The Scottish Chiefs

by Jane Porter

  Chapter XXXIV.

  Stirling Castle.

  The prisoners who had been taken with Montgomery were lodged behind thetown, and the wounded carried into the Abbey of Cambus-Kenneth; butwhen Edwin came to move that earl himself, he found him too faint withloss of blood to sit a horse to Snawdoun. He therefore ordered alitter; and so conveyed his brave prisoner to that palace of the kingsof Scotland in Stirling.

  The priests in Wallace's army not only exercised the Levitical but thegood Samaritan's functions, and they soon obeyed the young knight'ssummons to dress the wounds of Montgomery.

  Messengers, meanwhile, arrived from Wallace, acquainting his chieftainsin Stirling with the surrender of De Warenne's army. Hence no surprisewas created in the breast of the wounded earl when he saw his commanderenter the palace as the prisoner of the illustrious Scot.

  Montgomery held out his hand to the lord warden in silence, and with aflushed cheek.

  "Blush not, my noble friend!" cried De Warenne; "these wounds speakmore eloquently than a thousand tongues, the gallantry with which youmaintained the sword that fate compelled you to surrender. But I,without a scratch, how can I meet the unconquered Edward? And yet itwas not for myself I feared: my brave and confiding soldiers were inall my thoughts; for I saw it was not to meet an army I led them, butagainst a whirlwind, a storm of war, with which no strength that Icommanded could contend."

  While the English generals thus conversed, Edwin's impatient heartyearned to be again at the side of Wallace; and gladly resigning thecharge of his noble prisoner to Sir Alexander Ramsay, as soon as heobserved a cessation in the conversation of the two earls, he drew nearMontgomery to take his leave.

  "Farewell, till we meet again!" said the young earl, pressing his hand;"you have been a young brother rather than an enemy, to me."

  "Because," returned Edwin, "I follow the example of my general, whowould willingly be the friend of all mankind."

  Warenne looked at him with surprise: "And who are you, who, in thatstripling form, utters gallant sentiments which might grace thematurest years?"

  With a sweet dignity, Edwin replied, "I am Edwin Ruthven, the adoptedbrother of Sir William Wallace."

  "And the son of him," asked De Warenne, "who, with Sir William Wallace,was the first to mount Dumbarton walls?"

  At these words the cheeks of Edwin were suffused with a more animatedbloom. At the moment when his courage was distinguished on the heightsof Dumbarton, by the vowed friendship of Wallace, he had found himselfbeloved by the bravest and most amiable of beings; and in his light hefelt both warmth and brightness; but this question of De Warenne,conveyed to him that he had found fame himself; that he was therepublicly acknowledged to be an object not unworthy of being called thebrother of Sir William Wallace!-and, casting down his eyes, beamingwith exultation, from the fixed gaze of De Warenne, he answered, "I amthat happy Ruthven, who had the honor to mount Dumbarton Rock by theside of my general; and from his hand there received the stroke ofknighthood."

  De Warenne rose, much agitated: "If such be the boys of Scotland needwe wonder, when the spirit of resistance is roused in the nation, thatour strength should wither before its men?"

  "At least," said Montgomery, whose admiration of what passed seemed toreanimate his languid faculties, "it deprives defeat of its sting, whenwe are conscious we yielded to power that was irresistible. But, mylord," added he, "if the courage of this youth amazes you, what willyou say ought to be the fate of this country? what to be the crown ofSir William Wallace's career, when you know the chain of brave heartsby which he is surrounded? Even tender woman loses the weakness of hersex when she belongs to him." Earl de Warenne, surprised at the energywith which he spoke, looked at him with an expression that told him so."Yes," continued he, "I witnessed the heroism of Lady Wallace, whenshe defended the character of her husband in the midst of an armedhost, and preserved the secret of his retreat inviolate. I saw thatloveliest of women, whom the dastard Heselrigge slew."

  "Disgrace to knighthood!" cried Edwin, with indignant vehemence; "ifyou were a spectator of that bloody deed, retire from this house; go toCambus-Kenneth--anywhere; but leave this city before the injuredWallace arrives; blast not his eyes with a second sight of one whocould have beheld his wife murdered."

  Every eye was now fixed on the commanding figure of the young Edwin,who stood with the determination of being obeyed breathing in everylook. De Warenne then at once saw the possibility of so gentle acreature being transformed into the soul of enterprise, into thefearless and effective soldier.

  Lord Montgomery held out his hand to Edwin. "By this right arm, Iswear, noble youth, that had I been on the spot when Heselrigge, liftedhis sword against the breast of Lady Wallace, I would have sheathed mysword in his. It was before then that I saw that matchless woman; andoffended with my want of severity in the scrutiny I had made atEllerslie for its chief. Heselrigge sent me back to Ayr. Arnufquarreled with me there, on the same subject; and I immediately retiredin disgust to England."

  "Then how? you ought to be Sir Gilbert Hambledon?" replied Edwin; "butwhoever you are, as you were kind to the Lady Marion, I cannot butregret my late hasty charge; and for which I beseech your pardon."

  Montgomery took his hand, and pressed it. "Generous Ruthven, yourwarmth is too honorable to need forgiveness. I am that Sir GilbertHambledon; and had I remained so, I should not now be in Scotland. Butin my first interview with the Prince of Wales, after my accession tothe Earldom of Montgomery, his highness told me, it had been rumoredfrom Scotland that I was disloyal in my heart to my king. 'And toprove the falsehood of such calumniators,' continued the prince, 'Iappoint you second in command there to the Earl de Warenne.' To haverefused to fight against Sir William Wallace, would have been to haveaccused myself of treason. And while I respected the husband of themurdered Lady Marion, I yet condemned him as an insurgent; and with thesame spirit you follow him in the field, I obeyed the commands of mysovereign."

  "Lord Montgomery," returned Edwin, "I am rejoiced to see one who provesto me what my general, wronged as he has been, yet alwaysinculcates--that all the Southrons are not base and cruel! When heknows who is indeed his prisoner, what recollections will it awaken!But till you and he again meet, I shall not intimate to him themelancholy satisfaction he is to enjoy, for, with the remembrances itwill arouse, your presence must bring the antidote."

  The brave youth then telling Ramsay in what parts of the palace therest of the lords were to be lodged, with recovered composure descendedto the courtyard, to take horse for Tor Wood. He was galloping along,under the bright light of the moon, when he heard a squadron on fullspeed approaching, and presently Murray appeared at its head. "Hurrah,Edwin!" cried he; "well met! We are come to demand the instantsurrender of the citadel. Hilton's division has surrendered!"

  The two barons had indeed come up about half an hour after Earl deWarenne's division was discomfited. Sir William Wallace had sentforward to the advancing enemy two heralds, bearing the colors DeValence and Montgomery, with the captive banner of De Warenne, andrequiring the present division to lay down its army also. The sight ofthese standards was sufficient to assure Hilton there was no deceit inthe embassy. The nature of his position precluded retreat; and notseeing any reason for ten thousand men disputing the day with a powerto whom fifty thousand had just surrendered, he and his compeer, withthe reluctance of veterans, embraced the terms of surrender.

  The instant Hilton put his argent banner** into the victor's hand,Wallace knew that the castle must now be his; he had discomfited allwho could have maintained it against him. Impatient to apprise LordMar and his family of their safety, he dispatched Murray with aconsiderable escort to demand its surrender.

  **The arms of Hilton are, argent, two bars azure. The charge on thoseof Blenkinsopp are three wheat-sheaves; crest, a lion rampant, graspinga rose. The ruins of the patrimonial castles of these two ancientbarons are still to be seen in the north of England. The author'srevered mother was
a descendant from the latter venerable name, unitedwith that of the brave and erudite race of Adamson, of further north.

  Murray gladly obeyed, and now, accompanied by Edwin, with the standardsof Cressingham and De Warenne trailing in the dust, he arrived beforethe castle, and summoned the lieutenant to the walls. But thatofficer, well aware of what was going to happen, feared to appear.From the battlements of the keep he had seen the dreadful conflict onthe banks of the Forth--he had seen the thousands of De Warenne passbefore the conqueror. To punish his treachery, in not only havingsuffered Cressingham to steal out under the armistice, but upholdingalso the breaking of his word to surrender at sunset, the terrifiedofficer believed that Wallace was now come to put the whole garrison tothe sword.

  At the first sight of Murray's approaching squadron, the lieutenanthurried to Lord Mar, to offer him immediate liberty if he would goforth to Wallace and treat with him to spare the lives of the garrison.Closed up in a solitary dungeon, the earl knew naught of what wasoccurring without; and when the Southron entered, he expected it was tolead him again to the death which had been twice averted. But the paleand trembling lieutenant had no sooner spoken the first word than Mardiscerned it was a suppliant, not an executioner, he saw before him,and he was even promising that clemency from Wallace, which he knewdwelt in his heart, when Murray's trumpet sounded.

  The lieutenant started, horror-struck. "It is now too late! We havenot made the first overture, and there sounds the death-bell of thisgarrison! I saved your life, earl!" cried he, imploringly, to LordMar; "when the enraged Cressingham commanded me to pull the cord whichwould have launched you into eternity. I disobeyed him! For my sake,then, preserve this garrison, and accompany me to the ramparts."

  The chains were immediately knocked off the limbs of Lord Mar, and thelieutenant presenting him with a sword, they appeared together on thebattlements. As the declining moon shone on their backs, Murray didnot discern that it was his uncle who mounted the walls; but calling tohim in a voice which declared there was no appeal, pointed to thehumbled colors of Edward, and demanded the instant surrender of thecitadel.

  "Let it be, then with the pledge of Sir William Wallace's mercy?" criedthe venerable earl.

  "With every pledge, Lord Mar," returned Murray, now joyfullyrecognizing his uncle, "which you think safe to give."

  "Then the keys of the citadel are yours," cried the lieutenant; "I onlyask the lives of my garrison."

  This was granted, and immediately preparations were made for theadmission of the Scots. As the enraptured Edwin heard the heavy chainsof the portcullis drawn up, and the massy bolts of the huge doorsgrating in their guards, he thought of his mother's liberty, of hisfather's joy, in pressing her again in his arms; and hastening to thetower where Lord Ruthven held watch over the now sleeping De Valance,he told him all that had happened. "Go, my father," added he; "enterwith Murray, and be the first to open the prison doors of my mother."

  Lord Ruthven embraced his son. "My dear Edwin! this sacrifice to myfeelings is worthy of you. But I have a duty to perform, superior evento the tenderest private ones. I am planted hereby my commander; andshall I quit my station, for any gratification, till he gives me leave?No, my son! Be you my representative to your mother; and while myexample teaches you, above all earthly considerations, to obey yourhonor, those tender embraces will show her what I sacrifice to duty."

  Edwin no longer urged his father, and leaving his apartment, flew tothe gate of the inner ballium. It was open; and Murray already stoodon the platform before the keep, receiving the keys to the garrison.

  "Blessed sight!" cried the earl, to his nephew. "When I put the bannerof Mar into your unpracticed hand, little could I expect that, in thecourse of four months, I should see my brave Andrew receive the keys ofproud Stirling from its commander!"

  Murray smiled, while his plumed head bowed gratefully to his uncle, andturning to the lieutenant, "Now," said he, "lead me to the Ladies Marand Ruthven that I may assure them they are free."

  The gates of the keep were now unclosed, and the lieutenant conductedhis victors along a gloomy passage, to a low door, studded with knobsof iron. As he drew the bolt, he whispered to Lord Mar, "Theseseverities are the hard policy of Governor Cressingham."

  He pushed the door slowly open, and discovered a small, miserablecell--its walls, of rugged stone, having no other covering than theincrustations which time, and many a dripping winter, had strewn overtheir vaulted service. On the ground, on a pallet of straw, lay afemale figure in a profound sleep. But the light which the lieutenantheld, streaming full upon the uncurtained slumberer, she started, and,with a shriek of terror at the sight of so many armed men, discoveredthe pallid features of the Countess of Mar. With an anguish whichhardly the freedom he was going to bestow could ameliorate, the earlrushed forward, and, throwing himself beside her, caught her in hisarms.

  "Are we, then, to die?" cried she, in a voice of horror. "Has Wallaceabandoned us? Are we to perish? Heartless-heartless man!"

  Overcome by his emotions, the earl could only strain her to his breastin speechless agitation. Edwin saw a picture of his mother'ssufferings, in the present distraction of the countess; and he felt hispowers of utterance locked up; but Lord Andrew, whose ever-light heartwas gay the moment he was no longer unhappy, jocosely answered, "Myfair aunt, there are many hearts to die by your eyes before that day!and, meanwhile, I come from Sir William Wallace--to set you free!"

  The name of Wallace, and the intimation that he had sent to set herfree, drove every former thought of death and misery from her mind;again the ambrosial gales of love seemed to breathe around her--she sawnot her prison walls; she felt herself again in his presence; and in ablissful trance, rather endured than participated in the warmcongratulations of her husband on their mutual safety.

  Edwin and Murray turned to follow the lieutenant, who, preceding them,stopped at the end of the gallery. "Here," said he, "is Lady Ruthven'shabitation; and--alas! not better than the countess'." While he spoke,he threw open the door, and discovered its sad inmate also asleep. Butwhen the glad voice of her son pierced her ear--when his fond embracesclung to her bosom, her surprise and emotions were almostinsupportable. Hardly crediting her senses, that he whom she hadbelieved was safe in the cloisters of St. Colomba, could be within thedangerous walls of Stirling; that it was his mailed breast that pressedagainst her bosom; that it was his voice she heard exclaiming, "Mother,we come to give you freedom!" all appeared to her like a dream ofmadness.

  She listened, she felt him, she found her cheek wet with his rapturoustears. "Am I in my right mind?" cried she, looking at him with afearful, yet overjoyed countenance; "am I not mad? Oh! tell me," criedshe, turning to Murray, and the lieutenant, "is this my son that I see,or has terror turned my brain?"

  "It is indeed your son, your Edwin, my very self," returned he, alarmedat the expression of her voice and countenance. Murray gentlyadvanced, and kneeling down by her, respectfully took her hand. "Hespeaks truth, my dear madam. It is your son Edwin. He left hisconvent, to be a volunteer with Sir William Wallace. He has coveredhimself with honor on the walls of Dumbarton; and here also a sharer inhis leader's victories, he is come to set you free."

  At this explanation, which, being given in the sober language ofreason, Lady Ruthven believed, she gave way to the full happiness ofher soul, and falling on the neck of her son, embraced him with a floodof tears: "And thy father, Edwin, where is he? Did not the nobleWallace rescue him from Ayr?"

  "He did, and he is here." Edwin then repeated to his mother theaffectionate message of his father, and the particulars of his release.Perceiving how happily they were engaged, Murray, now with a flutterin his own bosom, rose from his knees, and requested the lieutenant toconduct him to Lady Helen Mar.

  His guide led the way by a winding staircase into a stone gallery,where letting Lord Andrew into a spacious apartment, divided in themidst by a vast screen of carved cedar-wood, he pointed to a curtainedentrance. "
In that chamber," said he, "lodges the Lady Helen."

  "Ah, my poor cousin," exclaimed Murray; "though she seems not to havetasted the hardships of her parents, she has shared their misery, I donot doubt." While he spoke, the lieutenant bowed in silence, andMurray entered alone. The chamber was magnificent, and illumined by alamp which hung from the ceiling. He cautiously approached the bed,fearing too hastily to disturb her, and gently pulling aside thecurtains, beheld vacancy. An exclamation of alarm had almost escapedhim, when observing a half-open door at the other side of theapartment, he drew toward it, and there beheld his cousin, with herback to him, kneeling before a crucifix. She spoke not, but the fervorof her action manifested how earnestly she prayed. He moved behindher, but she heard him not; her whole soul was absorbed in the successof her petition; and at last raising her clasped hands in a paroxysm ofemotion, she exclaimed,-"If that trumpet sounded the victory of theScots, then, Power of Goodness! receive thy servant's thanks. But ifDe Warenne have conquered, where De Valence has failed; if all whom Ilove be lost to me here, take me then to thyself, and let my freedspirit fly to their embraces in heaven!"

  "Ay, and on earth too, thou blessed angel!" cried Murray, throwinghimself toward her. She started from her knees, and with such a cry asthe widow of Sarepta uttered when she embraced her son from the dead,Helen threw herself on the bosom of her cousin, and closed her eyes ina blissful swoon--for even while every outward sense seemed fled, theimpression of joy played about her heart; and the animated throbbingsof Murray's breast, while he pressed her in his arms, at last arousedher to recollection. Her glistening and uplifted eyes told all thehappiness, all the gratitude of her soul.

  "My father? All are safe?" demanded she.

  "All, my best beloved!" answered Murray, forgetting in his powerfulemotions of his heart, that what he felt, and what he uttered, werebeyond even a cousin's limits: "My uncle, the countess, Lord and LadyRuthven--all are safe."

  "And Sir William Wallace?" cried she; "you do not mention him. I hopeno ill-"

  "He is conqueror here!" interrupted Murray. "He has subdued everyobstacle between Berwick and Stirling; and he has sent me hither to setyou and the rest of the dear prisoners free."

  Helen's heart throbbed with a new tumult as he spoke. She longed toask whether the unknown knight from whom she had parted in the hermit'scell, had ever joined Sir William Wallace. She yearned to know that heyet lived. At the thought of the probability of his having fallen insome of these desperate conflicts, her soul seemed to gasp forexistence; and dropping her head on her cousin's shoulder, "Tell me,Andrew," said she, and there she paused, with an emotion for which shecould not account to herself.

  "Of what would my sweet cousin inquire?" asked Murray, partaking heragitation.

  "Nothing particular," said she, covered with blushes; "but did youfight alone in these battles? Did no other knight but Sir WilliamWallace?"

  "Many, dearest Helen," returned Murray, enraptured at a solicitudewhich he appropriated to himself. "Many knights joined our arms. Allfought in a manner worthy of their leader, and thanks to Heaven, nonehave fallen."

  "Thanks, indeed," cried Helen; and with a hope she dared hardly whisperto herself, of seeing the unknown knight in the gallant train of theconqueror, she falteringly said, "Now, Andrew, lead me to my father."

  Murray would perhaps have required a second bidding, had not Lord Mar,impatient to see his daughter, appeared with the countess at the doorof the apartment. Hastening toward them, she fell on the bosom of herfather; and while she bathed his face and hands with her glad tears,he, too, wept, and mingled blessings with his caresses. No coldnesshere met his paternal heart: no distracting confusions tore her fromhis arms; no averted looks, by turns, alarmed and chilled the bosom oftenderness. All was innocence and duty in Helen's breast; and everyingenuous action showed its affection and its joy. The estranged heartof Lady Mar had closed against him; and though he suspected not itswanderings, he felt the unutterable difference between the warmtransports of his daughter and the frigid gratulations forced from thelips of his wife.

  Lady Mar gazed with a weird frown on the lovely form of Helen, as shewound her exquisitely turned arms round the earl in filial tenderness.Her bosom, heaving in the snowy whiteness of virgin purity; her face,radiant with the softest blooms of youth; all seemed to frame an objectwhich malignant fiends had conjured up to blast her stepdame's hope."Wallace will behold these charms!" cried her distracted spirit toherself, "and then, where am I?"

  While her thoughts thus followed each other, she unconsciously dartedlooks on Helen, which, if an evil eye had any bewitching power, wouldhave withered all her beauties. At one of these portentous moments,the glad eyes of Helen met her glance. She started with horror. Itmade her remember how she had been betrayed, and all that she hadsuffered from Soulis. But she could not forget that she had also beenrescued; and with that blessed recollection, the image of her preserverrose before her. At this gentle idea, her alarmed countenance took asofter expression; and, tenderly sighing, she turned to her father'squestion of "How she came to be with Lady Ruthven, when he had beentaught by Lord Andrew to believe her safe at St. Fillan's?"

  "Yes," cried Murray, throwing herself on a seat beside her, "I found inyour letter to Sir William Wallace, that you had been betrayed fromyour asylum by some traitor Scot; and but for the fullness of my joy atour present meeting, I should have inquired the name of the villian!"

  Lady Mar felt a deadly sickness at her heart, on hearing that SirWilliam Wallace was already so far acquainted with her daughter as tohave received a letter from her; and in amazed despair, she prepared tolisten to what she expected would bring a death-stroke to her hopes.They had met--but how?--where? They wrote to each other. Then, farindeed had proceeded that communication of hearts, which was now theaim of her life--and she was undone! Helen glanced at the face of Ladymar, and observing its changes, regarded them as corroborations of herhaving been the betrayer. "If conscience disturbs you thus," thoughtHelen, "let it rend your heart, and perhaps remorse may follow!"

  As the tide of success seemed so full for the patriot Scots, Helen nolonger feared that her cousin would rashly seek a precarious vengeanceon the traitor Soulis, when he might probably soon have an opportunityof making it certain at the head of an army. She therefore commencedher narrative from the time of Murray's leaving her at the priory, andcontinued it to the hour in which she had met her father, a prisoner inthe streets of Stirling. As she proceeded, the indignation of the earland of Murray against Soulis became vehement. The nephew was full ofimmediate personal revenge. But the father, with arguments similar tothose which had suggested themselves to his daughter, calmed thelover's rage, for Murray now felt that fire as well as a kinsman's; andreseated himself with repressed, though burning resentment, to listento the remainder of her relation.

  The quaking conscience of Lady mar did indeed vary her cheeks with athousand dyes, when, as Helen repeated part of her conversation withMacgregor's wife, Murray abruptly said, "Surely that woman could namethe traitor who betrayed us into the hands of our enemies! Did she nothint it?"

  Helen cast down her eyes, that even a glance might not overwhelm withinsupportable shame the already trembling countess. Lady Mar saw thatshe was acquainted with her guilt, and expecting no more mercy than sheknew she would show to Helen in the like circumstances, she hastilyrose from her chair, internally vowing vengeance against her triumphantdaughter and hatred of all mankind. But Helen thought she might haveso erred, from a wife's alarm for the safety of the husband sheprofessed to doat on; and this dutiful daughter determined never toaccuse her.

  While all the furies raged in the breast of the guilty woman, Helensimply answered, "Lord Soulis would be weak as he is vile, to trust asecret of that kind with a servant;" then hurried on to the relation ofsubsequent events. The countess breathed again; and almost deceivingherself with the idea that Helen was indeed ignorant of her treachery,listened with emotions of another kind, wh
en she heard of the rescue ofher daughter-in-law. She saw Wallace in that brave act! But as Helen,undesignedly to herself, passed over the parts in their conversationwhich had most interested her, and never named the graces of hisperson, Lady mar thought, that to have viewed Wallace with so littlenotice would have been impossible; and therefore was glad of such adouble conviction, that he and her daughter had never met, which seemedverified when Helen said that the unknown chief had promised to joinhis arms with those of Wallace.

  Murray had observed Helen while she spoke, with an impression at hisheart that made it pause. Something in this interview had whispered tohim what he had never dreamed before--that she was dearer to him thanfifty thousand cousins. And while the blood flushed and retreated inthe complexion of Helen, and her downcast eyes refused to show what waspassing there, while she hastily ran over the circumstances of heracquaintance with the stranger knight, Murray's own emotions declaredthe secret of hers; and with a lip as pale as her own, he said, "Butwhere is this brave man? He cannot have yet joined us, for surely hewould have told Wallace or myself that he came from you?"

  "I warned him not to do so," replied she, "for fear that yourindignation against my enemies, my dear cousin, might have precipitatedyou into dangers to be incurred for our country only."

  "Then, if he had joined us," replied Murray, rising from his seat, "youwill probably soon known who he is. To-morrow morning Sir WilliamWallace will enter the citadel, attended by his principal knights; andin that gallant company you must doubtless discover the man who hadlaid such obligations on us all by your preservation."

  Murray's feelings told him that glad should he be, if the utterance ofthat obligation would repay it!

  Helen herself knew not how to account for the agitation which shook herwhenever she adverted to her unknown preserver. At the time of thehermit's friend (the good lay brother), having brought her to Alloa,when she explained to Lady Ruthven the cause of her strange arrival,she had then told her story with composure, till she mentioned herdeliverer; but in that moment, for the first time she felt a confusionwhich disordered the animation with which she described his patriotismand his bravery. But it was natural, she thought, that gratitude for arecent benefit should make her heart beat high. It was something likethe enthusiasm she had felt for Wallace on the rescue of her father,and she was satisfied. But a few days of quiet at Alloa had recoveredher health from the shock it had received in the recent scenes, and sheproposed to her aunt to send some trusty messenger to inform theimprisoned earl at Dumbarton of her happy refuge; and Lady Ruthven inreturn had urged the probability that the messenger would beintercepted, and so her asylum be discovered, saying, "Let it alone,till this knight of yours, by performing his word, calls you to declarehis honorable deeds. Till then, Lord Mar, ignorant of your danger,needs no assurance of your safety."

  This casual reference to the knight had then made the tranquilizedheart of Helen renew its throbbings, and turning from her aunt with anacquiescing reply, she retired to her own apartment to quell theunusual and painful blushes she felt burning on her cheeks. Why sheshould feel thus she could not account, "unless," said she to herself,"I fear that my suspicion may be guessed at; and should my words orlooks betray the royal Bruce to any harm, that moment of undesignedingratitude would be the last of my life."

  This explanation seemed ample to herself. And henceforth avoiding allmention of her preserver in her conversations with Lady Ruthven, shehad confined the subject to her own breast; and thinking that shethought of him more by her intention to speak of him less, she wonderednot that whenever she was alone his image immediately rose in her mind,his voice seemed to sound in her ears, and even as the summer airwafted its soft fragrance over her cheek, she would turn as if she feltthat breath which had so gently brushed her to repose. She would thenstart and sigh, and repeat his words to herself, but all was serene inher bosom. For it seemed as if the contemplation of so much lovelinessof soul in so noble a form, soothed instead of agitated her heart."What a king will he be?" thought she; "with what transport would thevirtuous Wallace set the Scottish crown on so noble a brow."

  Such were her meditations and feelings, when she was brought a prisonerto Stirling. And when she heard of the victories of Wallace, she couldnot but think that the brave arm of her knight was there, and that he,with the renowned champion of Scotland, would fly, on the receipt ofher letter, to Stirling, there to repeat the valiant deeds ofDumbarton. The first blast of the Scottish trumpet under the wallsfound her, as she had said, upon her knees, and kept her there, forhardly with any intermission, with fast and prayer did she kneel beforethe altar of Heaven--till the voice of Andrew Murray at midnight calledher to freedom and to happiness.

  Wallace, and perhaps her nameless hero with him, had again conquered!His idea dwelt in her heart and faltered on her tongue; and yet, inreciting the narrative of her late sufferings to her father, when shecame to the mentioning of the stranger's conduct to her--with anapprehensive embarrassment she felt her growing emotions as she drewnear the subject; and, hurrying over the event, she could only excuseherself for such new perturbations by supposing that the former treasonof Lady Mar now excited her alarm, with fear she should fix it on a newobject. Turning cold at an idea so pregnant with horror, she hastilypassed from the agitating theme to speak of De Valence and the respectwith which he had treated her during her imprisonment. His courtesyhad professed to deny nothing to her wishes except her personal libertyand any conference with her parents or aunt. Her father's life, hedeclared it was altogether out of his power to grant. He might suspendthe sentence, but he could not abrogate it.

  "Yes," cried the earl, "though false and inflexible, I must not accusehim of having been so barbarous in his tyranny as Cressingham. For itwas not until De Valence was taken prisoner that Joanna and I weredivided. Till then we were lodged in decent apartments, but on thatevent Cressingham tore us from each other, and threw us into differentdungeons. My sister Janet I never saw since the hour we were separatedin the street of Stirling until the awful moment in which we met on theroof of this castle--the moment when I expected to behold her and mywife die before my eyes!"

  Helen now learned, for the first time, the base cruelties which hadbeen exercised on her father and his family since the capture of DeValence. She had been exempted from sharing them by the fears ofCressingham, who, knowing that the English earl had particular viewswith regard to her, durst not risk offending him by outraging one whomhe had declared himself determined to protect.

  During part of this conversation, Murray withdrew to bring Lady Ruthvenand her son to share the general joy of full domestic reunion. Thehappy Edwin and his mother having embraced these dear relatives withyet more tender affections yearning in their bosoms, accompanied Murrayto the door of the barbican, which contained Lord Ruthven. Theyentered on the wings of conjugal and filial love; but the for oncepensive Lord Andrew, with a slow and musing step, returned into thecastle to see that all was safely disposed for the remainder of thenight.