The Scottish Chiefs

by Jane Porter

  Chapter LVI.

  The Monastery.

  It being Lady Ruthven's wish that the remains of her brother should beentombed with his ancestors, preparations were made for the mournfulcavalcade to set forth toward Braemar Castle. The countess, hopingthat Wallace might be induced to accompany them, did not long object tothis proposal, which Lady Ruthven had enforced with tears. Had any oneseen the tow, and been called upon to judge, by their deportment, ofthe relationship in which each lady stood to the deceased, he must havedecided that the sister was the widow. At the moment of her husband'sdeath, Lady Mar had felt a shock; she had long looked for this event,as to the seal of her happiness; it was the sight of mortality thatappalled her. The man she doted on, nay, even herself, must one daylie as the object now before her--dead!-insensible to all earthly joys,or pains! but awake, perhaps, fearfully awake, to the judgments ofanother world! This conviction caused her shrieks, when she saw LordMar expire. Every obstacle between her and Wallace she now believedremoved. Her husband was dead; Helen was carried away by a mandevotedly enamored of her; and most probably was at that time his wife.The specters of conscience passed from her eyes; she no longer thoughtof death and judgment; and, under a pretense that her feelings couldnot bear the sight of her husband's bier, she determined to secludeherself in her own chamber, till the freshness of Wallace's grief forhis friend should have passed away. But when she heard, from theindignant Edwin, of the rebellious conduct of the young Lord Badenoch,and that the regent had abdicated, her consternation superseded allcaution. "I will soon humble that proud boy," exclaimed she; "and lethim know, that in opposing the elevation of Sir William Wallace, hetreads down his own interest. You are beloved by the regent, Edwin!"cried she, interrupting herself, and clasping his hand withearnestness; "teach his enthusiastic heart the true interests of hiscountry! I am the first woman of the house of Cummin; and is not thatfamily the most powerful** in the kingdom? By the adherence of onebranch to Edward, the battle of Falkirk was lost; by the rebellion ofanother, the regent of Scotland is obliged to relinquish that dignity?It is in my power to move the whole race at my will; and if Wallacewould mingle his blood with theirs, would espouse me (an overture whichthe love I bear my country impels me to make), every nerve would thenbe strained to promote the elevation of their nearest kinswoman.Wallace would reign in Scotland, and the whole land lie at peace."

  **The family of Cummin was so powerful and numerous, that an incrediblenumber of chieftains of that name attended the first parliament whichRobert I. Held at Dunstaffnage Castle. The relationship between theheiress of Stratheaarn and that family was very near, her paternalgrandmother having been the daughter of a Lord Badenoch.--(1809.)

  Edwin eyed her with astonishment while she spoke. All her late conductto his cousin Helen, to his uncle, and to Wallace, was now explained;and he saw in her flushed cheek, that it was not the patriot whodesired this match, but the enamored woman.

  "You do not answer," said she; "have you any apprehension that SirWilliam Wallace would reject the hand which would give him a crown?which would dispense happiness to many thousand people?"

  "No," replied he; "I believe that, much as he is devoted to the memoryof her, whom alone he can ever love, could he purchase true happinessto Scotland by the sacrifice, he would espouse any virtuous woman whocould bring him so blessed a dowry. But in your case, my honored aunt,I can see no probability of such a consequence. In the first place, Iknow, that now the virtuous Earl of Badenoch is no more, he neitherrespects nor fears the Cummins; and that he would scorn to purchase acrown or even the people's happiness, by baseness in himself. To riseby their means, who, you have seen, will at any time immolate all thatis sacred to man to their own caprice, or fancied interests, would beunworthy of him; therefore, I am sure, if you wish to marry Sir WilliamWallace, you must not urge the use he may make of the Cummins as anargument. He need not stoop to cajole the men he may command. Did henot drive the one-half of their clan, with the English host to boot, toseek any shelter from his vengeance? And for them in the citadel, hadhe chosen to give the word, they would now be all numbered with thedust! Aunt! he has a Divine Master, whose example he follows, thoughin deep humility! He lays down his power; it is not taken from him.Earthly crowns are dross to him who looks for a heavenly one.Therefore, honored lady, believe it no longer necessary to wound yourdelicacy, by offering him a hand, which cannot produce the good youmeditate!"

  The complexion of the countess varied a thousand times during thisanswer. Her reason assented to many parts of it; but the passion shecould not acknowledge to her nephew, urged her to persist. "You may beright, Edwin," she replied; "but still, as there is nothing veryrepugnant in me, the project is surely worth trying! At any rate, evensetting the Cummins aside, a marriage with the daughter of Strathearn,by allying your noble friend to every illustrious house in the kingdom,would make his interest theirs, and all must unit in retaining to himthe regency. Scotland will be wrecked should he leave the helm; and,sweet Edwin, though your young heart is yet unacquainted with thestrange inconsistencies of the tenderest passion, I must whisper youthat your friend will never be happy till he again live in the bosom ofdomestic affection."

  "Ah! but where is he to find it?" cried Edwin, "what will ever restorehis Marion to his arms?"

  "I," cried she-"I will be more than ever Marion was to him! She knewnot--O! she could not--the boundless love that fills my heart for him!"Edwin's blushes at this wild declaration told her how far she hadbetrayed herself. She attempted to palliate what she could no longerconceal, and, covering her face with her hand, exclaimed, "You, wholove Sir William Wallace, cannot be surprised that all who adore humanexcellence should participate in that sentiment. How could I see him,the benefactor of my family, the blessing to all Scotland, and not lovehim?"

  "True," replied Edwin; "but not as a wife would love her husband! Youwere married. And was it possible you could feel thus when my unclelived? So strong a passion cannot have grown in your breast since hedied; for surely, love should not enter a widow's heart at the side ofan unburied husband!"

  "Edwin!" replied she, "you, who never felt the throbs of this tyrant,judge with a severity you will one day regret. When you love, andstruggle with a passion that drinks your very life, you will pityJoanna of Mar, and forgive her!"

  "I pity you now, aunt," replied he; "but you bewilder me. I cannotunderstand the possibility of a virtuous married woman suffering anypassion of this kind to get such domination over her as to cause herone guilty sigh; for guilty must every wish be that militates againstthe duty of her marriage vow. Surely, love comes not in a whirlwind,to seize the soul at once; but grows by degrees, according to thedevelopment of the virtues of the object, and the freedom we giveourselves in their contemplation--and, if it be virtue that you love inSir William Wallace, had you not virtue in your noble husband?"

  The countess perceived by the remarks of Edwin than he was deeper readin the human heart than she had suspected; that he was neither ignorantof the feelings of the passion, nor of what ought to be its source; andtherefore, with a deep blush, she replied:

  "Think for a moment before you condemn me. I acknowledge every goodquality that your uncle possessed--but oh! Edwin, he had frailties thatyou know not of--frailties that reduced me to be, what the world neversaw, the most unhappy of women."

  Edwin turned pale at this charge against his uncle; and, while heforbore to draw aside the veil which covered the sacred dead, littledid he think that the artful woman meant a frailty to which she hadequally shared, and the consequences of which dangerous vanity hadconstrained her to become his wife. She proceeded:

  "I married your uncle when I was a girl, and knew not that I had aheart. I saw Wallace; his virtues stole me from myself, and I found--In short, Edwin, your uncle became of too advanced an age to sympathizewith my younger heart. How could I, then, defend myself against themore congenial soul of your friend? He was reserved during Mar's life!but he did not repulse me
with unkindness. I therefore hope; and doyou, my Edwin, gently influence him in my favor, and I will foreverbless you."

  "Aunt," answered he, looking at her attentively, "can you, withoutdispleasure, hear me speak a few, perhaps ungrateful, truths?"

  "Say what you will," said she, trembling; "only be my advocate with thenoblest of human beings, and I can take naught amiss."

  "Lady Mar," resumed he, "I answer you with unqualified sincerity,because I love you, and venerate the memory of my uncle, whosefrailties, whatever they might be, were visible to you alone. I answeryou with sincerity, because I would spare you much future pain, and SirWilliam Wallace a task that would pierce him to the soul. You confessthat he already knows you love him--that he has received suchdemonstrations with coldness. Recollect what it is you love him for,and then judge if he could do otherwise. Could he approve affectionswhich a wife transferred to him from her husband, and that husband hisfriend?"

  "Ah! but he is now dead!" interrupted she; "that obstacle is removed."

  "But the other, which you raised yourself!" replied Edwin; "while awife, you showed to Sir William Wallace that you could not only indulgeyourself in wishes hostile to your nuptial faith, but divulge them tohim. Ah! my aunt, what could you look for as the consequence of this?My uncle yet lived when you did this! And that act, were you youthfulas Hebe, and more tender than ever was fabled the queen of love, I amsure, the virtue of Wallace would never pardon. He never could pledgehis faith to one whose passions had so far silenced her sense of duty;and did he even love you, he would not, for the empire of the world,repose his honor in such keeping."

  "Edwin!" cired she, at last summoning power to speak, for during thelatter part of this address she had sat gasping from unutterabledisappointment and rage; "are you not afraid to breathe all this to me?I have given you my confidence and do you abuse it? Do you stab me,when I ask you to heal?"

  "No, my dear aunt," replied he; "I speak the truth to you, ungratefulas it is, to prevent you hearing it in perhaps a more painful form fromWallace himself."

  "Oh, no!" cried she, with contemptuous haughtiness; "he is a man, andhe knows how to pardon the excesses of love! Look around you, foolishboy, and see how many of our proudest lords have united their fateswith women who not only loved them while their husbands lived, but lefttheir homes and children to join their lovers! And what is there inme, a princess of the crowns of Scotland and of Norway--a woman who hashad the nobles of both kingdoms at her feet, and frowned upon themall-that I should now be contemned? Is the ingrate for whom alone Iever felt a wish of love--is he to despise me for my passion? Youmistake, Edwin; you know not the heart of man."

  "Not of the common race of men, perhaps," replied he; "but certainlythat of Sir William Wallace. Purity and he are too sincerely one forpersonal vanity to blind his eyes to the deformity of the passion youdescribe. And mean as I am when compared with him, I must aver that,were a married woman to love me, and seek to excuse her frailty, Ishould see alone her contempt of the principles which are the onlyimpregnable bulwarks of innocence, and shrink from her as I would frompollution."

  "Then you declare yourself my enemy, Edwin?"

  "No," replied he; "I speak to you as a son; but if you are determinedto avow to Sir William Wallace what you have revealed to me, I shallnot even observe on what has passed, but leave you, unhappy lady, tothe pangs I would have spared you."

  He rose. Lady Mar wrung her hands in a paroxysm of conviction thatwhat he said was true.

  "Then, Edwin, I must despair?"

  He looked at her with pity.

  "Could you abhor the dereliction that your soul has thus made fromduty, and leave him, whom your unwidowed wishes now pursue, to seekyou; then I should say that you might be happy; for penitence appeasesGod, and shall it not find grace with man?"

  "Blessed Edwin," cried she, falling on his neck, and kissing him;"whisper but my penitence to Wallace; teach him to think I hate myself.Oh, make me that in his eyes which you would wish, and I will adoreyou on my knees?"

  The door opened at this moment, and Lord Ruthven entered. The tearsshe was profusely shedding on the bosom of his son, he attributed tosome conversation she might be holding respecting her deceased lord,and taking her hand, he told her he came to propose her immediateremoval from the scene of so many horrors.

  "My dear sister," said he, "I will attend you as far as Perth. Afterthat, Edwin shall be your guard to Braemar, and my Janet will stay withyou there till time has softened your griefs."

  Lady Mar looked at him.

  "And where will be Sir William Wallace?"

  "Here," answered Ruthven. "Some considerations, consequent to hisreceiving the French dispatches, will hold him some time longer southof the Forth."

  Lady Mar shook her head doubtfully, and reminded him that the chiefs inthe citadel had withheld the dispatches.

  Lord Ruthven then informed her that, unknown to Wallace, Lord Loch-awehad summoned the most powerful of his friends then near Stirling, andattended by them, was carried on a littler into the citadel. Itentered the council-hall, and from that bed of honorable wounds, hethreatened the assembly with instant vengeance from his troops without,unless they would immediately swear fealty to Wallace, and compelBadenoch to give up the French dispatches. Violent tumults were theconsequence; but Loch-awe's litter being guarded by a double rank ofarmed chieftains, and the keep being hemmed round by his men preparedto put to the sword every Scot hostile to the proposition of theirlord, the insurgents at last complied, and forced Badenoch torelinquish the royal packet. This effected, Loch-awe and his trainreturned to the monastery. Wallace refused to resume the dignity hehad resigned, the reinvestment of which had been extorted from thelords in the citadel.

  "No," said he to Loch-awe; "it is indeed time that I should sink intoshades where I cannot be found, since I am become a word of contentionamongst my countrymen."

  "He was not to be shaken," continued Ruthven; "but seeing matter in theFrench dispatches that ought to be answered without delay, he yetremains a few days at Falkirk."

  "Then we will await him here," cried the countess.

  "That cannot be," answered Ruthven, "it would be against ecclesiasticallaw to detain the sacred dead so long from the grave. Wallace willdoubtless visit Braemar, therefore I advise that to-morrow you leaveFalkirk."

  Edwin seconded this counsel; and fearing to make further opposition,she silently acquiesced. But her spirit was not so quiescent. Atnight when she went to her cell, her ever wakeful fancy aroused athousand images of alarm. She remembered the vow that Wallace had madeto seek Helen. He had already given up the regency--an office whichmight have detained him from such a pursuit; and might not a passionsofter than indignation against the ungrateful chieftains have dictatedthis act? "Should he love Helen, what is there not to fear?" criedshe; "and should he meet her, I am undone?" Racked by jealousy, andgoaded by contradicting expectations, she rose from her bed and pacedthe room in wild disorder. One moment she strained her mind torecollect every gracious look or word from him, and then herimagination glowed with anticipated delight. Again she thought of hisaddress to Helen, of his vow in her favor, and she was driven todespair. All Edwin's kind admonitions were forgotten; passion alonewas awake; and forgetful of her rank and sex, and of her situation, shedetermined to see Wallace, and appeal to his heart for the last time.She knew that he slept in an apartment at the other end of themonastery; and that she might pass thither unobserved, she glided intoan opposite cell belonging to a sick monk, and stealing away his cloak,threw it over her, and hurried along the cloisters.

  The chapel doors were open. In passing, she saw the bier of her lordawaiting the hour of its removal, surrounded by priests, singinganthems for the repose of his soul. No tender recollections, noremorse, knocked at the heart of Lady mar as she sped along. Abandonedall to thoughts of Wallace, she felt not that she had a soul; sheacknowledged not that she had a hope, but what centered in the smilesof the man she was hastening
to seek.

  His door was fastened with a latch; she gently opened it, and foundherself in his chamber. She trembled--she scarcely breathed; shelooked around; she approached his bed--but he was not there.Disappointment palsied her heart, and she sunk upon a chair. "Am Ibetrayed?" said she to herself: "Has that youthful hypocrite warned himhence?" And then again she thought, "But how should Edwin guess that Ishould venture here? Oh, no, my cruel stars alone are against me!"

  She now determined to await his return, and nearly three hours she hadpassed there, enduring all the torments of guilt and misery; but heappeared not. At last, hearing the matinbell, she started up, fearfulthat her maids might discover her absence. Compelled by some regard toreputation, with an unwilling mind she left the shrine of her idolatry,and once more crossed the cloisters. While again drawing toward thechapel, she saw Wallace himself issue from the door, supporting on hisbosom the fainting head of Lady Ruthven. Edwin followed them. LadyMar pulled the monk's cowl over her face and withdrew behind a pillar."Ah!" thought she, "absenting myself from my duty, I fled from thee!"She listened with breathless attention to what might be said.

  Lord Ruthven met them at that instant. "This night's watching by thebier of her brother," said Wallace, "has worn out your gentle lady; westrove to support her through these sad vigils, but at last she sunk."What Ruthven said in reply, when he took his wife in his arms, thecountess could not hear; but Wallace answered, "I have not seen her."

  "I left her late in the evening drowned in tears," replied Ruthven, ina more elevated tone, "I therefore suppose that in secret she offersthose prayers for her deceased husband, which my tender Janet poursover his grave."

  "Such tears," replied Wallace, "are Heaven's own balm; I know theypurify the heart whence they flow. Yes; and the prayers we breathe forthose we love, unite our souls the closer to theirs. Look up, dearLady Ruthven," said he, as she began to revive, "look up and hear howyou may, while still on earth, retain the society of your belovedbrother! Seek his spirit at the footstool of God. 'Tis thus I live,sister of my most venerated friend! My soul is ever on the wing ofheaven, whether in the solitary hour, in joy, or in sorrow, for theeeremy treasure lives!"

  "Wallace! Wallace," cried Lady Ruthven, looking on his animatedcountenance with wondering rapture; "and art thou a man of earth and ofthe sword? Oh! rather say, an angel; lent us here a little while toteach us to live and to die!"

  A glowing blush passed over the pale but benign cheek of Wallace.

  "I am a soldier of Him who was, indeed, brought into the world to showus, by his life and death, how to be virtuous and happy. Know me, bymy life, to be his follower; and David himself wore not a more glorioustitle!"

  Lady mar, while she contemplated the matchless form before her,exclaimed to herself, "Why is it animated by as faultless a soul? Oh,Wallace! wert thou less excellent, I might hope; but hell is in myheart, and heaven in thine!"

  She tore her eyes from a view which blasted while it charmed her, andrushed from the cloisters.