by Jane Porter
Chapter XLII.
Chapel in Snawdoun.
Though burning with stifled passions, Earl de Valence accepted theinvitation of Lady Mar. He hoped to see Helen, to gain her ear for afew minutes; and, above all, to find some opportunity during theentertainment of taking his meditated revenge on Wallace. The daggerseemed the surest way; for could he render the blow effectual, heshould not only destroy the rival of his wishes, but, by ridding hismonarch of a powerful foe, deserve every honor at the royal hands.Love and ambition again swelled his breast; and with recovered spirits,and a glow on his countenance, which reawakened hope had planted there,he accompanied De Warenne to the palace.
The hall for the feast was arrayed with feudal grandeur. The seats atthe table, spread for the knights of both countries, were covered withhighly-wrought stuffs; while the emblazoned banners and other armorialtrophies of the nobles being hung aloft according to the degree of theowner, each knight saw his precedence, and where to take his place.The most costly means, with the royally attired peacock served up insilver and gold dishes, and wine of the rarest quality, sparkled on theboard. During the repast, two choice minstrels were seated in thegallery above, to sing the friendship of King Alfred of England withGregory the Great of Caledonia. The squires and other militaryattendants of the nobles present, were placed at tables in the lowerpart of the hall, and served with courteous hospitality.
Resentful, alike at his captivity and thwarted passion, De Valence hadhitherto refused to show himself beyond the ramparts of the citadel; hewas therefore surprised, on entering the hall of Snawdoun with DeWarenne, to see such regal pomp; and at the command of the woman whohad so lately been his prisoner at Dumbarton, and whom (because sheresembled an English lady who had rejected him) he had treated with themost rigorous contempt. Forgetting these indignities, in the pride ofdisplaying her present consequence, Lady Mar came forward to receiveher illustrious guests. Her dress corresponded with the magnificenceof the banquet, a robe of cloth of Baudkins enriched, while itdisplayed, the beauties of her person; her wimple blazed with jewels,and a superb carkanet emitted its various rays from her bosom.**
**Cloth of Baudkins was one of the richest stuffs worn in thethirteenth century. It is said to have been composed of silkinterwoven with gold. The carkanet was a large broad necklace ofprecious stones of all colors, set in various shapes, and fastened bygold links into each other.
De Warenne followed her with his eyes as she moved from him. With anunconscious sigh, he whispered to De Valence, "What a land is this,where all the women are fair, and the men all brave!"
"I wish that it, and all its men and women, were in perdition!"returned De valence, in a fierce tone. Lady Ruthven, entering with thewives and daughters of the neighboring chieftains, checked the furtherexpression of his wrath, and his eyes sought amongst them, but in vain,for Helen.
The chieftains of the Scottish army, with the Lords Buchan and March,were assembled around the countess at the moment a shout from thepopulace without announced the arrival of the regent. His noble figurewas now disencumbered of armor; and with no more sumptuous garb thanthe simple plaid of his country, he appeared effulgent in manly beautyand the glory of his recent deeds. De Valence frowned heavily as helooked on him, and thanked his fortunate stars that Helen was absentfrom sharing the admiration which seemed to animate every breast. Theeyes of Lady Mar at once told the impassioned De Valence, too well readin the like expressions, what were her sentiments toward the youngregent; and the blushes and eager civilities of the ladies arounddisplayed how much they were struck with the now fully discerned andunequaled graces of his person. Lady mar forgot all in him. And,indeed, so much did he seem the idol of every heart, that, from the twovenerable lords of Loch-awe and Bothwell to the youngest man incompany, all ears hung on his words, all eyes upon his countenance.
The entertainment was conducted with every regard to that chivalriccourtesy which a noble conqueror always pays to the vanquished.Indeed, from the wit and pleasantry which passed from the oppositesides of the tables, and in which the ever-gay Murray was the leader,it rather appeared a convivial meeting of friends than an assemblage ofmortal foes. During the banquet the bards sung legends of the Scottishworthies who had brought honor to their nation in days of old; and asthe board was cleared, they struck at once into a full chorus. Wallacecaught the sound of his own name, accompanied with epithets ofextravagant praise; he rose hastily from his chair, and with his handmotioned them to cease. They obeyed; but Lady mar remonstrating withhim, he smilingly said, it was an ill omen to sing a warrior's actionstill he were incapable of performing more; and therefore he begged shewould excuse him from hearkening to his.
"Then let us change their strains to a dance," replied the countess.
"A hall! a hall!" cried Murray, springing from his seat, delighted withthe proposal.
"I have no objection," answered Wallace; and putting the hand shepresented to him into that of Lord de Warenne, he added, "I am not of asufficiently gay temperament to grace the change; but this earl may nothave the same reason for declining so fair a challenge!"
Lady Mar colored with mortification, for she had thought that Wallacewould not venture to refuse before so many; but following the impulseof De Warenne's arm, she proceeded to the other end of the hall, where,by Murray's quick arrangement, the younger lords of both countries hadalready singled out ladies, and were marshaled for the dance.
As the hours moved on, the spirits of Wallace subsided from their usualcheering tone into a sadness which he thought might be noticed; andwishing to escape observation (for he could not explain to those gayones why scenes like these ever made him sorrowful), and whispering toMar that he would go for an hour to visit Montgomery, he withdrew,unnoticed by all but his watchful enemy.
De Valence, who hovered about his steps, had heard him inquire of LadyRuthven why Helen was not present! He was within hearing of thiswhisper also, and, with a Satanic joy, the dagger shook in his hand.He knew that Wallace had many a solitary place to pass between Snawdounand the citadel; and the company being too pleasantly absorbed to markwho entered or disappeared, he took an opportunity, and stole out afterhim.
But for once the impetuous fury of hatred met a temporarydisappointment. While De Valence was cowering like a thief under theeaves of the houses, and prowling along the lonely paths to thecitadel; while he started at every noise, as if it came to apprehendhim for his meditated deed, or rushed forward at the sight of anysolitary passenger, whom his eager vengeance almost mistook forWallace--Wallace himself had taken a different track.
As he walked through the illuminated archways, which led from the hall,he perceived a darkened passage. Hoping by that avenue to quit thepalace, unobserved, he immediately struck into it; for he was aware,that should he go the usual way, the crowd at the gate would recognizehim, and he could not escape their acclamations. He followed thepassage for a considerable time, and at last was stopped by a door. Ityielded to his hand, and he found himself at the entrance of a largebuilding. He advanced, and passing a high screen of carved oak, by adim light, which gleamed from waxen tapers on the altar, he perceivedit to be the chapel.
"A happy transition," said he to himself, "from the jubilant scene Ihave now left; from the grievous scenes I have lately shared! Here,gracious God," thought he, "may I, unseen by any other eye, pour out myheart to thee. And here, before thy footstool, will I declarethanksgiving for thy mercies; and with my tears wash from my soul theblood I have been compelled to shed!"
While advancing toward the altar, he was startled by a voice proceedingfrom the quarter whither he was going, and with low and gently-breathedfervor, uttering these words: "Defend him, Heavenly Father! Defend himday and night, from the devices of this wicked man; and, above all,during these hours of revelry and confidence, guard his unshieldedbreast from treachery and death." The voice faltered, and added withgreater agitation, "Ah, unhappy me, that I should pluck peril on thehead of William Wallace!" A figure,
which had been hidden by the railsof the altar, with these words rose, and stretching forth her claspedhands, exclaimed, "But Thou, who knowest I had no blame in this, wiltnot afflict me by his danger! Thou wilt deliver him, O God, out of thehand of this cruel foe!"
Wallace was not more astonished at hearing that some one in whom hetrusted, was his secret enemy, than at seeing Lady Helen in that placeat that hour, and addressing Heaven for him. There was something socelestial in the maid, as she stood in her white robes, true emblems ofher own innocence, before the divine footstool, that, although herprayers were delivered with a pathos which told they sprung from aheart more than commonly interested in their object, yet every word andlook breathed so eloquently the virgin purity of her soul, the hallowedpurpose of her petitions, that Wallace, drawn by the sympathy withwhich kindred virtues ever attract spirit to spirit, did not hesitateto discover himself. He stepped from the shadow which involved him.The pale light of the tapers shone upon his advancing figure. Helen'seyes fell upon him as she turned round. She was transfixed and silent.He moved forward. "Lady Helen," said he, in a respectful and eventender voice. At the sound, a fearful rushing of shame seemed tooverwhelm her faculties; for she knew not how long he might have beenin the church, and that he had not heard her beseech Heaven to make himless the object of her thoughts. She sunk on her knees beside thealtar, and covered her face with her hands.
The action, the confusion might have betrayed her secret to Wallace.But he only thought of her pious invocations for his safety; he onlyremembered that it was she who had given a holy grave to the only womanhe could ever love; and, full of gratitude, as a pilgrim would approacha saint, he drew near to her. "Holiest of earthly maids," said he,kneeling down beside her, "in this lonely hour, in the sacred presenceof Almighty Purity, receive my soul's thanks for the prayers I havethis moment heard you breathe for me. They are more precious to me,Lady Helen, than the generous plaudits of my country; they are agreater reward to me than would have been the crown with which Scotlandsought to endow me, for do they not give me what all the worldcannot--the protection of Heaven?"
"I would pray for it," softly answered Helen, but not venturing to lookup.
"The prayer of meek goodness, we know, 'availeth much.' Continue,then, to offer up that incense for me," added he, "and I shall marchforth to-morrow with redoubled strength; for I shall think, holy maid,that I have yet a Marion to pray for me on earth as well as one inheaven."
Lady Helen's heart beat at these words, but it was with no unhallowedemotion. She withdrew her hands from her face and, clasping them,looked up. "Marion will indeed echo all my prayers, and He who readsmy heart will, I trust, grant them. They are for your life, SirWilliam Wallace," added she, turning to him with agitation, "for it ismenaced."
"I will inquire by whom," answered he, "when I have first paid my dutyat this altar for guarding it so long. And dare I, daughter ofgoodness, to ask you to unite the voice of your daughter of goodness,to ask you to unite the voice of your gentle spirit with the secret oneof mine? I would beseech Heaven for pardon on my own transgressions; Iwould ask of its mercy to establish the liberty of Scotland. Pray withme, Lady Helen, and the invocations our souls utter will meet thepromise of Him who said: 'Where two or three are joined together inprayer, there am I in the midst of them.'"
Helen looked on him with a holy smile; and pressing the crucifix whichshe held to her lips, bowed her head on it in mute assent. Wallacethrew himself prostrate on the steps of the altar; and the fervor ofhis sighs alone breathed to his companion the deep devotion of hissoul. How the time passed he knew not, so was he absorbed in thecommunion which his spirit held in heaven with the most gracious ofbeings. But the bell of the palace striking the matin hour, remindedhim he was yet on earth; and looking up his eyes met those of Helen.His devotional rosary hung on his arm; he kissed it. "Wear this, holymaid," said he, "in remembrance of this hour!" She bowed her fairneck, and he put the consecrated chain over it. "Let it bear witnessto a friendship," added he, clasping her hands in his, "which will becemented by eternal ties in heaven."
Helen bent her face upon his hands; he felt the sacred tears of so purea compact upon them; and while he looked up, as if he thought thespirit of his Marion hovered near, to bless a communion so remote fromall infringement of the sentiment he had dedicated forever to her,Helen raised her head--and, with a terrible shriek, throwing her armsaround the body of Wallace, he, that moment, felt an assassin's steelin his back, and she fell senseless on his breast. He started on hisfeet; a dagger fell from his wound to the ground, but the hand whichhad struck the blow he could nowhere see. To search further was thenimpossible, for Helen lay on his bosom like dead. Not doubting thatshe had seen his assailant, and fainted from alarm, he was laying heron the steps of the altar, that he might bring some water from thebasin of the chapel to recover her, when he saw that her arm was notonly stained with his blood, but streaming with her own. The daggerhad gashed it in reaching him.
"Execrable villain!" cried he, turning cold at the sight, and instantlycomprehending that it was to defend him she had thrown her arms aroundhim, he exclaimed, in a voice of agony, "Are two of the most matchlesswomen the earth ever saw to die for me!" Trembling with alarm, andwith renewed grief--for the terrible scene of Ellerslie was now broughtin all its horrors before him--he tore off her veil to staunch theblood; but the cut was too wide for his surgery; and, losing everyother consideration in fears for her life, he again took her in hisarms, and bore her out of the chapel. He hastened through the darkpassage, and almost flying along the lighted galleries, entered thehall. The noisy fright of the servants, as he broke through theirranks at the door, alarmed the revelers; and turning round, what wastheir astonishment to behold the regent, pale and streaming with blood,bearing in his arms a lady apparently lifeless, and covered with thesame dreadful hue!
Mar instantly recognized his daughter, and rushed toward her with a cryof horror. Wallace sunk, with his breathless load, upon the nearestbench; and, while her head rested on his bosom, ordered surgery to bebrought. Lady Mar gazed on the spectacle with a benumbed dismay. Nonepresent durst ask a question, till a priest drawing near, unwrapped thearm of Helen, and discovered its deep wound.
"Who has done this?" cried her father, to Wallace, with all the anguishof a parent in his countenance.
"I know not," replied he; "but I believe, some villain who aimed at mylife."
"Where is Lord de Valence?" exclaimed Mar, suddenly recollecting hismenaces against Wallace.
"I am here," replied he, in a composed voice; "would you have me seekthe assassin?"
"No, no," cried the earl, ashamed of his suspicion; "but here has beensome foul work--and my daughter is slain."
"Oh, not so!" cried Murray, who had hurried toward the dreadful group,and knelt at her side. "She will not die--so much excellence cannotdie." A stifled groan from Wallace, accompanied by a look, told Murraythat he had known the death of similar excellence. With thisunanswerable appeal, the young chieftain dropped his head on the otherhand of Helen; and, could any one have seen his face buried as it wasin her robes, they would have beheld tears of agony drawn from thatevery-gay heart.
The wound was closed by the aid of another surgical priest, who hadfollowed the former into the hall, and Helen sighed convulsively. Atthis intimation of recovery, the priest made all, excepting those whosupported her, stand back. But, as Lady Mar lingered near Wallace, shesaw the paleness of his countenance turn to a deadly hue, and his eyesclosing, he sunk back on the bench. Her shrieks now resounded throughthe hall, and, falling into hysterics, she was taken into the gallery;while the more collected Lady Ruthven remained to attend the victimsbefore her.
At the instant Wallace fell, De Valence, losing all self-command,caught hold of De Warenne's arm, and whispering, "I thought it wassure--long live King Edward!" rushed out of the hall. These wordsrevealed to De Warenne who was the assassin; and though struck to thesoul with the turpitude of the deed,
he thought the honor of Englandwould not allow him to accuse the perpetrator, and he remained silent.
The inanimate form of Wallace was now drawn from under that of Helen;and, in the act, discovered the tapestry-seat clotted with blood, andthe regent's back bathed in the same vital stream. Having found hiswound, the priests laid him on the ground; and were administering theirbalsams, when Helen opened her eyes. Her mind was too stronglypossessed with the horror which had entered it before she becameinsensible, to lose the consciousness of her fears; and immediatelylooking around with an aghast countenance, her sight met theoutstretched body of Wallace. "Oh! is it so?" cried she, throwingherself into the bosom of her father. He understood what she meant."He lives, my child! but he is wounded like yourself. Have courage;revive, for his sake and for mine!"
"Helen! Helen! dear Helen!" cried Murray, clinging to her hand; "whileyou live, what that loves you can die?"
While these acclamations surrounded her couch, Edwin, in speechlessapprehension, supported the insensible head of Wallace; and De Warenne,inwardly execrating the perfidy of De Valence, knelt down to assist thegood friars in their office.
A few minutes longer, and the staunched blood refluxing to thechieftain's heart, he too opened his eyes; and instantly turning on hisarm-"What has happened to me? Where is Lady Helen?" demanded he.
At his voice, which aroused Helen, who, believing that he was indeeddead, was relapsing into her former state; she could only press herfather's hand to her lips, as if he had given the life she so valued,and bursting into a shower of relieving tears, breathed out herrapturous thanks to God. Her low murmurs reached the ears of Wallace.
The dimness having left his eyes, and the blood (the extreme loss ofwhich, from his great agitation, had alone caused him to swoon), beingstopped by an embalmed bandage, he seemed to feel no impediment fromhis wound; and rising, hastened to the side of Helen. Lord Mar softlywhispered his daughter-"Sir William Wallace is at your feet, my dearestchild; look on him, and tell him that you live."
"I am well, my father," returned she, in a faltering voice; "and may itindeed please the Almighty to preserve him!"
"I, too, am alive and well," answered Wallace; "but thanks to God, andto you, blessed lady, that I am so! Had not that lovely arm receivedthe greater part of the dagger, it must have reached my heart."
An exclamation of horror at what might have been burst from the lips ofEdwin. Helen could have re-echoed it, but she now held her feelingsunder too severe a rein to allow them so to speak.
"Thanks to the Protector of the just," cried she, "for yourpreservation! Who raised my eyes to see the assassin! His cloak washeld before his face, and I could not discern it; but I saw a daggeraimed at the bank of Sir William Wallace! How I caught it I cannottell, for I seemed to die on the instant."
Lady Mar having recovered, re-entered the hall just as Wallace hadknelt down beside Helen. Maddened with the sight of the man on whomher soul doted, in such a position before her rival, she advancedhastily; and in a voice, which she vainly attempted to render composedand gentle, sternly addressed her daughter-in-law: "Alarmed as I havebeen by your apparent danger, I cannot but be uneasy at the attendantcircumstances; tell me, therefore, and satisfy this anxious company,how it happened that you should be with the regent, when we supposedyou an invalid in your room, and were told he was gone to the citadel?"
A crimson blush overspread the cheeks of Helen at this question, for itwas delivered in a tone which insinuated that something more thanaccident had occasioned their meeting, but as innocence dictated, sheanswered, "I was in the chapel at prayers; Sir William Wallace enteredwith the same design; and at the moment he desired me to mingle minewith his, this assassin appeared and (she repeated) I saw his daggerraised against our protector, and I saw no more."
There was not a heart present that did not give credence to thisaccount, but the polluted one of Lady Mar. Jealousy almost laid itbare. She smiled incredulously, and turning to the company, "Our noblefriends will accept my apology, if in so delicate an investigation, Ishould beg that my family alone may be present."
Wallace perceived the tendency of her words, and not doubting theimpression they might make on the minds of men ignorant of the virtuesof Lady Helen, he instantly rose. "For once," cried he, "I mustcounteract a lady's orders. It is my wish, lords, that you will notleave this place till I explain how I came to disturb the devotions ofLady Helen. Wearied with festivities, in which my alienated heart canso little share, I thought to pass an hour with Lord Montgomery in thecitadel; and in seeking to avoid the crowded avenues of the palace, Ientered the chapel. To my surprise, I found Lady Helen there, I heardher pray for the happiness of Scotland, for the safety of herdefenders; and my mind being in a frame to join in such petitions, Iapologized for my unintentional intrusion, and begged permission tomingle my devotions with hers. Nay, impressed and privileged by thesacredness of the place, I presumed still further, and before the altarof purity poured forth my gratitude for the duties she had paid to theremains of my murdered wife. It was at this moment that the assassinappeared. I heard Lady Helen scream, I felt her fall on my breast, andat that instant the dagger entered my back.
"This is the history of our meeting; and the assassin, whomsoever hemay be, and how long soever he was in the church, before he sought toperpetrate the deed--were he to speak, and capable of uttering truth,could declare no other."
"But where is he to be found?" intemperately and suspiciously demandedLady mar.
"If his testimony be necessary to validate mine," returned Wallace,with dignity, "I believe the Lady Helen can point to his name."
"Name him, Helen; name him, my dear cousin," cried Murray, "that I mayhave some link with thee. O! let me avenge this deed! Tell me hisname! and so yield to me all that thou canst now bestow on AndrewMurray!"
There was something in the tone of Murray's voice that penetrated tothe heart of Helen. "I cannot name him whom I suspect to any but SirWilliam Wallace; and I would not do it to him," replied she, "were itnot to warn him against future danger. I did not see the assassin'sface, therefore, how dare I set you to take vengeance on one whoperchance may be innocent? I forgive him, my blood, since Heaven hasspared to Scotland its protector."
"If he be a Southron," cried Baron Hilton, coming forward, "name him,gracious lady, and I will answer for it, that were he the son of aking, he would meet death from our monarch for this unknightly outrage."
"I thank your zeal, brave chief," replied she; "but I would not abandonto certain death even a wicked man. May he repent! I will name him toSir William Wallace alone; and when he knows his secret enemy, thevigilance of his own honor, I trust, will be his guard. Meanwhile, myfather, I would withdraw." Then whispering to him, she was lifted inhis arms and Murray's and carried from the hall.
As she moved away her eyes met those of Wallace. He arose; but shewaved her hand to him, with an expression in her countenance of anadieu so firm, yet so tender, that feeling as if he were parting from abeloved sister, who had just risked her life for him, and whom he mightnever see again, he uttered not a word to any that were present, butleaning on Edwin, left the hall by an opposite door.