Lanark.
The darkness was almost impenetrable. Musing on what had passed with
Monteith, and on the likelihood 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
hand 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, with whom the cry had issued. He sprung from the wall with
the vigor 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 the instant sunk,
covered with blood, on the pavement.
Two of the servants, obeying their master, carried their senseless
burden toward 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 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 to 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 to 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 favorite 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 toward 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 on the
stranger, whom 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 needless, 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 blessed be my arm," exclaimed Wallace, "that has preserved a life
so precious to my country!"
"May it indeed be blessed!" cried Lord Mar; "for this night it has made
the Southrons 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
dispatched 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 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 toward my servants in the
courtyard when a young man accosted me. I recognized 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 that 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 defenseless 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 withdrawn, 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-ax, 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 toward me. They wounded me in
several places; but the thought of my daughter gave supernatural vigor
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 toward Bothwell, too sure to commit
the horrid violence he meditates; there are none to guard my child but
a few domestics, the unpracticed 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 felt 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 terrible 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. "Vengence 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
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 forever!"
"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 a 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 gray 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 the 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 affray,
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 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
agonized 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-tree near which they stood.
As she spoke, she slid from his arms, and along with the venerable
Halbert, who had seized her hand, 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 armor
seemed to be 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 toward him; but he
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 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 your release, but the favor 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 this case it can have no hold on
my husband. That he is a Scot, he glories: and not that he maltreated
any Englishman in the streets of Lanark, do I glory; but because, when
he saw two defenseless men borne down by a band of armed soldiers, he
exposed his unshielded breast in their defense; 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 leveled 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 would defend my life and honor. I knew not the particulars of
the affair in which Arthur Heselrigge fell, till I heard it 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
tract 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 from 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."
"Oh! 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 open 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
honors, 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 in
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 king, 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
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 far distant, my love. In going from thee, I leave behind all that
makes my 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
I will be, my Marion, before sunrise; and before it sets, thither you
must send Halbert, to tell me how you fare. Three notes from thine own
sweet strains of Thusa ha measg na reultan mor,** blown by his pipe,
shall be a sign to me that he is there; and I will come forth to hear
tidings of thee."
**Thusa ha measg na reultan mor, etc., 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," etc.-(1809.)
"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 by 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 care
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
rigors."
"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
wintery 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 for his
resolution. Here indeed his brave spirit gave way; and he would have
followed her, and perhaps have determined to await his face at her
side, had not Halbert, reading his mind in his countenance, taken him
by the arm, and drawn him toward 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 toward 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 honor."
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 Lynn, he climbed the wall, and was
out of sight in an instant.