house was
beset by armed foes.
"Blood
for blood!" cried a horrid voice, which
penetrated the almost palsied senses of Lady
Marion. "Vengeance on Wallace, for the
murder of Heselrigge!"
"Fly,
fly !" cried she, looking wildly at her
husband.
"Whither?"
answered he, supporting her in his arms.
"Would this be a moment to leave you, and
our wounded guest? I must meet them."
"Not
now!" cried Lord Mar. "Hear you not
how numerous they are? Mark that shout! they
thirst for blood. If you have love, pity, for
your wife, delay not a moment. Again—"
The
uproar redoubled, and the room was instantly
filled with shrieking women, in their
night-clothes, the attendants of Lady Wallace.
She lay, almost expiring, on her husband’s
breast.
"O
my lord !" cried the terrified creatures,
wringing their hands, "what will become
of us! The Southrons are at the gates, and we
shall be lost for ever."
"Fear
not;’ replied Wallace; "retire to your
chambers. I am the person they seek: none else
will meet with injury."
Appeased
by this assurance, the women retreated to
their apartments; and Wallace, turning to the
Earl, who continued to enforce the necessity
of his flight, repeated, that he would not
consent to leave his wife in such a tumult.
"Leave
me," cried she, in an inarticulate voice;
"or see me die."
As
she spoke, there was a violent crash, and a
tremendous burst of imprecations. Three of
Wallace’s men ran panting into the room. Two
of the assailants had climbed to the hall
window; and had just been thrown back upon the
cliffs, where one was killed. "Conceal
yourself," said the Scots to Wallace;
"for in a few minutes more your men will
not be able to maintain the gates."
"Yes,
my dear lord," cried Halbert, "there
is the dry well at the end of the garden; at
the bottom of that you will be safe."
"By
your love for me, Wallace—by all you owe to
the tender affections of your grandfather,
hearken to him!" cried Lady Marion,
falling at his feet, and clasping his knees.
"I kneel for my life in kneeling for
yours! Pity the grey hairs of Sir Ronald, whom
your untimely death would bring to the grave!
Pity your unborn child! Fly, Wallace, fly, if
you would have me live !" She was pale
and breathless.
"Angel
of my life ‘ exclaimed Wallace, straining
her to his heart, "I obey thee. But if
the hand of one of these desperate robbers,
dares to touch thy hallowed person—"
"Think
not so, my lord," interrupted Halbert:
"it is you they seek. Not finding you,
they will be too eager in pursuit to molest
your lady."
"I
shall be safe," whispered Marion;
"only fly—while you are here, their
shouts kill me."
"But
thou shalt go with me," returned he,
"the well will contain us all. But first
let our faithful Halbert and these honest
fellows lower Lord Mar into the place of
refuge. He being the cause of the afray, if
discovered, would be immediately
sacrificed."
Lord
Mar acquiesced; and while the contention was
so loud without, as to threaten the tearing
down of the walls, the Earl was carried into
the garden. He was followed by Sir William
Wallace, to whose arm his wife yet fondly
clung. At every cry of the enemy, at every
shock they gave to his yet impregnable gates,
she breathed the shorter, and was clasped by
the lord of her heart, still more closely to
his bosom.
At
the well-side they found the Earl bound with
the rope that was to lower him to the bottom.
By great care it was safely done; and the cord
being brought up again, before it was tied
round Wallace (for his agonised wife insisted
he should descend next), he recollected that
the iron box at his side might hurt the
wounded nobleman by striking him in his
descent; and, unbuckling it, he said it
contained matters of great value, and ordered
it to be lowered first.
Lord
Mar, beneath, was releasing it from the rope,
when a shout of triumph pierced their ears. A
party of the English, having come round the
heights, had leaped the wall of the garden,
and were within a few yards of the well, for
Wallace to descend now was impossible.
"That tree !" whispered Marion,
pointing to an oak near which they stood. As
she spoke, she slid from his arms, and, along
with the venerable Halbert, who had seized her
band, disappeared amid the adjoining thicket.
The two servants fled also.
Wallace,
finding himself alone, the next instant, like
one of his native eagles, was looking down
from the towering top of the wood upon his
enemies. They passed beneath him, denouncing
vengeance upon the assassin of Arthur
Heselrigge! One, who by the brightness of
his armour seemed to he their leader, stopped
under the tree, and complained he had so
sprained his ankle in leaping the wall, he
must wait a few minutes to recover himself.
Several soldiers drew towards him; but be
ordered them to pursue their duty, search the
house, and bring Wallace, dead or alive,
before him.
They
obeyed; but others, who had gained admittance
to the tower through the now forced gates,
soon ran to him with information that the
murderer could nowhere be found.
"But
here is a gay ladie," cried one;
"perhaps she can tell of his
hiding-place. And at that moment Marion, with
Halbert, appeared amongst a band of men. The
lighted torches which the soldiers held, shone
full on her face. Though pale as monumental
marble, the exquisite beauty of her features,
and the calm dignity which commanded from her
eyes, awed the officer into respect and
admiration.
"Soldiers,
stand back !" cried he, advancing to Lady
Wallace. "Fear not, madam." As the
words passed his lips, a flight of arrows flew
into the bosom of the tree. A piercing shriek
from Marion was her only answer. "Hah! my
lady’s falcon !" cried Halbert,
alarmed, doubly, for the fate of his master. A
sudden agitation of the branches, having
excited an indefinite suspicion in a body of
archers who stood near, with one impulse they
had discharged their arrows to the spot.
Halbert’s ready excuse, both for the
disturbance in the tree and his lady’s
shriek, was prompted and warranted true by the
appearance of a large bird, which the rushing
of the arrows had frighted from her nest: she
rose suddenly from amongst the branches, and
soared away, far to the east, with loud
screams.
All
being again still, Marion hoped that her
husband had escaped any serious injury from
the arrows; and turning with recovered
composure to the officer, heard him with a
glow of comfort, reprimand his men for daring
to draw their bows without his orders. Then
addressing her, "I beg your pardon,
madam," said he, "both for the alarm
these hot-headed men have occasioned you, and
for the violence they have committed in
forcing one of your sex and beauty before me.
Had I expected to have found a lady here, I
should have issued orders to have prevented
this outrage; but
I am sent hither in quest of Sir William
Wallace; who, by a mortal attack made on the
person of the governor of Lanark’s nephew,
has forfeited his life. The scabbard of his
sword, found beside the murdered Heselrigge,
is an undeniable proof of his guilt. Direct us
to find him, and not only, release, but the
favour of the English monarch will await your
allegiance."
"I
am Sir William Wallace’s wife,"
returned the gentle Marion, in a firm tone;
"and by what authority you seek him thus
and presume to call him guilty, I cannot
understand."
"By
the authority of the laws, madam, which he has
violated."
"What
laws?" rejoined she; "Sir William
Wallace acknowledges none but those of God,
and his country.— Neither of these has he
transgressed."
The
officer replied, "This night he
assassinated Arthur Heselrigge in the streets
of Lanark; and that condemns him, by the, last
declaration of King Edward :— Whatever
Scot maltreats any one of the English
soldiers, or civil officers, garrisoned in the
towns of Scotland,
shall thereby forfeit his life, as the penalty
,of his crime."
"A
tyrant’s law, sir, to which no freeborn Scot
will submit! But even were it allowed by my
countrymen, in thiscase it can have no hold on
my husband. That he is a Scot, he gIories; and
not that he maltreated any Englishman in the
streets, of Lanark, do I glory; but because,
when he saw two defenceless men borne down by
a band of armed soldiers, he exposed his
unshielded breast in their defence! one of the
two died, covered with wounds. That the
governor’s nephew also fell, was a just
retribution for his heading so unequal a
contest, and no crime in Sir William Wallace;
for he slew him to preserve a feeble old man,
who had a hundred English swords levelled at
his life."
The
officer paused for a moment, and then ordering
his soldiers to fall further back; when they
were at a sufficient distance, he offered to
take Lady Wallace’s hand. She withstood his
motion with a reserved air, and said,
"Speak, sir, what you would say, or allow
me to retire."
"I
mean not to offend you, noble lady,"
continued he:
"had
I a wife lovely as yourself, and I in like
circumstances, I hope in the like manner she
would defend my life and honour. I knew not
the particulars of the affair in which Arthur
Heselrigge fell, till I heard them from your
lips. I can easily credit them, for I know his
unmanly character. Wallace is a Scot; and
acted in Scotland, as Gilbert Hambledon would
have done in England, were it possible for any
vile foreigner to there put his foot upon the
neck of a countryman of mine. ‘Wherever you
have concealed your husband, let it be a
distant asylum. At present no track within the
jurisdiction of Lanark, will be left
unsearched by the governor’s indefatigable
revenge."
Lady
Wallace, overcome with gratitude at this
generous speech of the English officer,
uttered some inarticulate words, expressive
more in sound than clearness, of her grateful
feelings. Hambledon continued:—" I will
use my influence with Heselrigge, to prevent
the interior of your house being disturbed
again; but it being in the course of military
operations, I cannot free you from the
disagreeable ceremony of a guard being placed
to-morrow morning round the domains. This I
know will be done to intercept Sir William
Wallace, should he attempt to return."
"O!
that he were indeed far distant!" thought
the anxious Marion. The officer then added:
"However, you shall be relieved of my
detachment directly." And as he spoke, he
waved his sword to them who had seized the
harper. They advanced, still holding their
prisoner. He ordered them to commit the man to
him, and to sound. The trumpeter obeyed;
and in a few seconds the whole detachment were
assembled before their commander.
"Soldiers
!" cried he; "Sir William Wallace
has escaped our hands. Mount your horses, that
we may return to Lanark, and search the other
side of the town. Lead forth, and I will
follow."
The
troops obeyed; and falling back through the
opened gates, left Sir Gilbert Hambledon alone
with Lady Wallace and the wondering Halbert.
The brave young man took the now no longer
withdrawn hand of the grateful Marion, who had
stood trembling while so many of her husband’s
mortal enemies were assembled under the place
of his concealment.
"Noble
Englishman," said she, as the last body
of soldiers passed from her sight, "I
cannot enough thank you for this generous
conduct! but, should you or yours be ever in
the like extremity with my beloved Wallace;
(and in these tyrannous times, what brave
spirit can answer for its continued safety?)
may the ear which has heard you this night, at
that hour repay my gratitude!"
"Sweet
lady," answered Hambledon, "I thank
you for your prayer. God is indeed the
benefactor of a true soldier; and though I
serve my King, and obey my commanders, yet it
is only to the Lord of battles that I look for
a sure reward. And whether he pay me here with
victories and honours, or take my soul through
a rent in my breast, to receive my laurel in
paradise, it is all one to Gilbert Hambledon.
But the night is cold: I must see you safe
within your own doors; and then, lady,
farewell!"
Lady
Wallace yielded to the impulse of his hand,
and with redoubled haste, as she heard another
rustling in the tree above her head. Hambledon
did not notice it; but desiring Halbert to
follow, in a few minutes disappeared with the
agitated Marion into the house.
Wallace,
whose spirit could ill brook the sight of his
domains filled with hostile troops, and the
wife of his bosom brought a prisoner before
their commander, would instantly have braved
all dangers, and have leaped down amongst
them; but at the instant he placed his foot on
a lower bough to make a spring, the courteous
address of Hambledon to his wife had made him
hesitate. He listened to the replies of his
Marion with exultation; and when the
Englishman ordered his men to withdraw, and
delivered himself so generously respecting the
safety of the man he came to seize, Wallace
could hardly prevent a brave confidence in
such virtue from compelling him to come from
his concealment, and thank his noble enemy on
the spot. But a consideration that such
disclosure would put the military duty and the
generous nature of the officer at variance, he
desisted with such an agitation of spirits
that the boughs had again shaken under him,
and reawakened the alarm of his trembling
wife.
"Omnipotent
Virtue!" exclaimed Wallace to himself;
"if it were possible that thy generous
spirit could animate the breast of an invading
conqueror, how soon would the vanquished cease
to forget their former freedom, and learn to
love their vassalage! This man’s nobleness,
how soon has it quenched the flame of
vengeance with which, when I ascended this
tree, I prayed for the extirpation of every
follower of Edward !"
"Sir
William! my master!" cried a well-known
voice, in a suppressed tone, as if still
fearful of being overheard. it. was Halbert’s.
"Speak, my dear lord; are you safe?"
"In
heart and body!" returned Wallace,
sliding from the tree, and leaping on the
ground: "One only of the arrows touched
me; and that merely striking my bugle, fell
back amongst the leaves. I must now hasten to
the dearest, the noblest of women!"
Halbert
begged him to stay till they should hear the retreat
from the English trumpets. "Till their
troops are out of sight," added he,
"I cannot believe you safe."
"Hark!"
cried Wallace; "the horses are now
descending the craig. That must satisfy you,
honest Halbert." With these words he flew
across the grass, and entering the house, met
the returning Marion, who had just bade
farewell to Hambledon. She rushed into his
arms, and with the excess of a disturbed and
uncertain joy, fainted on his neck. Her gentle
spirit had been too powerfully excited by the
preceding scenes. Unaccustomed to tumult of
any kind, and nursed in the bosom of fondness
till now, no blast had blown on her tender
form, no harshness had ever ruffled the
blissful serenity of her mind. What then was
the shock of this evening’s violence! Her
husband pursued as a murderer; herself exposed
to the midnight air, and dragged by the hands
of merciless soldiers to betray the man she
loved! All these scenes were new to her: and
though a kind of preternatural strength had
supported her through them; yet when the cause
of immediate exertion was over, when she fell
once more into her husband’s extended arms,
she seemed there to have found again her
shelter, and the pillow whereon her harassed
soul might repose.
"My
life! my best treasure! preserver of thy
Wallace! look on him!" exclaimed he:
"bless him with a smile from those dear
eyes."
His
voice, his caresses, soon restored her to
sensibility and recollection. She wept on his
breast, and with love’s own eloquence,
thanked Heaven that he had escaped the search
and the arrows of his enemies.
"But,
my dear lady," interrupted Halbert;
"remember my master must not stay here.
You know the English commander said he must
fly far away. Nay, spies may even now be
lurking to betray him."
"You
are right," cried she. "My Wallace
you must depart.
Should the guard arrive soon, your flight may
be prevented. You must go now—but, oh!
whither?"
"Not
very distant, my love. In going from thee, I
leave behind all that makes life precious to
me; how then can I go far away? No! there are
recesses among the Cartlane craigs, I
discovered while hunting, and which I believe
have been visited by no mortal foot but my
own. There will I be, my Marion, before
sunrise: and before it sets, thither must you
send Halbert, to tell me how you fare. Three
notes from thine own sweet strains of Thusa
ha measg na reultan mor,* [Thusa ha
measg na reultan mor, &c are the
beginning words of an old Gaelic ditty, the
English of which runs thus;— "Thou who
art amid the stars, move to thy bed with
music,"&c.__(1809.)] blown by his
pipe, shall be a sign to me that he is there;
and I will come forth to hear tidings of
thee."
"Ah,
my Wallace, let me go with thee !"
"What,
dearest!" returned he, "to live
amidst rocks and streams! to expose thy tender
self, and thine unborn infant, to all the
accidents of such a lodging!"
"But
are not you going to so rough, so dangerous a
lodging ?" asked she: "O! would not
rocks and streams be heaven’s paradise to
me, when blessed with the presence of my
husband? Ah! let me go !"
"Impossible,
my lady," cried Halbert; afraid that the
melting heart of his master would consent:
"you are safe here; and your flight would
awaken suspicion in the English, that he had
not gone far. Your ease and safety are dearer
to him than his own life; and most likely by
his cares to preserve them, he would be
traced; and so fall a ready sacrifice to the
enemy."
"It
is true, my Marion; I could not preserve you
in the places to which I go."
"But
the hardships you will endure!" cried
she; "to sleep on the cold stones, with
no covering but the sky, or the dripping vault
of some dreary cave! I have not courage to
abandon you alone to such cruel rigours."
Cease,
my beloved!" interrupted he, "cease
these groundless alarms. Neither rocks nor
storms have any threats to me. It is only
tender Woman’s cares that make man’s body
delicate. Before I was thine, my Marion, I
have lain whole nights upon the mountain’s
brow, counting the wintry stars, as I
impatiently awaited the hunter’s horn that
was to recall me to the chase in Glenfinlass.
Alike to Wallace is the couch of down or the
bed of heather; so, best beloved of my heart,
grieve not at hardships which were once my
sport, and will now be my safety."
"Then
farewell! May good angels guard thee!"
Her voice failed; she put his hand to her
lips.
"Courage,
my Marion," said he; "remember that
Wallace lives but in thee. Revive, be happy
for my sake; and God, who putteth down the
oppressor, will restore me to thine
arms." She spoke not, but rising from his
breast clasped her hands together, and looked
up with an expression of fervent prayer; then
smiling through a shower of tears, she waved
her hand to him to depart, and instantly
disappeared into her own chamber.
Wallace
gazed at the closed door, with his soul in his
eyes. To leave his Marion thus, to quit her
who was the best part of his being, who seemed
the very spring of the life now throbbing in
his heart, was a contention with his fond,
fond love, almost too powerful with his
resolution. Here indeed his brave spirit gave
way; and he would have followed her, and
perhaps have determined to await his fate at
her side, had not Halbert, reading his mind in
his countenance, taken him by the arm, and
drawn him towards the portal.
Wallace
soon recovered his better reason, and obeying
the friendly impulse of his servant,
accompanied him through the garden, to the
quarter which pointed towards the heights that
led to the remotest recesses of the Clyde. In
their way they approached the well where Lord
Mar lay. Finding that the Earl had not .been
inquired for, Wallace deemed his stay to be
without peril; and intending to inform him of
the necessity which still impelled his own
flight, he called to him, but no voice
answered. He looked down, and seeing him
extended on the bottom, without motion,
"I fear," said he, "the Earl is
dead. As soon as I am gone, and you can
collect the dispersed servants, send one into
the well to bring him forth; and if he be
indeed no more, deposit his body in my
oratory, till you can receive his widow’s
commands respecting his remains. The iron box
now in the well, is of inestimable value: take
it to Lady Wallace, and tell her she must
guard it, as she has done my life; but not to
look into it, at the peril of what is yet
dearer to her—my honour."
Halbert
promised to adhere to his master’s orders;
and Wallace, girding on his sword, and taking
his hunting spear, (with which the care of his
venerable domestic had provided him,) he
pressed the faithful hand that presented it,
and again enjoining him to be watchful of the
tranquillity of his lady, and to send him
tidings of her in the evening, to the cave
near the Corie Lin, he climbed the wall, and
was out of sight in an instant.
|
