Stirling Citadel.
At noon next day Murray received a message from Wallace, desiring him
to acquaint the Earl of Mar that he was coming to the citadel to offer
the palace of Snawdoun to the ladies of Mar, and to request the earl to
take charge of the illustrous prisoners he was bringing to the castle.
Each member of the family hastened to prepare for an interview which
excited different expectations in each different breast. Lady Mar,
well satisfied that Helen and Wallace had never met, and clinging to
the vague words of Murray, that he had sent to give her liberty, called
forth every art of the tiringroom to embellish her still fine person.
Lady Ruthven, with the respectable eagerness of a chaste matron, in
prospect of seeing the man who had so often been the preserver of her
brother, and who had so lately delivered her husband from a loathsome
dungeon, was the first who joined the earl in the great gallery. Lady
Mar soon after entered like Juno, in all her plumage of majesty and
beauty.
But the trumpet of Wallace had sounded in the gates before the
trembling Helen could leave her apartment. It was the herald of his
approach, and she sunk breathless into a seat. She was now going to
see for the first time the man for whose woes she had so often wept;
the man who had incurred them all for objects dear to her. He whom she
had mourned as one stricken in sorrows, and feared for, as an outlaw
doomed to suffering and to death, was now to appear before her, not in
the garb of woe, which excuses the sympathy its wearer excites, but
arrayed as a conqueror, as the champion of Scotland, giving laws to her
oppressors, and entering in triumph, over fields of their slain!
Awful as this picture was to the timidity of her gentle nature, it
alone did not occasion that inexpressible sensation which seemed to
check the pulses of her heart. Was she, or was she not, to recognize
in his train the young and noble Bruce? Was she to be assured that he
still existed? Or, by seeking him everywhere in vain, ascertain that
he, who could not break his word, had perished, lonely and unknown?
While these ideas thronged into her mind, the platform below was
filling with the triumphant Scots; and, her door suddenly opening,
Edwin entered in delighted haste. "Come, cousin!" cried he, "Sir
William Wallace has almost finished his business in the great hall. He
has made my uncle governor of this place, and has committed nearly a
thousand prisoners of rank to his care. If you be not expeditious, you
will allow him to enter the gallery before you."
Hardly observing her face, from the happy emotions which dazzled his
own eyes, he seized her hand, and hurried her to the gallery.
Only her aunt and step-mother were yet there. Lady Ruthven sat
composedly, on a tapestried bench, awaiting the arrival of the company.
But Lady Mar was near the door, listening impatiently to the voices
beneath. At sight of Helen, she drew back; but she smiled exultingly
when she saw that all the splendour of beauty she had so lately beheld
and dreaded was flown. Her unadorned garments gave no particular
attraction to the simple lines of her form; the effulgence of her
complexion was gone; her cheek was pale, and the tremulous motion of
her step deprived her of the elastic grace which was usually the charm
of her nymph-like figure.
Triumph now sat in the eyes of the countess; and, with an air of
authority, she waved Helen to take a seat beside Lady Ruthven. But
Helen, fearful of what might be her emotion when the train should
enter, had just placed herself behind her aunt, when the steps of many
a mailed foot sounded upon the oaken floor of the outward gallery. The
next moment the great doors of the huge screen opened, and a crowd of
knights in armor flashed upon her eyes. A strange dimness overspread
her faculties, and nothing appeared to her but an indistinct throng
approaching. She would have given worlds to have been removed from the
spot, but was unable to stir; and on recovering her senses, she beheld
Lady Mar (who, exclaiming, "Ever my preserver!" had hastened forward),
now leaning on the bosom of one of the chiefs: his head was bent as if
answering her in a low voice. By the golden locks, which hung down
upon the jeweled tresses of the countess, and obscured his face, she
judged it must indeed be the deliverer of her father, the knight of her
dream. But where was he, who had delivered herself from a worse fate
than death? Where was the dweller of her daily thoughts, the bright
apparition of her unslumbering pillow?
Helen's sight, now clearing to as keen a vision as before it had been
dulled and indistinct, with a timid and anxious gaze glanced from face
to face of the chieftains around; but all were strange. Then
withdrawing her eyes with a sad conviction that their search was indeed
in vain; in the very moment of that despair, they were arrested by a
glimpse of the features of Wallace. He had raised his head; he shook
back his clustering hair, and her secret was revealed. In that
god-like countenance she recognized the object of her devoted wishes!
and with a gasp of overwhelming surprise, she must have fallen from her
seat, had not Lady Ruthven, hearing a sound like the sigh of death,
turned round, and caught her in her arms. The cry of her aunt drew
every eye to the spot. Wallace immediately relinquished the countess
to her husband, and moved toward the beautiful and senseless form that
lay on the bosom of Lady Ruthven. The earl and his agitated wife
followed.
"What ails my Helen?" asked the affectionate father.
"I know not," replied his sister; "she sat behind me, and I knew
nothing of her disorder till she fell as you see."
Murray instantly supposed that she had discovered the unknown knight;
and looking from countenance to countenance, amongst the train, to try
if he could discern the envied cause of such emotions, he read in no
face an answering feeling with that of Helen's; and turning away from
his unavailing scrutiny, on hearing her draw a deep sigh, his eyes
fixed themselves on her, as if they would have read her soul. Wallace,
who, in the pale form before him, saw, not only the woman whom he had
preserved with a brother's care, but the compassionate saint, who had
given a hallowed grave to the remains of an angel, pure as herself, now
hung over her with anxiety so eloquent in every feature that the
countess would willingly at that moment have stabbed her in every vein.
Lady Ruthven had sprinkled her niece with water; and as she began to
revive, Wallace motioned to his chieftains to withdraw; her eyes opened
slowly; but recollection returning with every reawakened sense, she
dimly perceived a press of people around her, and fearful of again
encountering that face, which declared the Bruce of her secret
meditations and the Wallace of her declared veneration were one, she
buried her blushes in the bosom of her father. In that short point of
time, images of past, present, and to come, rushed before her; and
without confessing to herself why she thought it necessary to make the
vow, her soul seemed to swear on the sacred altar of a parent's heart,
never more to think on either idea. Separate, it was sweet to muse on
her own deliverer; it was delightful to dwell on the virtues of her
father's preserver. But when she saw both characters blended in one,
her feelings seemed sacrilege; and she wished even to bury her
gratitude, where no eye but Heaven's could see its depth and fervor.
Trembling at what might be the consequences of this scene, Lady mar
determined to hint to Wallace that Helen loved some unknown knight; and
bending to her daughter, said in a low voice, yet loud enough for him
to hear, "Retire, my child; you will be better in your own room,
whether pleasure or disappointment about the person you wished to
discover in Sir William's train have occasioned these emotions."
Helen recovered herself at this indelicate remark; and raising her head
with that modest dignity which only belongs to the purest mind, gently
but firmly said, "I obey you, madam; and he whom I have seen will be
too generous, not to pardon the effects of so unexpected a weight of
gratitude." As she spoke, her turning eye met the fixed gaze of
Wallace. His countenance became agitated, and dropping on his knee
beside her; "Gracious lady;" cried he, "mine is the right of gratitude;
but it is dear land precious to me; a debt that my life will not be
able to repay. I was ignorant of all your goodness, when we parted in
the hermit's cave. But the spirit of an angel like yourself, Lady
Helen, will whisper to you all her widowed husband's thanks." He
pressed her hand fervently between his, and rising, left the room.
Helen looked on with an immovable eye, in which the heroic vow of her
soul spoke in every beam; but as he arose, even then she felt its
frailty, for her spirit seemed leaving her; and as he disappeared from
the door, her world seemed shut from her eyes. Not to think of him was
impossible; how to think of him was in her own power. Her heart felt
as if suddenly made a desert. But heroism was there. She had looked
upon the Heaven-dedicated Wallace; on the widowed mourner of Marion;
the saint and the hero; the being of another world! and as such she
would regard him, till in the realms of purity she might acknowledge
the brother of her soul!
A sacred inspiration seemed to illuminate her features, and to brace
with the vigor of immortality those limbs which before had sunk under
her. She forgot she was still of earth, while a holy love, like that
of the dove in Paradise, sat brooding on her heart.
Lady Mar gazed on her without understanding the ethereal meaning of
those looks. Judging from her own impassioned feelings, she could only
resolve the resplendent beauty which shone from the now animated face
and form of Helen into the rapture of finding herself beloved. Had she
not heard Wallace declare himself to be the unknown knight who had
rescued Helen? She had heard him devote his life to her, and was not
his heart included in that dedication? She had then heard that love
vowed to another, which she would have sacrificed her soul to win!
Murray too was confounded; but his reflections were far different from
those of Lady Mar. He saw his newly self-discerned passion smothered
in its first breath. At the moment in which he found that he loved his
cousin above all of women's mold, an unappealable voice in his bosom
made him crush every fond desire. That heart which, with the chaste
transports of a sister, had throbbed so entrancingly against his, was
then another's! was become the captive of Wallace's virtues; of the
only man who, his judgment would have said, deserves Helen Mar! But
when he clasped her glowing beauties in his arms only the night before,
his enraptured soul then believed that the tender smile he saw on her
lips was meant as the sweet earnest of the happier moment, when he
might hold her there forever! That dream was now past. "Well! be it
so!" said he to himself, "if this too daring passion must be clipped on
the wing, I have at least the consolation that it soared like the bird
of Jove! But, loveliest of created beings," thought he, looking on
Helen with an expression which, had she met it, would have told her all
that was passing in his soul, "if I am not to be thy love, I will be
thy friend--and live for thee and Wallace!"
Believing that she had read her sentence in what she thought the
triumphant glances of a happy passion, Lady Mar turned from her
daughter-in-law with such a hatred kindling in her heart, she durst not
trust her eyes to the inspection of the bystanders; but her tongue
could not be restrained beyond the moment in which the object of her
jealousy left the room. As the door closed upon Helen, who retired
leaning on the arms of her aunt and Edwin, the countess turned to her
lord; his eyes were looking with doting fondness toward the point where
she withdrew. This sight augmented the angry tumults in the breast of
his wife; and with a bitter smile she said, "So, my lord, you find the
icy bosom of your Helen can be thawed!"
"How do you mean, Joanna?" returned the earl, doubting her words and
looks; "you surely cannot blame our daughter for being sensible of
gratitude."
"I blame all young women," replied she, "who give themselves airs of
unnatural coldness; and then, when the proof comes, behave in a manner
so extraordinary, so indelicately, I must say."
"My Lady Mar!" ejaculated the earl, with an amazed look, "what am I to
think of you from this? How has my daughter behaved indelicately? She
did not lay her head on Sir William Wallace's bosom and weep there till
he replaced her on her natural pillow, mine. Have a care, madam, that
I do not see more in this spleen than would be honorable to you for me
to discover."
Fearing nothing so much as that her husband should really suspect the
passion which possessed her, and so remove her from the side of
Wallace, she presently recalled her former duplicity, and with a
surprised and uncomprehending air replied, "I do not understand what
you mean, Donald." Then turning to Lord Ruthven, who stood uneasily
viewing this scene, "How," cried she, "can my lord discover spleen in
my maternal anxiety respecting the daughter of the husband I love and
honor above all the earth? But men do not properly estimate female
reserve. Any woman would say with me, that to faint at the sight of
Sir William Wallace was declaring an emotion not to be revealed before
so large a company! a something from which men might not draw the most
agreeable inferences."
"It only declared surprise, madam," cried Murray, "the surprise of a
modest and ingenuous mind that did not expect to recognize its mountain
friend in the person of the protector of Scotland."
Lady mar put up her lip, and turning to the still silent Lord Ruthven,
again addressed him. "Stepmothers, my lord," said she, "have hard
duties to perform; and when we think we fulfill them best, our
suspicious husband comes with a magician's wand, and turns all our good
to evil."
"Array your good in a less equivocal garb, my dear Joanna," answered
the Earl of Mar, rather ashamed of the hasty words which indeed the
suspicion of a moment had drawn from his lips; "judge my child by her
usual conduct, not by an accidental appearance of inconsistency, and I
shall ever be grateful for your solicitude. But in this instance,
though she might betray the weakness of an enfeebled constitution, it
was certainly not the frailty of a love-sick heart."
"Judge me by your own rule, dear Donald," cried his wife, blandishly
kissing his forehead, "and you will not again wither the mother of your
boy with such a look as I just now received!"
Glad to see this reconciliation, Lord Ruthven made a sign to Murray,
and they withdrew together.
Meanwhile, the honest earl surrendering his whole heart to the wiles of
his wife, poured into her not inattentive ear all his wishes for Helen:
all the hopes to which her late meeting with Wallace, and their present
recognition, had given birth. "I had rather have that man my son,"
said he, "than see my beloved daughter placed on an imperial throne."
"I do not doubt it," thought Lady Mar; "for there are many emperors,
but only one William Wallace!" However, her sentiments she confined to
herself: neither assenting nor dissenting, but answering so as to
secure the confidence by which she hoped to traverse his designs.
According to the inconsistency of the wild passion that possessed her,
one moment she saw nothing but despair before her, and in the next it
seemed impossible that Wallace should in heart be proof against her
tenderness and charms. She remembered Murray's words: that he was sent
to set her free, and that recollection reawakened every hope. Sir
William had placed Lord Mar in a post as dangerous as honorable.
Should the Southrons return in any force into Scotland, Stirling must
be one of the first places they would attack. The earl was brave, but
his wounds had robbed him of much of his martial vigor. Might she not
then be indeed set free? And might not Wallace, on such an event, mean
to repay her for all those sighs he now sought to repress from ideas of
a virtue which she could admire, but had not the courage to imitate?
These wicked meditations passed even at the side of her husband, and,
with a view to further every wish of her intoxicated imagination, she
determined to spare no exertion to secure the support of her own
family, which, when agreeing in one point, was the most powerful of any
in the kingdom. Her father, the Earl of Strathearn, was now a
misanthrope recluse in the Orkneys; she therefore did not calculate on
his assistance, but she resolved on requesting Wallace to put the names
of her cousins, Athol and Badenoch, into the exchange of prisoners, for
by their means she expected to accomplish all she hoped. On Mar's
probable speedy death she so long thought that she regarded it as a
certainty, and so pressed forward to the fulfillment of her love and
ambition with as much eagerness as if he were already in his grave.
She recollected that Wallace had not this time thrown her from his
bosom, when in the transports of her joy she cast herself upon it; he
only gently whispered, "Beware, lady, there are those present who may
think my services too richly paid." With these words he had
relinquished her to her husband. But in them she saw nothing inimical
to her wishes; it was a caution, not a reproof, and had not his warmer
address to Helen conjured up all the fiends of jealousy, she would have
been perfectly satisfied with these grounds of hope-slippery though
they were, like the sands of the sea.
Eager, therefore, to break away from Lord Mar's projects relating to
his daughter, at the first decent opportunity she said: "We will
consider more of this, Donald. I now resign you to the duties of your
office, and shall pay mine to her, whose interest is our own."
Lord Mar pressed her hand to his lips, and they parted.
Prior to Wallace's visit to the citadel, which was to be at an early
hour the same morning, a list of the noble prisoners was put into his
hand. Edwin pointed to the name of Lord Montgomery.
"That," said he, "is the name of the person you already esteem; but how
will you regard him when I tell you who he was?"
Wallace turned on him an inquiring look.
"You have often spoken to me of Sir Gilbert Hambledon-"
"And this be he!" interrupted Wallace.
Edwin recounted the manner of the earl discovering himself, and how he
came to bear that title. Wallace listened in silence and when his
young friend ended, sighed heavily, "I will thank him," was all he
said; and rising, he proceeded to the chamber of Montgomery. Even at
that early hour it was filled with his officers come to inquire after
their late commander's health. Wallace advanced to the couch, and the
Southrons drew back. The expression of his countenance told the earl
that he now knew him.
"Noblest of Englishmen!" cried Wallace, in a low voice, "I come to
express a gratitude to you, as lasting as the memory of the action
which gave it birth. Your generous conduct to all that was dearest to
me on earth was that night in the garden of Ellerslie witnessed by
myself. I was in the tree above your head, and nothing but a
conviction that I should embarrass the honor of my wife's protector
could at that moment have prevented my springing from my covert and
declaring my gratitude on the spot.
"Receive my thanks now, inadequate as they are to express what I feel.
But you offered me your heart on the field of Cambus-Kenneth; I will
take that as a generous intimation how I may best acknowledge my debt.
Receive then my never-dying friendship, the eternal gratitude of my
immortal spirit."
The answer of Montgomery could not but refer to the same subject, and
by presenting the tender form of his wife and her devoted love, almost
visibly again before her widowed husband, nearly forced open the
fountain of tears which he had buried deep in his heart; and rising
suddenly, for fear his emotions might betray themselves, he warmly
pressed the hand of his English friend, and left the room.
In the course of the same day the Southron nobles were transported into
the citadel, and the family of Mar removed from the fortress, to take
up their residence in the palace of Snawdoun.