The Hut.
Meanwhile the Lady Helen, hardly rational from the horror and hope that
agitated her, extricated herself from the dead body; and in her
eagerness to escape, would certainly have fallen over the precipice,
had not the same gallant arm which had covered her persecutor with
wounds, caught her as she sprung from the litter. "Fear not, lady,"
exclaimed a gentle voice; "you are under the protection of a Scottish
knight."
There was a kindness in the sound, that seemed to proclaim the speaker
to be of her own kindred; she felt as if suddenly rescued by a brother;
and dropping her head on his bosom, a shower of grateful tears relieved
her heart, and prevented her fainting. Aware that no time was to be
lost, that the enemy might soon be on him again, he clasped her in his
arms, and with the activity of a mountain deer, crossed two rushing
streams; leaping from rock to rock, even under the foam of their flood;
and then treading with a light and steady step, an alpine bridge of one
single tree, which arched the cataract below, he reached the opposite
side, where, spreading his plaid upon the rock, he laid the trembling
Helen upon it. Then softly breathing his bugle, in a moment he was
surrounded by a number of men, whose rough gratulations might have
reawakened the alarm of Helen, had she not still heard his voice.
There was graciousness and balm-distilling sweetness in every tone; and
she listened in calm expectation.
He directed the men to take their axes, and cut away, on their side of
the fall, the tree which arched it. It was probable the villian he had
just assailed, or his followers, might pursue him; and he thought it
prudent to demolish the bridge.
The men obeyed, and the warrior returned to his fair charge. It was
raining fast; and fearful of further exposing her to the inclemencies
of the night, he proposed leading her to shelter. "There is a hermit's
cell on the northern side of this mountain. I will conduct you thither
in the morning as to the securest asylum; but meanwhile we must seek a
nearer refuge."
"Anywhere, sir, with honor my guide," answered Helen, timidly.
"You are safe with me, lady," returned he, "as in the arms of the
Virgin. I am a man who can now have no joy in womankind, but when as a
brother I protect them. Whoever you are, confide in me, and you shall
not be betrayed."
Helen confidently gave him her hand, and strove to rise; but at the
first attempt, the shackles piercing her ankles, she sunk again on the
ground. The cold iron on her wrists touched the hand of her preserver.
He now recollected his surprise on hearing the clank of chains, when
carrying her over the bridge. "Who," inquired he, "could have done this
unmanly deed?"
"The wretch from whom you rescued me--to prevent my escape from a
captivity worse than death."
While she spoke, he wrenched open the manacles from her wrists and
ankles, and threw them over the precipice. As she heard them dash into
the torrent, an unutterable gratitude filled her heart; and again
giving her hand to him to lead her forward, she said with earnestness,
"O sir, if you have a wife or sister--should they ever fall into the
like peril with mine; for in these terrific times, who is secure? may
Heaven reward your bravery, by sending them such a preserver!"
The stranger sighed deeply: "Sweet lady," returned he, "I have no
sister, no wife. But my kindred is nevertheless very numerous, and I
thank thee for thy prayer." The hero sighed profoundly again, and led
her silently down the windings of the declivity. Having proceeded with
caution, they descended into a little wooded dell, and soon approached
the half-standing remains of what had once been a shepherd's hut.
"This," said the knight, as they entered, "was the habitation of a good
old man, who fed his flock on these mountains; but a band of Southron
soldiers forced his only daughter from him, and, plundering his little
abode, drove him out upon the waste. He perished the same night, by
grief, and the inclemencies of the weather. His son, a brave youth,
was left for dead by his sister's ravishers; but I found him in this
dreary solitude, and he told me the too general story of his wounds and
his despair. Indeed, lady, when I heard your shrieks from the opposite
side of the chasm, I thought they might proceed from this poor boy's
sister, and I flew to restore them to each other."
Helen shuddered, as he related a tale so near resembling her own; and
trembling with weakness, and horror of what might have been her fate
had she not been rescued by this gallant stranger, she sunk exhausted
upon a turf seat. The chief still held her hand. It was very cold,
and he called to his men to seek fuel to make a fire. While his
messengers were exploring the crannies of the rocks for dried leaves
and sticks, Helen, totally overcome, leaned almost motionless against
the wall of the hut. Finding, by her shortened breath, that she was
fainting, the knight took her in his arms, and supporting her on his
breast, chafed her hands and her forehead. His efforts were in vain;
she seemed to have ceased to breathe; hardly a pulse moved her heart.
Alarmed at such signs of death, he spoke to one of his men who remained
in the hut.
The man answered his master's inquiry by putting a flash into his hand.
The knight poured some of its contents into her mouth. Her streaming
locks wetted his cheek. "Poor lady!" said he, "she will perish in
these forlorn regions, where neither warmth nor nourishment can be
found."
To his glad welcome, several of his men soon after entered with a
quantity of withered boughs, which they had found in the fissures of
the rock at some distance. With these a fire was speedily kindled; and
its blaze diffusing comfort through the chamber, he had the
satisfaction of hearing a sigh from the breast of his charge. Her head
still leaned on his bosom when she opened her eyes. The light shone
full on her face.
"Lady," said he, "I bless God you are revived." Her delicacy shrunk at
the situation in which she found herself; and raising herself, though
feebly, she thanked him, and requested a little water. It was given to
her. She drank some, and would have met the fixed and compassionate
gaze of the knight, had not weakness cast such a film before her eyes
that she scarcely saw anything. Being still languid, she leaned her
head on the turf seat. Her face was pale as marble, and her long hair,
saturated with wet, by its darkness made her look of a more deadly hue.
"Death! how lovely canst thou be!" sighed the knight to himself--he even
groaned. Helen started, and looked around her with alarm. "Fear not,"
said he, "I only dreaded your pale looks; but you revive, and will yet
bless all that are dear to you. Suffer me, sweet lady, to drain the
dangerous wet from these tresses?" He took hold of them as he spoke.
She saw the water running from her hair over his hands, and allowing
his kind request, he continued wiping her glossy locks with his scarf,
till, exhausted by fatigue, she gradually sunk into a profound sleep.
Dawn had penetrated the ruined walls of the hut before Lady Helen
awoke. But when she did, she was refreshed; and opening her
eyes--hardly conscious where she was, or whether all that floated in her
memory were not the departing vapors of a frightful dream--she turned
her head and fixed them upon the figure of the knight, who was seated
near her. His noble air; and the pensive expression of his fine
features, struck like a spell upon her gathering recollections; she at
once remembered all she had suffered, all that she owed to him. She
moved. Her preserver turned his eyes toward her; seeing she was awake,
he rose from the side of the dying embers he had sedulously kept alive
during her slumber, and expressed his hopes that she felt restored.
She returned him a grateful reply, in the affirmative; and he quitted
her, to rouse his men for their journey to the hermit's cell.
When he re-entered, he found Helen braiding up the fine hair which had
so lately been scattered by the elements. She would have risen at his
approach, but he seated himself on a stone at her feet. "We shall be
detained here a few minutes longer," said he; "I have ordered my men to
make a litter of crossed branches, to bear you on their shoulders.
Your delicate limbs would not be equal to the toil of descending these
heights, to the glen of stones. The venerable man who inhabits there
will protect you until he can summon your family, or friends, to
receive his charge."
At these words, which Helen thought were meant to reprove her for not
having revealed herself, she blushed; but fearful of breathing a name
under the interdict of the English governors, and which had already
spread devastation over all with whom it had been connected; fearful of
involving her preserver's safety, by making him aware of the persecuted
creature he had rescued; she paused for a moment, and then, with the
color heightening on her cheeks, replied: "For your humanity, brave
sir, shown this night to a friendless woman, I must be ever grateful;
but not even to the hermit may I reveal my name. It is fraught with
danger to every honest Scot who should know that he protects one who
bears it; and therefore, least of all, noble stranger, would I breathe
it to you." She averted her face, to conceal the emotions she could
not subdue.
The knight looked at her intensely, and profoundly sighed. Half her
unbraided locks lay upon her bosom, which now heaved with suppressed
feelings; and the fast-falling tears, gliding through her long
eyelashes dropped upon his hand; he sighed again, and tore his eyes
from her countenance. "I ask not, madam, to know what you think proper
to conceal; but danger has no alarms for me, when, by incurring it, I
serve those who need a protector."
A sudden thought flashed across her mind; might it not be possible that
this tender guardian of her safety, this heroic profferer of service,
was the noble Wallace? But the vain idea fled. He was pent up amidst
the beleaguered defiles of Cartland Craigs, sworn to extricate the
helpless families of his followers, or to perish with them. This
knight was accompanied by none but men; and his kind eyes shone in too
serene a luster to be the mirrors of the disturbed soul of the
suffering chief of Ellerslie. "Ah! then," murmured she to herself,
"are there two men in Scotland who will speak thus?" She looked up in
his face. The plumes of his bonnet shaded his features; but she saw
they were paler than on his entrance, and a strange expression of
distraction agitated their before composed lines. His eyes were bent
to the ground as he proceeded:
"I am the servant of my fellow-creatures--command me and my few
faithful followers; and if it be in the power of such small means to
succor you or yours, I am ready to answer for their obedience. If the
villain from whom I had the happiness to release you be yet more deeply
implicated in your sorrows, tell me how they can be relieved, and I
will attempt it. I shall make no new enemies by the deed, for the
Southrons and I are at eternal enmity."
Helen could not withdraw her eyes from his varying countenance, which,
from underneath his dark plumes, seemed like a portentous cloud, at
intervals to emit the rays of the cheering sun, or the lightning of
threatening thunder. "Alas!" replied she, "ill should I repay such
nobleness were I to involve it in the calamities of my house. No,
generous stranger, I must remain unknown. Leave me with the hermit;
and from his cell I will send to some relation to take me thence."
"I urge you no more, gentle lady," replied the knight, rising; "were I
at the head of an army, instead of a handful of men, I might then have
a better argument for offering my services; but as it is, I feel my
weakness, and seek to know no further."
Helen trembled with unaccountable emotion. "Were you at the head of an
army, I might then dare to reveal the full weight of my anxieties; but
Heaven has already been sufficiently gracious to me by your hands, in
redeeming me from my cruelest enemy; and for the rest, I put my trust
in the same overruling Providence." At this moment a man entered and
told the knight the vehicle was finished, the morning fine, and his men
ready to march. He turned toward Helen: "May I conduct you to the rude
carriage we have prepared?"
Helen gathered her mantle about her; and the knight, throwing his scarf
over her head--it had no other covering--she gave him her hand, and he
led her out on the hut to the side of the bier. It was overlaid with
the men's plaids. The knight placed her on it; and the carriers
raising it on their shoulders, her deliverer led the way, and they took
their course down the mountain.