LVIII. The Bishop's Palace…

LVIII. The Bishop's Palace

The second matin bell sounded from the abbey before the eyes of Wallace opened from the deep sleep which had sealed them. A bath refreshed him from every toil, then renewing the stain on his face and hands with the juice of a nut which he carried about him, and once more covering his martial figure and golden hair with the minstrel's cassock and cowl, he rejoined his friend.

Bruce had previously affected to consider the senachie as still disordered by his last night's excess, and ordering him from his presence for at least a day, commanded that the traveling minstrel should be summoned to supply his place.

The table was spread when Wallace entered, and several servants were in attendance. Bruce hastily rose and would have embraced him, so did his comforted heart spring to meet his friend; but before these people it would have been more than imprudent, and hailing him with only one of his love-beaming looks, he made a sign to him to take his place at a board near his own. To prevent suspicioin in the attendants (some of whom might be spies of Edward's), during the repast he discoursed with Wallace on subjects relative to northern literature, repeating many passages apposite to his own heroic sentiments, from Ossian and other Scottish bards.

The meal finished, Wallace, to maintain his assumed character while the servants were removing the table, was tuning his harp when the Earl of Gloucester entered the room. The earl told Bruce the king had required the attendance of the border minstrel, and that after searching over the castle, the royal seneschal had at last discovered he was in the keep with him. On this being intimated to Gloucester, he chose rather to come himself to demand the harper from his friend, than to subject him to the insolence of the royal servants. The king desired to hear "The Triumph," with which the minstrel had so much pleased the queen. Bruce turned pale at this message; and was opening his mouth to utter a denial, when Wallace, who read in his countenance what he was going to say, and aware of the consequences, immediately spoke:

"If my lord Bruce will grant permission, I should wish to comply with the King of England's request."

"Minstrel!" replied Bruce, casting on him a powerful expression of what was passing in his mind, "you know not, perhaps that the King of England is at enmity with me, and cannot mean well to any one who has been my guest, or servant! The Earl of Gloucester will excuse your attendance in the presence."

"Not for my life or the minstrel's!" replied the earl; "the king would suspect some mystery, and this innocent man might fall into peril. But as it is, his majesty merely wishes to hear him play and sing, and I pledge myself he shall return in safety."

Further opposition would only have courted danger, and with as good a grace as he could assume, Bruce gave his consent. A page who followed Gloucester took up the harp, and with a glance at his friend, which spoke the fearless mind with which he ventured into the power of his enemy, Wallace accompanied Gloucester out of the room.

The earl moved swiftly forward, and leading him through a double line of guards, the folding-doors of the royal apartment were thrown open by two knights in waiting, and Wallace found himself in the royal presence. Perforated with wounds which the chief's own hand had given him, the king lay upon a couch overhung with a crimson-velvet canopy, with long golden fringes which swept the floor. His crown stood on a cushion at his head, and his queen, the blooming Margaret of France, sat full of smiles at his feet. The young Countess of Gloucester occupied a seat by her side.

The countess, who from indisposition had not been at court the preceding day, fixed her eyes on the minstrel as he advanced into the middle of the room, where the page, by Gloucester's orders, planted the harp. She observed the manner of his obeisance to the king and queen, and to herself, and the queen whispering her with a smile, said, while he was taking his station at the harp, "Have your British troubadours usually such an air as that? Am I right, or am I wrong?"

"Quite right," replied the countess in as low a voice; "I suppose he has sung of kings and heroes till he cannot help assuming their step and demeanor!"

"But how did he come by those eyes?" answered the queen. "If singing of Reuther's 'beamy gaze' have so richly endowed his own, by getting him to teach me his art, I may warble myself into a complexion as fair as any northern beauty!"

"But then his must not be the subject of your song," whispered the countess with a laugh, "for methinks it is rather of the Ethiop hue!"

During this short dialogue, which was heard by none but the two ladies, Edward was speaking with Gloucester, and Wallace leaned upon his harp.

"That is enough," said the king to his son-in-law; "now let me hear him play."

The earl gave the word, and Wallace, striking the chords with the master hand of genius, called forth such strains and uttered such tones from his full and richly-modulated voice, that the king listened with wonder, and the queen and countess scarcely allowed themselves to breathe. He sung the parting of Reuther and his bride, and their souls seemed to pant upon his notes; he changed his measure, and their bosoms heaved with the enthusiasm which spoke from his lips and hand, for he urged the hero to battle, he described the conflict, he mourned the slain, he sung the glorious triumph; as the last sweep of the harp rolled its lofty diapason on the ear of the king, the monarch deigned to pronounce him unequaled in his art. Excess of delight so agitated the more delicate frames of the ladies, that while they poured their encomiums on the minstrel, they wiped the glistening tears form their cheeks. The queen approached him, laid her hand upon the harp, and touching the strings with a light finger, said with a sweet smile, "You must remain with the king's musicians, and teach me how to charm as you do!" Wallace replied to this innocent speech with a smile sweet as her own, and bowed.

The countess drew near. Though not much older than the youthful queen, she had been married twice, and being therefore more acquainted with the proprieties of life, her compliments were uttered in a form more befitting her rank, and the supposed quality of the man to whom the queen continued to pour forth her less considerate praises.

Edward desired Gloucester to bring the minstrel closer to him. Wallace approached the royal couch. Edward looked at him from head to foot before he spoke. Wallace bore his eagle gaze with an undisturbed countenance; he neither withdrew his eye from the king, nor did he allow a conqueror's fire to emit from its glance.

"Who are you?" at length demanded Edward, who, surprised at the noble mien and unabashed carriage of the minstrel, conceived some suspicions of his quality.

Wallace saw what was passing in the king's mind, and determining by a frank reply to uproot his doubts, mildly but fearlessly answered:

"A Scot."

"Indeed!" said the king, satisfied that no incendiary would dare thus to proclaim himself. "And how durst you, being of that outlawed nation, venture into my court? Feared you not to fall a sacrifice to my indignation against the mad leader of your rebellious countrymen?"

"I fear nothing on earth," replied Wallace. "This garb is privileged, none who respect that sacred law dare commit violence on a minstrel, and against them who regard no law but that of their own wills, I have this weapon to defend me." As Wallace spoke he pointed to a dirk stuck in his girdle.

"You are a bold man, and an honest man, I believe," replied the king; "and as my queen desires it, I order your enrollment in my traveling train of musicians. You may leave the presence."

"Then follow me to my apartment," cried the queen; "countess, you will accompany me, to see me take my first lesson."

A page took up the harp; and Wallace, bowing his head to the king, was conducted by Gloucester to the anteroom of the queen's apartments. The earl there told him, that when dismissed by the queen, a page he would leave would show him the way back to Lord Carrick.

The royal Margaret herself opened the door, so eager was she to admit her teacher; and placing herself at the harp, she attempted a passage of "The Triumph," which had particularly struck her, but she played wrong. Wallace was asked to set her right; he obeyed. She was quick--he clear in his explanations; and in less than half an hour he made her execute the whole movement in a manner that delighted her.

"Why, minstrel," cried she, looking up in his face, "either your harp is enchanted, or you are a magician. I have studied three long years to play the lute, and could never bring forth any tone that did not make me ready to stop my own ears. And now, countess," cried she, again touching a few chords, "did you ever hear anything so enchanting?"

"I suppose," returned the countess, "all your former instructors have been novices, and this Scot alone knows the art to which they pretended."

"Do you hear what the countess says?" exclaimed the queen, affecting to whisper to him; "she will not allow of any spiritual agency in my wonderfully-awakened talent. If you can contradict her, do; for I want very much to believe in fairies, magicians, and all the enchanting world!"

Wallace, with a respectful smile, answered, "I know of now spirit that has interposed in your majesty's favor but that of your own genius; and it is more efficient than the agency of all fairy-land."

The queen looked at him very gravely, and said, "If you really think there are no such things as fairies and enchantments, for so your words would imply, then everybody in your country must have genius, for they seem to be excellent in everything. Your warriors are so peerlessly brave--all, excepting these Scottish lords who are such favorites with the king! I wonder what he can see in their uncouth faces, or find in their rough indelicate conversation to admire. If it had not been for their besetting my gracious Edward, I am sure he never would have suspected ill of the noble Bruce!"

"Queen Margaret!" cried the Countess of Gloucester, giving her a look of respectful reprehension; "had not the minstrel better retire?"

The queen blushed, and recollected that she was giving too free a vent to her sentiments; but she could not suffer Wallace to withdraw.

"I have yet to ask you," resumed she--"the warriors of Scotland being so resistless, and their minstrels so perfect in their art--whether all the ladies can be so beautiful as the Lady Helen Mar?"

The eagerness with which Wallace grasped at any tidings of her who was so prime an object of his enterprise at once disturbed the composure of his air, and had the penetrating eyes of the countess been then directed toward him, she might have drawn some dangerous conclusions from the start he gave at the mention of her name, and from the heightened color which, in spite of his exertions to suppress all evident emotion, maintained its station on his cheek.

"But, perhaps you have never seen her?" added the queen.

Wallace replied, neither denying nor affirming her question: "I have heard many praise her beauty, but more her virtues."

"Well, I am sorry," continued her majesty, "since you sing so sweetly of female charms, that you have not seen this wonder of Scottish ladies. You have now little chance of that good fortune, for Earl de Valence has taken her abroad, intending to marry her amidst all the state with which my lord has invested him."

"Is it to Guienne he has taken her?" inquired Wallace.

"Yes," replied the queen, rather pleased than offended at the minstrel's ignorance of court ceremony in thus familiarly presuming to put a question to her. She continued to answer: "While so near Scotland he could not win her to forget her native country and her father's danger, who it seems was dying when De Valence carried her away. And, to prevent bloodshed between the earl and Soulis, who is also madly in love with her, my ever-gracious Edward gave the English lord a high post in Guienne, and thither they are gone."

Before Wallace could reply to some remark which the queen laughingly added to her information, the countess thought it proper to give her gay mother-in-law a more decisive reminder of decorum, and, rising, she whispered something which covered the youthful Margaret in blushes. Her majesty rose directly, and pushing away the harp, hurryingly said: "You may leave the room;" and turning her back to Wallace, walked away through an opposite door.

LIX. The Round Tower

Wallace was yet recounting the particulars of his royal visit to Bruce (who had anxiously watched his return), when one of the queen's attendants appeared; and presenting him with a silk handkerchief curiously coiled up, said, that he brought it from her majesty; who supposed it must be his, as she found it in the room where he had been playing the harp. Wallace was going to say that it did not belong to him, when Bruce gave him a look which directed him to take the handkerchief. He obeyed, without a word, and the boy withdrew.

Bruce smiled. "There is more in that handkerchief than silk, my friend! Queens send not these embassies on trifling errands." While Bruce spoke, Wallace unwrapped it. "I told you so!" cried the prince, with a frank archness playing over his before pensive features, and pointing to a slip of emblazoned vellum, which became unfolded. "Shall I look aside while you peruse it?"

"Look on it, my dear prince," replied Wallace; "for in trifles, as well as in things of moment, I would hold no reserves with you."

The vellum was then opened, and these words presented themselves:

"Presume not on condescension. This injunction may be necessary for the noble lady who was present at our interview tells me the men of this island are very presuming. Redeem the character of your countrymen, and transgress not on a courtesy that only means to say, I did not leave you this morning so abruptly out of unkindness. I write this, because having the countess ever with me, I shall not even dare to whisper it in her presence. Be always faithful, and respectful, minstrel, and you shall ever find an indulgent mistress.

"A page will call you when your attendance is desired."

Wallace and Bruce looked on each other. Bruce first spoke.

"Had you vanity, my friend, this letter, from so lovely and innocent a creature, might be a gratification; but in your case, the sentiment it breathes is full of danger. She knows not the secret power that impelled her to write this, but we do; and I fear it will point an attention to you which may produce effects ruinous to our projects."

"Then," answered Wallace, "our alternative is to escape it by getting away this very night. And, as you persevere in your resolution not to enter Scotland unaccompanied by me, and will share my attempt to rescue Lady Helen Mar, we must direct our course immediately to the Continent."

"Yes, instantly, and securely, too, under the disguise of priests!" returned Bruce. "I have in my possession the wardrobe of the confessor who followed my father's fortunes, and who, on his death, retired into the abbey which contains his remains."

It was then settled between the friends, that when it became dark they should dress themselves in the confessor's robes, and by means of the queen's signet, which she had given to Wallace at the banquet, pass the guard as priests who had entered by some other gate, and were returned from shriving her majesty. Once without the city, they could make a swift progress southward to the nearest seaport, and there safely embark for France; for they were well aware that the moment they were missed suspicion would direct pursuit toward the Scottish border.

In these arrangements, and planning their future movements relative to the rescue of Lady Helen, they passed several hours, and were only interrupted by the arrival of a lute from the queen for her minstrel to tune. Wallace obeyed; and returning it by the page who brought it, congratulated himself that it was not accompanied by any new summons. Then continuing his discourse with Bruce on the past, present, and to come, their souls grew more closely entwined as they more intimately recognized their kindred natures; and time moved on, unmarked, till the shadows of evening deepened into night.

"Now is our hour," cried Bruce, starting on his feet; "go you into that room, and array yourself in the confessor's robes, while I call my servants to dispense with their usual nightly attendance."

With determination and hope, Wallace gladly obeyed. In that very same instant the Earl of Gloucester suddenly entered; and, looking round the room with a disturbed countenance, abruptly said:

"Where is the minstrel?"

"Why?" answered Bruce, with an alarm which he vainly tried to prevent appearing on his face. Gloucester advanced close to him.

"Is any one within hearing?"

"No one."

"Then," replied the earl, "his life is in danger. He is suspected to be not what he seems; and I am sorry to add, to stand in favor with the queen, of a nature to incur his mortal punishment."

Bruce was so confounded with this stoppage of all their plans, and at the imminent peril of Wallace, that he could not speak. Gloucester proceeded:

"My dear Bruce, from the circumstance of his being with you, I cannot but suppose that you know more than you think proper to disclose. Whoever he may be, whether he came from France, or really from Scotland, as he says, his life is now forfeited. And that, by attempting to screen him, you may not seem to share his imputed guilt, I come to warn you of this discovery. A double guard is set around the keep; so no visible means are left for his escape."

"Then what will become of him?" exclaimed Bruce, forgetting all caution in dismay for his friend. "Am I to see the bravest of men, the savior of my country, butchered before my eyes by a tyrant? I may die, Gloucester, in his defense, but I will never surrender him to his enemy!"

Gloucester stood aghast at this disclosure. He came to accuse the friend of Bruce, that Bruce might be prepared to clear himself of connivance with so treasonable a crime; but now that he found this friend to be Wallace, the preserver of his own life, the restorer of his honor at Berwick, he immediately resolved to give him freedom.

"Bruce," cried he, "when I recollect the figure and deportment of this minstrel, I am surprised that, in despite of his disguise, I did not recognize the invincible Regent of Scotland; but now I know him, he shall find that generosity is not confined to his own breast. Give me your word that you will not stimulate suspicion by remonstrating with Edward against your own arrest till the court leaves Durham, and I will instantly find a way to conduct your friend in safety from the castle."

"I pledge you my word of honor," cried Bruce; "release but him, and, if you demand it of me, I would die in chains."

"He saved me at Berwick," replied Gloucester, "and I am anxious to repay the debt. If he be near, explain what has happened in as few words as possible, for we must not delay a moment. I left a council with the enraged king, settling what horrible death was to be his punishment."

"When he is safe," answered Bruce, "I will attest his innocence to you; meanwhile, rely on my faith, that you are giving liberty to a guiltless man."

Bruce hastened to Wallace, who had just completed his disguise. He briefly related what had passed, and received for answer, that he would not leave his prince to the revenge of the tyrant. But Bruce, urging that the escape of the one could alone secure that of the other, implored him not to persist in refusing his offered safety, but to make direct for Normandy.

"I will join you at Rouen; and thence we can proceed to Guienne," added he. "The hour the court leaves Durham is that of my escape; and when free, what shall divide me from you and our enterprise!"

Wallace had hardly assented, when a tumultuous noise broke the silence of the courtyard; the great iron doors of the keep were thrown back on their hinges, and the clangor of arms, with many voices, resounded in the hall. Thinking all was lost, with a cry of despair, Bruce drew his sword, and threw himself before his friend. At that instant Gloucester entered the room. "They are quicker than I thought!" cried he; "but follow me. Bruce, remain where you are: sheathe your sword--be bold; deny you know anything of the minstrel, and all will be well." As he spoke, the feet of them who were come to seize Wallace already sounded in the adjoining apartment. Gloucester grasped the Scottish hero by the hand, turned into a short gallery, and, plucking the broad shaft of a cedar pilaster from under its capital, let himself and his companion into a passage within the wall of the building. The ponderous beam closed after them into its former situation; and the silent pair descended, by a long flight of stone steps, to a square dungeon without any visible outlet; but the earl found one, by raising a flat stone marked by an elevated cross; and again they penetrated lower into the bosom of the earth by a gradually declining path till they stopped on a subterranean level ground. "This vaulted passage," said Gloucester, "reaches, in a direct line, to Fincklay Abbey.** A particular circumstance constrained my uncle, the then abbot of that monastery, to discover it to me, ten years ago. He told me, that to none but the bishops of Durham and the abbots of Fincklay was the secret of its existence revealed. Since my coming hither this time (which was to escort the young queen--not to bear arms against Scotland), I one day took it into my head to revisit this recess; and, happily for the gratitude I owe to you, I found all as I had left it in my uncle's lifetime. But, for the sake of my honor with Edward, whose wrath would fall upon me in most fearful shapes should he ever know that I delivered his vanquisher out of his hands, I must enjoin you to secrecy. Though the enemy of my king's ambition, you are the friend of mankind. You were my benefactor, noble Wallace; and I should deserve the rack, could I suffer one hair of your head to fall with violence to the ground."

**The remains of this curious subterranean passage are yet to be seen; but parts of them are now broken in upon by water, and therefore the communication between Durham and Fincklay is now cut off.

With answering frankness, Wallace declared his sense of the earl's generosity; and earnestly commended the young Bruce to his watchful friendship. "The brave impetuosity of his mind," continued he, "at times may overthrow his prudence, and leave him exposed to dangers which a little virtuous caution might avoid. Dissimulation is a baseness I should shudder at seeing him practice; but when the flood of indignation swells his bosom, then tell him, that I conjure him, on the life of his dearest wishes, to be silent! The storm which threatens must blow over, and the power which guides through perils those who trust in it, will ordain that we shall meet again!"

Gloucester replied, "What you say I will repeat to Bruce. I am too sensible that my royal father-in-law has trampled on his rights; and should I ever see him restored to the throne of his ancestors, I could not but acknowledge the hand of Heaven in the event. Far would it have been from me to have bound him to remain a prisoner during Edward's sojourn at Durham, had I not been certain that your escape and his together would now give birth to a plausible argument in the minds of my enemies; and, grounding their suspicions on my acknowledged attachment to Bruce, the king might have been persuaded to believe me unfaithful to his interests. The result would be my disgrace, and a broken heart to her who has raised me by her generous love from the humbler ranks of nobility to that of a prince, and her husband."

Gloucester then informed Wallace that about two hours before he came to alarm Bruce for his safety on this occasion, he was summoned by Edward to attend him immediately. When he obeyed, he found Soulis standing by the royal couch, and his majesty talking with vehemence. At sight of Gloucester he beckoned him to advance, and striking his hand fiercely on a letter he held, he exclaimed:

"Here, my son, behold the record of your father's shame!--of a King of England dishonored by a slave!"

As he spoke he dashed it from him. Soulis answered, smiling:

"Not a slave, my lord and king! can you not see, through the ill adapted disguise, the figure and mien of nobility? He is some foreign lover of your bride, come--"

"Enough!" interrupted the king; "I know I am dishonored; but the villain shall die. Read the letter, Gloucester, and say what tortures shall stamp my vengeance!"

Gloucester opened the vellum, and read, in the queen's hand:

"Gentle minstrel! my lady countess tells me I must not see you again. Were you old or ugly, as most bards are, I might, she says; but being young, it is not for a queen to smile upon one of your calling. She bade me remember, that when I smiled, you smiled too; and that you asked me questions unbecoming your degree. Pray do not do this any more; though I see no harm in it; alas! I used to smile as I liked when I was in France. Oh, if it were not for those I love best, who are now in England, I wish I were there again! and you would go with me, gentle minstrel, would you not? And you would teach me to sing so sweetly! I would then never talk with you, but would always speak in song; how pretty that would be! and then we should be from under the eyes of this harsh countess. My ladies in France would let you come in and stay as long with me as I pleased. But as I cannot go back again, I will make myself happy here in spite of the countess, who rules me more as if she were my stepmother than I hers; but then to be sure she is a few years older.

"I will see you this evening, and your sweet harp shall sing all my heart-aches to sleep. My French lady of honor will conduct you secretly to my apartments. I am sure you are too honest even to guess at what the countess thinks you might fancy when I smile on you. But, gentle minstrel, presume not, and you shall ever find an indulgent mistress in M--

"P.S. At the last vespers to-night, my page shall come for you."

Gloucester knew the queen's handwriting; and not being able to contradict that this letter was hers, he inquired how it came into his majesty's hands.

"I found it," replied Soulis, "in crossing the courtyard; it lay on the ground, where, doubtless, it had been accidentally dropped by the queen's messenger."

Gloucester, wishing to extenuate for the queen's sake, whose youth and inexperience he pitied, affirmed that, from the simplicity with which the note was written, from her innocent references to the minstrel's profession, he could not suppose that she addressed him in any other character.

"If he be only a base itinerant harper," replied the king, "the deeper is my disgrace; for, if a passion of another king than music be not portrayed in every word of this artful letter, I never read a woman's heart!"

The king continued to comment on the fatal scroll with the lynx-eye of jealousy, loading her name with every opprobrium. Gloucester inwardly thanked Heaven that none other than Soulis and himself were present to hear Edward fasten such foul dishonor on his queen. The generous earl could not find other arguments to assuage the mountain ire of her husband. She might be innocent of actual guilt, or indeed of being aware of more than a queen's usual interest in a poor wandering minstrel was, as the king said, in every line. Gloucester remaining silent, Edward believed him convinced of the queen's crime; and being too wrathful to think of caution, he sent for the bishop and others of his lords, and when they entered, vented to them also his injury and indignation. Many were not inclined to be of the same opinion with their sovereign; some thought with Gloucester, others deemed the letter altogether a forgery; and a few adopted the severer inferences of her husband; but all united (even those determined to spare the queen) in recommending an immediate apprehension and private execution of the minstrel.

"It is not fit," cried Soulis, "that a man who has ever been suspected of invading our monarch's honor, should live another hour."

This sanguinary sentence was acceded to, and with as little remorse by the whole assembly as if they had merely condemned a tree to the ax. Such is the carelessness with which the generality of arbitrary assemblies decide on the fate of a fellow mortal! Earl Percy, who gave his vote for the death of the minstrel more from this culpable inconsideration than that thirst of blood which stimulated the voices of Soulis and the Cummins, proposed--as he believed the queen innocent--that honor should be examined relative to the circumstances mentioned in the letter.

The king immediately ordered their attendance.

The royal Jane of Acre appeared at the first summons, and spoke with an air of truth and freedom from alarm which convinced every candid ear of the innocence of the queen. Her testimony was, that she believed the minstrel to be other than he seemed; but she was certain, from the conversations which the queen had held with her after the bishop's feast, that it was at this very feast she had first seen him, and that she was ignorant of his real rank. On being questioned by the bishop, the countess acknowledged that her majesty had praised his figure as well as his singing; "yet not more," added she, "than she afterward did to the king when she awakened his curiosity to send for him." Her highness continued to reply to the interrogatories put to her, by saying, that it was in the king's presence she herself first saw the minstrel; and then she thought his demeanor much above his situation; but, when he accompanied the queen and herself into her majesty's apartments, she had then an opportunity to observe him narrowly, as the queen engaged him in conversation; and by his answers, questions, and easy, yet respectful deportment, she became convinced he was not what he appeared.

"And why, Jane," asked the king, "did you not impart these suspicions to your husband or to me?"

"Because," replied she, "remembering that my interference on a certain public occasion brought my late husband, Clare, under your majesty's displeasure; on my marriage with Monthermer, I made a solemn vow before my confessor never to offend in the like manner. And besides, the countenance of this stranger was so ingenious, and his sentiments so natural and honorable, I could not suspect he came on any disloyal errand."

"Lady," observed one of the elder lords, "if you thought so well of the queen and of this man, why did you caution her against his smiles, and deem it necessary to persuade her not to see him again?"

The countess blushed at this question, but replied, "Because I saw the minstrel was a gentleman. He possessed a noble figure, and a handsome face in spite of his Egyptian skin. Like most young gentlemen, he might be conscious of these advantages, and attribute the artless approbation, the innocent smiles of my gracious queen, to a source more flattering to his vanity. I have known many lords, not far from your majesty, make similar mistakes on as little grounds," added she, looking disdainfully toward some of the younger nobles; "and, therefore, to prevent such insolence, I desired his final dismission."

"Thank you, my dear Jane," replied the king; "you almost persuade me of Margaret's innocence."

"Believe it, sire!" cried she with animation; "whatever romantic thoughtlessness her youth and inexperience may have led her into, I pledge my life on her purity."

"First, let us hear what that French woman has to say to the assignation," exclaimed Soulis, whose polluted heart could not suppose the existence of true purity, and whose cruel disposition exulted in torturing and death; "question her, and then her majesty may have full acquittal."

Again the brow of Edward was overcast. The fiends of jealously once more tugged at his heart; and ordering the Countess of Gloucester to withdraw he commanded the Baroness de Pontoise to be brought into his presence.

When she saw the king's threatening looks, and beheld the fearful expression which shot from every surrounding countenance, she shrunk with terror. Long backneyed in secret gallantries, the same inward whisper which had proclaimed to Soulis that the queen was guilty, induced her to believe that she had been the confidante of an illicit passion; and therefore, though she knew nothing really bad of her unhappy mistress, yet, fancying that she did, she stood before the royal tribunal with the air and aspect of a culprit.

"Repeat to me," demanded the king, "or answer it with your head, all that you know of Queen Margaret's intimacy with the man who calls himself a minstrel."

At these words, which were delivered in a tone that seemed the sentence of death, the French woman fell on her knees, and in a burst of terror exclaimed, "Sire, I will reveal all if your majesty will grant me pardon for having too faithfully served my mistress!"

"Speak! speak!" cried the king, with desperate impatience. "I swear to pardon you, even if you have joined in a conspiracy against my life; but speak the truth, and all the truth, that judgment, without mercy, may fall on the guilty heads!"

"Then I obey," answered the baroness.

"Foul betrayer!" half-exclaimed Gloucester, turning disappointed away. "O! what it is to be vile, and to trust the vile! But virtue will not be auxiliary to vice--and so wickedness falls by its own agents."

The baroness, raised from her kneeling position by Soulis, began:

"The only time I ever heard of, or saw this man, to my knowledge, was when he was brought to play before my lady at the bishop's banquet. I did not much observe him, being engaged in conversation at the other end of the room; so I cannot say, whether I might not have seen him in France; for many noble lords adored the Princess Margaret, though she appeared to frown upon them all. But I must confess, when I attended her majesty's disrobing after the feast, she put to me so many questions about what I thought of the minstrel who had sung so divinely, that I began to think her admiration too great to have been awakened by a mere song. And then she asked me, if a king could have a nobler air than he had; and she laughed, and said she would send your majesty to school to learn of him."

"Damnable traitress!" exclaimed the king.

The baroness paused, and retreated before the sudden fury which flashed from his eyes.

"Go on!" cried he; "hide neither word nor circumstance, that my vengeance may lose nothing of its aim!"

She proceeded:

"Her majesty then talked of his beautiful eyes; so blue, she said, so tender, yet proud in their looks; and only a minstrel! 'De Pontoise,' added she, 'can you explain that?' I being rather, perhaps, too well learned in the idle tales of our troubadours, heedlessly answered: 'Perhaps he is some king in disguise, just come to look at your majesty's charms, and go away again!' She laughed much at this conceit; said he must be one of Pharaoh's race then, and that had he not such white teeth, his complexion would be intolerable. Being pleased to see her majesty in such spirits, and thinking no ill, I sportively answered, 'I read once of a certain Spanish lover, who went to the court of Tunis to carry off the king's daughter; and he had so black a face, that none suspected him to be other than the Moorish Prince of Granada; when lo! one day in a pleasure-party on the sea, he fell overboard, and came up with the fairest face in the world, and presently acknowledged himself to be the Christian King of Castile.' The queen laughed at this story, but not answering me, went to bed. Next morning, when I entered her chamber, she received me with even more gayety, and putting aside my coiffure, said, 'Let me see if I can find the devil's mark here!' 'What do you mean?' I asked, 'does your majesty take me for a witch?' 'Exactly so,' she replied; 'for a little sprite told me last night that all you told me was true.' And then she began to tell me with many smiles, that she had dreamed the minstrel was the very Prince of Portugal, whom, unseen, she had refused for the King of England; and that he gave her a harp set with jewels. She then went to your majesty, and I saw no more of her till she sent for me late in the evening. She seemed very angry. 'You are faithful,' said she to me, 'and you know me. De Pontoise; you know me too proud to degrade myself, and too highminded to submit to tyranny. The Countess of Gloucester, with persuasions too like commands, will not allow me to see the minstrel any more.' She then declared her determination that she would see him; that she would feign herself sick, and he should come and sing to her when she was alone; and that she was sure he was too modest to presume on her condescension. I said something to dissuade her, but she overruled me; and, shame to myself, I consented to assist her. She embraced me, and gave me a letter to convey to him, which I did, by slipping it beneath the ornaments of the handle of her lute, which I sent as an excuse for the minstrel to tune. It was to acquaint him with her intentions, and this night he was to have visited her apartment!"

During this recital the king sat with compressed lips listening, but with a countenance proclaiming the collecting tempest within--changing to livid paleness or portentous fire, at almost every sentence. On mentioning the letter, he clinched his hand, as if then he grasped the thunderbolt. The lords immediately apprehended that this was the letter which Soulis found.

"And is this all you know of the affair?" inquired Percy, seeing that she made a pause. "And enough, too?" cried Soulis, "to blast the most vaunted chastity in Christendom."

"Take the woman hence," cried the king, in a burst of wrath, that gave his voice a preternatural force, which yet resounded from the vaulted roof, while he added--"Never let me see her traitor face again!" The baroness withdrew in terror; and Edward, calling Sir Piers Gaveston, commanded him to place himself at the head of a double guard, and go in person to bring the object of his officious introduction to meet the punishment due to his crime. "For," cried the king, "be he prince or peasant, I will see him hanged before my eyes, and then return his wanton paramour, branded with infamy, to her disgraced family!"

Soulis now suggested that, as the delinquent was to be found with Bruce, most likely that young nobleman was privy to his designs. "We shall see to him hereafter," replied the king; "meanwhile, look that I am obeyed."

The moment this order passed the king's lips, Gloucester, now not doubting the queen's guilt, hastened to warn Bruce of what had occurred, that he might separate himself from the crime of a man who appeared to have been under his protection. But when he found that the accused was no other than the universally feared, universally beloved, and generous Wallace, all other considerations were lost in the desire of delivering him from the impending danger. He knew the means, and he did not hesitate to employ them.

During the recital of this narrative, Gloucester narrowly observed the auditor, and the ingenuous bursts of his indignation, and the horror he evinced at the crime he was suspected of having committed, the earl, while more fully convinced of his innocence, easily conceived how the queen's sentiments for him might have gone no further than a childish admiration, very pardonable in a guileless creature hardly more than sixteen.

"See," cried Wallace, "the power which lies with the describer of actions! The chaste mind of your countess saw nothing in the conduct of the queen but thoughtless simplicity. The contaminated heart of the Baroness de Pontoise descried passion in every word, wantonness in every movement; and, judging of her mistress by herself, she has wrought this mighty ruin. How, then, does it behove virtue to admit the virtuous only to her intimacy: association with the vicious makes her to be seen in their colors! Impress your king with this self-evident conclusion; and were it not for endangering the safety of Bruce, the hope of my country, I myself would return and stake my life on proving the innocence of the Queen of England. But if a letter, with my word of honor, could convince the king--"

"I accept the offer," interrupted Gloucester, "I am too warmly the friend of Bruce--too truly grateful to you--to betray either into danger; but from Sunderland, whither I recommend you to go, and there embark for France, write the declaration you mention, and inclose it to me. I can contrive that the king shall have your letter without suspecting by what channel; and then, I trust, all will be well."

During this discourse, they passed on through the vaulted passage, till, arriving at a wooden crucifix which marked the boundary of the domain of Durham, Gloucester stopped.

"I must not go further. Should I prolong my stay from the castle during the search for you, suspicion may be awakened. You must therefore proceed alone. Go straight forward, and at the extremity of the vault you will find a flag stone, surmounted like the one by which we descended; raise it, and it will let you into the cemetery of the Abbey of Fincklay. One end of that burying-place is always open to the east. Thence you will emerge to the open world; and may it in future, noble Wallace, ever treat you according to your unequaled merits. Farewell!"

The earl turned to retrace his steps, and Wallace pursued his way through the rayless darkness toward the Fincklay extremity of the vault.

LX. Gallic Seas

Wallace having issued from his subterranean journey, made direct to Sunderland, where he arrived about sunrise. A vessel belonging to France (which, since the marriage of Margaret with Edward, had been in amity with England as well as Scotland) rode there, waiting a favorable wind. Wallace secured a passage in her; and, going on board, wrote his promised letter to Edward. It ran thus:

"This testament is to assure Edward, King of England, upon the word of a knight, that Queen Margaret, his wife, is in every respect guiltless of the crimes alleged against her by the Lord Soulis, and sworn to by the Baroness de Pontoise. I came to the court of Durham on an errand connected with my country; and that I might be unknown, I assumed the disguise of a minstrel. By accident I encountered Sir Piers Gaveston, and, ignorant that I was other than I seemed, he introduced me at the royal banquet. It was there I first saw her majesty. And I never had that honor but three times; and the third and last in her apartments, to which your majesty's self saw me withdraw. The Countess of Gloucester was present the whole time, and to her highness I appeal. The queen saw in me only a minstrel; on my art alone as a musician was her favor bestowed; and by expressing it with an ingenuous warmth which none other than an innocent heart would have dared to display, she has thus exposed herself to the animadversions of libertinism, and to the false representations of a terror-struck, because worthless, friend.

"I have escaped the snare which the queen's enemies laid for me; and for her sake, for the sake of truth, and your own peace, King Edward, I declare before the Searcher of all hearts, and before the world, in whose esteem I hope to live and die--that your wife is innocent! And should I ever meet the man, who, after this declaration, dares to unite her name with mine in a tale of infamy--by the power of truth, I swear that I will make him write a recantation with his blood. Pure as a virgin's chastity is, and shall ever be, the honor of William Wallace."

This letter was inclosed in one to the Earl of Gloucester, and having dispatched his packet to Durham, the Scottish chief gladly saw a brisk wind blow up from the north-west. The ship weighed anchor, cleared the harbor, and, under a fair sky, swiftly cut the waves toward the Gallic shores. But ere she reached them, the warlike star of Wallace directed to his little bark the terrific sails of the Red Reaver, a formidable pirate who then infested the Gallic seas, swept their commerce, and insulted their navy. He attacked the French vessel, but it carried a greater than Caesar and his fortunes; Wallace and his destiny were there, and the enemy struck to the Scottish chief. The Red Reaver (so surnamed because of his red sails and sanguinary deeds) was killed in the action; but his younger brother, Thomas de Longueville, was found alive with in the captive ship, and a yet greater prize! Prince Louis, of France, who having been out the day before on a sailing-party, had been descried, and seized as an invaluable booty by the Red Reaver.

Adverse winds for some time prevented Wallace from reaching port with his capture; but on the fourth day after the victory, he cast anchor in the harbor of Havre. The indisposition of the prince from a wound he had received in his own conflict with the Reaver, made it necessary to apprise King Philip of the accident. In answer to Wallace's dispatches on this subject, the grateful monarch added to the proffers of personal friendship, which had been the substance of his majesty's embassy to Scotland, a pressing invitation that the Scottish chief would accompany the prince to Paris, and there receive a public mark of royal gratitude, which, with due honor, should record this service done to France to future ages. Meanwhile Philip sent the chief a suit of armor, with a request that he would wear it in remembrance of France and his own heroism. But nothing could tempt Wallace to turn aside from his duty. Impatient to pursue his journey toward the spot where he hoped to meet Bruce, he wrote a respectful excuse to the king; but arraying himself in the monarch's martial present (to assure his majesty by the evidence of his son that his royal wish had been so far obeyed), he went to the prince to bid him farewell. Louis was preparing for their departure, all three together, with young De Longueville (whose pardon Wallace had obtained from the king on account of the youth's abhorrence of the service which his brother had compelled him to adopt), and the two young men, from different feelings, expressed their disappointment when they found that their benefactor was going to leave them. Wallace gave his highness a packet for the king, containing a brief statement of his vow to Lord Mar, and a promise, that when he had fulfilled it, Philip should see him at Paris. The royal cavalcade then separated from the deliverer of its prince; and Wallace, mounting a richly-barbed Arabian, which had accompanied his splendid armor, took the road to Rouen.

Meanwhile, events not less momentous took place at Durham. The instant Wallace had followed the Earl of Gloucester from the apartment in the castle, it was entered by Sir Piers Gaveston. He demanded the minstrel. Bruce replied, he knew not where he was. Gaveston, eager to convince the king that he was no accomplice with the suspected person, put the question a second time, and in a tone which he meant should intimidate the Scottish prince--"Where is the minstrel?"

"I know not," replied Bruce.

"And will you dare to tell me, earl," asked his interrogator, "that within this quarter of an hour he has not been in this tower?--nay, in this very room? The guards in your antechamber have told me that he was; and can Lord Carrick stoop to utter a falsehood to screen an wandering beggar?"

While he was speaking, Bruce stood eying him with increasing scorn. Gaveston paused.

"You expect me to answer you!" said the prince. "Out of respect to myself I will, for such is the unsullied honor of Robert Bruce, that even the air shall not be tainted with slander against his truth, without being repurified by its confutation. Gaveston, you have known me five years; two of them we passed together in the jousts of Flanders, and yet you believe me capable of falsehood! Know then, unworthy of the esteem I have bestowed on you, that neither to save mean or great, would I deviate from the strict line of truth. The man you seek may have been in this tower, in this room, as you present are, and as little am I bound to know where he now is, as whither you go when you relieve me from an inquisition which I hold myself accountable to no man to answer."

"'Tis well," cried Gaveston; "and I am to carry this haughty message to the king?"

"If you deliver it as a message," answered Bruce, "you will prove that they who are ready to suspect falsehood, find its utterance easy. My reply is to you. When King Edward speaks to me, I shall find the answer that is due to him."

"These attempts to provoke me into a private quarrel," cried Gaveston, "will not succeed. I am not to be so foiled in my duty. I must seek the man through your apartments."

"By whose authority?" demanded Bruce.

"By my own, as the loyal subject of my outraged monarch. He bade me bring the traitor before him; and thus I obey."

While speaking, Gaveston beckoned to his attendants to follow him to the door whence Wallace had disappeared. Bruce threw himself before it.

"I must forget the duty I owe to myself, before I allow you, or any other man, to invade my privacy. I have already given you the answer that becomes Robert Bruce; and in respect to your knighthood, instead of compelling I request you to withdraw."

Gaveston hesitated; but he knew the determined character of his opponent, and therefore, with no very good grace, muttering that he should hear of it from a more powerful quarter, he left the room.

And certainly his threats were not in this instance vain; for prompt was the arrival of a marshal and his officers to force Bruce before the king.

"Robert Bruce, Earl of Cleveland, Carrick and Annandale, I come to summon you into the presence of your liege lord, Edward of England."

"The Earl of Cleveland obeys," replied Bruce; and, with a fearless step, he walked out before the marshal.

When he entered the presence-chamber, Sir Piers Gaveston stood beside the royal couch, as if prepared to be his accuser. The king sat supported by pillows, paler with the mortifications of jealousy and baffled authority than from the effects of his wounds.

"Robert Bruce!" cried he, the moment his eyes fell on him; but the sight of his mourning habit made a stroke upon his heart that sent out evidence of remorse in large globules on his forehead; he paused, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and resumed: "Are you not afraid, presumptuous young man, thus to provoke your sovereign? Are you not afraid that I shall make that audacious head answer for the man whom you thus dare to screen from my just revenge?"

Bruce felt all the injuries he had suffered from this proud king rush at once upon his memory; and, without changing his position or lowering the lofty expression of his looks, he firmly answered: "The judgment of a just king I cannot fear; the sentence of an unjust one I despise."

"This to his majesty's face!" exclaimed Soulis.

"Insolence--rebellion--chastisement--even death!" were the words which murmured round the room at the honest reply.

Edward had too much good sense to echo any one of them; but turning to Bruce, with a sensation of shame he would gladly have repressed, he said that, in consideration of his youth, he would pardon him what had passed, and reinstate him in all the late Earl of Carrick's honors, if he would immediately declare where he had hidden the offending minstrel.

"I have not hidden him," cried Bruce; "nor do I know where he is; but had that been confided to me, as I know him to be an innocent man, no power on earth should have wrenched him from me!"

"Self-sufficient boy!" exclaimed Earl Buchan, with a laugh of contempt; "do you flatter yourself that he would trust such a novice as you are with secrets of this nature?"

Bruce turned on him an eye of fire.

"Buchan," replied he, "I will answer you on other ground. Meanwhile, remember that the secrets of good men are open to every virtuous heart; those of the wicked they would be glad to conceal from themselves."

"Robert Bruce," cried the king, "before I came this northern journey I ever found you one of the most devoted of my servants, the gentlest youth in my court; and how do I see you at this moment? Braving my nobles to my face! How is it that until now this spirit never broke forth?"

"Because," answered the prince, "until now I have never seen the virtuous friend whom you call upon me to betray."

"Then you confess," cried the king, "that he was an instigator to rebellion?"

"I avow," answered Bruce, "that I never knew what true loyalty was till he taught it me; I never knew the nature of real chastity till he explained it to me; nor comprehended what virtue might be till he allowed me to see in himself incorruptible fidelity, bravery undaunted, and a purity of heart not to be contaminated! And this is the man on whom these lords would fasten a charge of treason and adultery! But out of the filthy depths of their own breast arise the streams from which they would blacked his fairness."

"Your vindication," cried the king, "confirms his guilt. You admit that he is not a minstrel in reality. Wherefore, then, did he steal in ambuscade into my palace, but to betray either my honor or my life--perhaps both?"

"His errand here was to see me."

"Rash boy!" cried Edward; "then you acknowledge yourself a premeditated conspirator against me?"

Soulis now whispered in the king's ear, but so low that Bruce did not hear him.

"Penetrate further, my liege; this may be only a false confession to shield the queen's character. She who has once betrayed her duty, finds it easy to reward such handsome advocates."

The scarlet of inextinguishable wrath now burned on the face of Edward. "I will confront them," returned he; "surprise them into betraying each other."

By his immediate orders the queen was brought in. She leaned on the Countess of Gloucester.

"Jane," cried the king, "leave that woman; let her impudence sustain her."

"Rather her innocence, my lord," said the countess, bowing, and hesitating to go.

"Leave her to that," returned the incensed husband, "and she would grovel on the earth like her own base passions. But stand before me she shall, and without other support than the devils within her."

"For pity!" cried the queen, extending her clasped hands toward Edward, and bursting into tears; "have mercy on me, for I am innocent!"

"Prove it then," cried the king, "by agreeing with this confidant of your minstrel, and at once tell me by what name you addressed him when you allured him to my court? Is he French, Spanish, or English?"

"By the Virgin's holy purity, I swear!" cried the queen, sinking on her knees, "that I never allured him to this court; I never beheld him till I saw him at the bishop's banquet; and for his name, I know it not."

"Oh, vilest of the vile!" cried the king, fiercely grasping his couch; "and didst thou become a wanton at a glance? From my sight this moment, or I shall blast thee!"

The queen dropped senseless into the arms of the Earl of Gloucester, who at that moment entered from seeing Wallace through the cavern. At sight of him, Bruce knew that his friend was safe; and fearless for himself when the cause of outraged innocence was at stake, he suddenly exclaimed:

"By one word, King Edward, I will confirm the blamelessness of this injured queen. Listen to me, not as a monarch and an enemy, but with the unbiased judgment of man with man; and then ask your own brave heart if it would be possible for Sir William Wallace to be a seducer."

Every mouth was dumb at the enunciation of that name. None dared open a lip in accusation; and the king himself, thunderstruck alike with the boldness of the conqueror venturing within the grasp of his revenge and at the daringness of Bruce in thus declaring his connection with him, for a few minutes he knew not what to answer; only he had received conviction of his wife's innocence! He was too well acquainted with the history and uniform conduct of Wallace to doubt his honor in this transaction; and though a transient fancy of the queen's might have had existence, yet he had now no suspicion of her actions. "Bruce," said he, "your honesty has saved the Queen of England. Though Wallace is my enemy, I know him to be of an integrity which neither man nor woman can shake; and therefore," added he, turning to the lords, "I declare before all who have heard me so fiercely arraign my injured wife, that I believe her innocent of every offense against me. And whoever, after this, mentions one word of what has passed in these investigations, or even whispers that they have been held, shall be punished as guilty of high treason."

Bruce was then ordered to be reconducted to the round-tower; and the rest of the lords withdrawing by command, the king was left with Gloucester, his daughter Jane, and the now reviving queen to make his peace with her, even on his knees.

Burce was more closely immured than ever. Not even his senachie was allowed to approach him; and double guards were kept constantly around his prison. On the fourth day of his seclusion an extra row of iron bars was put across his windows. He asked the captain of the party the reason for this new rivet on his captivity; but he received no answer. His own recollection, however, solved the doubt; for he could not but see that his own declaration respecting his friendship with Wallace had increased the alarm of Edward respecting their political views. One of the warders, on having the same inquiry put to him which Bruce had addressed to his superior, in a rough tone replied:

"He had best not ask questions, lest he should hear that his majesty had determined to keep him under Bishop Beck's padlock for life."

Bruce was not to be deprived of hope by a single evidence, and smiling, said:

"There are more ways of getting out of a tyrant's prison, than by the doors and windows!"

"Why, you would not eat through the walls?" cried the man.

"Certainly," replied Bruce, "if I have no other way, and through the guards too."

"We'll see to that," answered the man.

"And feel it too, my sturdy jailer," returned the prince; "so look to yourself."

Bruce threw himself recklessly into a chair as he spoke; while the man, eying him askance, and remembering how strangely the minstrel had disappeared, began to think that some people born in Scotland inherited from nature a necromantic power of executing whatever they determined.

Though careless in his manner of treating the warder's information, Bruce thought of it with anxiety; and lost in reflections, checkered with hope and doubt of his ever effecting an escape, he remained immovable on the spot where the man had left him, till another sentinel brought in a lamp. He set it down in silence, and withdrew; Bruce then heard the bolts on the outside of his chamber pushed into their guards. "There they go," said he to himself; "and those are to be the morning and evening sounds to which I am to listen all my days! At least Edward would have it so. Such is the gratitude he shows to the man who restored to him his wife; who restored to him the consciousness of possessing that honor unsullied which is so dear to every married man! Well, Edward, kindness might bind generous minds even to forget their rights; but thanks to you, neither in my own person, nor for any of my name, do I owe you aught, but to behold me King of Scotland; and please God, that you shall, if the prayers of faith may burst these double-steeled gates, and set me free!"

While invocations to the Power in which he confided, and resolutions respecting the consequences of his hoped-for liberty, by turns occupied his mind, he heard the tread of a foot in the adjoining passage. He listened breathless; for no living creature, he thought, could be in that quarter of the building, as he had suffered none to enter it since Wallace had disappeared by that way. He half rose from his couch, as the door at which he had seen him last gently opened. He started up, and Gloucester, with a lantern in his hand, stood before him. The earl put his finger on his lip, and taking Bruce by the hand, led him, as he had done Wallace, down into the vault which leads to Fincklay Abbey.

When safe in that subterraneous cloister, the earl replied to the impatient gratitude of Bruce (who saw that the generous Gloucester meant he should follow the steps of his friend) by giving him a succinct account of his motives for changing his first determination, and now giving him liberty. He had not visited Bruce since the escape of Wallace, that he might not excite any new suspicion in Edward; and the tower being fast locked at every usual avenue, he had now entered it from the Fincklay side. He then proceeded to inform Bruce, that after his magnanimous forgetfulness of his own safety to insure that of the queen had produced a reconciliation between her and her husband, Buchan, Soulis, and Athol, with one or two English lords, joined the next day to persuade the king that Bruce's avowal respecting Wallace had been merely an invention of his own to screen some baser friend and royal mistress. They succeeded in reawakening doubts in Edward, who, sending for Gloucester, said to him, "Unless I could hear from Wallace's own lips (and in my case the thing is impossible), that he has been here, and that my wife is guiltless of this foul stain, I must ever remain in horrible suspense. These base Scots, ever fertile in maddening suggestions, have made me even more suspect that Bruce had other reasons for his apparently generous risk of himself, than a love of justice."

While these ideas floated in the mind of Edward, Bruce had been more closely immured. And Gloucester having received the promised letter from Wallace, determined to lay it before the king. Accordingly, one morning the earl, gliding unobserved into the presence-chamber before Edward was brought in, laid the letter under his majesty's cushion. As Gloucester expected, the moment the king saw the superscription, he knew the hand; and hastily breaking the seal, read the letter twice over to himself without speaking a word. But the clouds which had hung on his countenance all passed away; and with a smile reaching the packet to Gloucester, he commanded him to read aloud "that silencer of all doubts respecting the honor of Margaret of France and England." Gloucester obeyed; and the astonished nobles, looking on each other, one and all assented to the credit that ought to be given to Wallace's word, and deeply regretted having ever joined in a suspicion against her majesty. Thus, then, all appeared amicably settled. But the embers of discord still glowed. The three Scottish lords, afraid lest Bruce might be again taken into favor, labored to show that his friendship with Wallace, pointed to his throwing off the English yoke, and independently assuming the Scottish crown. Edward required no arguments to convince him of the probability of this; and he readily complied with Bishop Beck's request to allow him to hold the royal youth his prisoner. But when the Cummins won this victory over Bruce, they gained nothing for themselves. During the king's vain inquiries respecting the manner in which Wallace's letter had been conveyed to the apartment, they had ventured to throw hints of Bruce having been the agent, by some secret means, and that however innocent the queen might be, he certainly evinced, by such solicitude for her exculpation, a more than usual interest in her person. These latter innuendoes the king crushed in the first whisper. "I have done enough with Robert Bruce," said he. "He is condemned a prisoner for life, and a mere suspicion shall never provoke me to give sentence for his death." Irritated by this reply, and the contemptuous glance with which it was accompanied, the vindictive triumvirate turned from the king to the court; and having failed in accomplishing the destruction of Bruce and his more renowned friend, they determined at least to make a wreck of their moral fame. The guilt of Wallace and the queen, and the participation of Bruce, was now whispered through every circle, and credited in proportion to the evil disposition of the hearers.

Once of his pages at last brought to the ears of the kings the stories which these lords so basely circulated; and sending for them, he gave them so severe a reprimand, that, retiring from his presence with stifled wrath, they agreed to accept the invitation of young Lord Badenoch, return to their country, and support him in the regency. Next morning Edward was informed they had secretly left Durham; and fearing that Bruce might also make his escape, a consultation was held between the king and Beck of so threatening a complexion, that Gloucester no longer hesitated to run all risks, but immediately to give the Scottish prince his liberty.

Having led him to safety through the vaulted passage, they parted in the cemetery of Fincklay; Gloucester, to walk back to Durham by the banks of the Wear; and Bruce, to mount the horse the good earl had left tied to a tree, to convey him to Hartlepool. There he embarked for Normandy.

When he arrived at Caen, he made no delay, but taking a rapid course across the country toward Rouen, on the second evening of his traveling, having pursued his route without sleep, he felt himself so overcome with fatigue, that, in the midst of a vast and dreary plain, he found it necessary to stop for rest at the first habitation he might find. It happened to be the abode of one of those poor, but pious matrons, who, attaching themselves to some neighboring order of charity, live alone in desert places for the purpose of succoring distressed travelers. Here Bruce found the widow's cruse, and a pallet to repose his weary limbs.

LXI. Normandy

Wallace, having separated from the Prince Royal of France, pursued his solitary way toward the capital of Normandy, till night overtook him ere he was aware. Clouds so obscured the sky, that not a star was visible; and his horse, terrified at the impenetrable darkness, and the difficulties of the path, which lay over a barren and stony moor, suddenly stopped. This aroused Wallace from a long fit of musing to look around him; but on which side lay the road to Rouen, he could form no guess. To pass the night in so exposed a spot might be dangerous, and spurring the animal, he determined to push onward.

He had ridden nearly another hour, when the dead silence of the scene was broken by the roll of distant thunder. Then forked lightning shooting from the horizon showed a line of country unmarked by any vestige of human habitation. Still he proceeded. The storm approached, till, breaking in peals over his head, it discharged such sheets of livid fire at his feet that the horse reared, and plunging amidst the blaze, flashed the light of his rider's armor on the eyes of a troop of horsemen, who also stood under the tempest, gazing with affright at the scene. Wallace, by the same transitory illumination, saw the travelers, as they seemed to start back at his appearance; and, mistaking their apprehension, he called to them, that his well-managed, though terrified steed, would do theirs no harm. One of them advanced and respectfully inquired of him the way to Rouen. Wallace replied that he was a stranger in this part of the country, and was also seeking that city. While he was yet speaking the thunder became more tremendous, and the lightning rolled in volumes along the ground, the horses of the troop became restive, and one of them threw its rider. Cries of lamentation, mingling with the groans of the fallen person, excited the compassion of Wallace. He rode toward the spot from when the latter proceeded, and asked the nearest bystander (for several had alighted) whether the unfortunate man was much hurt. The answer returned was full of alarm for the sufferer, and anxiety to obtain some place of shelter, for rain began to fall. In a few minutes it increased to torrents, and the lightning ceasing, deepened the horrors of the scene by preventing the likelihood of discovering any human abode. The men gathered round their fallen companion bewailing the prospect of his perishing under these inclemencies; but Wallace cheered them by saying he would seek a shelter for their friend, and blow his bugle when he had found one. With the word he turned his horse, and as he galloped along, called aloud on any Christian man who might live near, to open his doors to a dying traveler! After riding about in all directions, he saw a glimmering light for a moment, and then all was darkness; but again he called aloud for charity! and a shrill female voice answered, "I am a lone woman, with already one poor traveler in my house; but, for the Virgin's sake, I will open my door to you, whatever you may be." The good woman relighted her lamp, which the rain had extinguished; and, on her unlatching the door, Wallace briefly related what had happened, entreating her permission to bring the unfortunate person into the cottage. She readily consented; and giving him a lantern to guide his way, he blew his bugle, which was instantly answered by so glad and loud a shout that it assured him his companions could not be far distant, and that he must have made many a useless circuit before he had stopped at this charitable door.

The men directed him through the darkness by their voices, for the lantern threw its beams but a very little way, and, arriving at their side, by his assistance the bruised traveler was brought to the cottage. It was a poor hovel; but the good woman had spread a clean wooden coverlet over her own bed, in the inner chamber, and thither Wallace carried the invalid. He seemed in great pain, but his kind conductor answered their hostess' inquiries respecting him, with a belief that no bones were broken.

"But yet," cried she, "sad may be the effects of internal bruises on so emaciated a frame. I will venture to disturb my other guest, who sleeps in the loft, and bring down a decoction that I keep there. It is made from simple herbs, and I am sure will be of service."

The old woman having shown to the attendants where they might put their horses under shelter of a shed which projected from the cottage, ascended a few steps to the chamber above. Meanwhile, the Scottish chief, assisted by one of the men, disengaged the sufferer from his wet garments, and covered him with the blankets of the bed. Recovered to recollection by the comparative comfort of his bodily feelings, the stranger opened his eyes. He fixed them on Wallace, then looked around, and turned to Wallace again.

"Generous knight!" cried he, "I have nothing but thanks to offer for this kindness. You seem to be of the highest rank, and yet have succored one who the world abjures!"

The knight returned a courteous answer, and the invalid, in a paroxysm of emotion, added:

"Can it be possible that a prince of France has dared to act contrary to his peers?"

Wallace, not apprehending what had given rise to this question, supposed the stranger's wits were disordered, and looked with that inquiry toward the attendant. Just at that moment a step, more active than that of their aged hostess, sounded above, and an exclamation of surprise followed it, in a voice that startled Wallace. He turned hastily round, and a young man sprung from the cottage stairs into the apartment--joy danced in every feature, and the ejaculation, "Wallace!"--"Bruce!" burst at once from the hearts of the two friends as they rushed into each other's arms. All else present was lost to them in the delight of meeting after so perilous a separation--a delight not confined for its object to their individual selves, each saw in the other the hope of Scotland; and when they embraced, it was not merely with the ardor of friendship, but with that of patriotism, rejoicing in the preservation of its chief dependence.

While the chiefs spoke freely in their native tongue, before a people who could not be supposed to understand them, the aged stranger on the bed reiterated his moans. Wallace, in a few words, telling Bruce the manner of his reencounter with the sick man, and his belief that he was disordered in his mind, drew toward the bed, and offered him some of the decoction which the woman now brought. The invalid drank it, and gazed earnestly, first on Wallace and then on Bruce. "Pierre, withdraw," cried he to his personal attendant. The man obeyed. "Sit down by me, noble friends," said he to the Scottish chiefs, "and read a lesson, which I pray ye lay to your hearts!" Bruce glanced a look at Wallace that declared he was of his opinion. Wallace drew a stool, while his friend seated himself on the bed. The old woman, perceiving something extraordinary in the countenance of the bruised stranger, thought he was going to reveal some secret heavy on his mind, and also withdrew.

"You think my intellects are injured," returned he, turning to Wallace, "because I addressed you as one of the house of Philip! Those jeweled lilies round your helmet led me into the error; I never before saw them granted to other than a prince of the blood. But think not, brave man, I respect you less, since I have discovered that you are not of the race of Philip--that you are other than a prince! Look on me--at this emaciated form--and behold the reverses of all earthly grandeur! This palsied hand once held a scepter--these hollow temples were once bound with a crown! He that used to be followed as the source of honor, as the fountain of prosperity--with suppliants at his feet, and flatterers at his side--would now be left to solitude were it not for these few faithful servants, who, in spite of all changes, have preserved their allegiance to the end. Look on me, chiefs, and behold him who was the King of Scots!"

At this declaration, both Wallace and Bruce, struck with surprise and compassion at meeting their ancient enemy reduced to such abject misery, with one impulse bowed their heads to him with an air of reverence. The action penetrated the heart of Baliol. For when at the meeting and mutual exclamation of the two friends, he recognized in whose presence he lay, he fearfully remembered that, by his base submissions, turning the scale of judgment in his favor, he had defrauded the grandsire of the very Bruce now before him of a fair decision on his rights to the crown! And when he looked on Wallace, who had preserved him from the effects of his accident, and brought him to a shelter from the raging terrors of the night, his conscience doubly smote him! for, from the hour of his elevation to that of his downfall, he had ever persecuted the family of Wallace; and, at the hour which was the crisis of her fate, had denied them the right of drawing their swords in defense of Scotland. He, her king, had resigned her into the hands of an usurper; but Wallace, the injured Wallace, had arisen, like a star of light on the deep darkness of her captivity, and Scotland was once more free. In the tempest, the exiled monarch had started at the blaze of the unknown knight's jeweled panoply; at the declaration of his name he shrunk before the brightness of his glory! and, falling back on the bed, he groaned aloud. To these young men, so strangely brought before him, and both of whom he had wronged, he determined immediately to reveal himself, and see whether they were equally resentful of injuries as those he had served had proved ungrateful for benefits received. He spoke; and when, instead of seeing the pair rise in indignation on his pronouncing his name, they bowed their heads and sat in respectful silence, his desolate heart expanded at once to admit the long-estranged emotion, and he burst into tears. He caught the hand of Bruce, who sat nearest to him, and, stretching out the other to Wallace, exclaimed, "I have not deserved this goodness from either of you. Perhaps you two are the only men now living whom I ever greatly injured; and you, excepting my four poor attendants, are, perhaps, the only men living who would compassionate my misfortunes!"

"These are lessons, king," returned Wallace, with reverence, "to fit you for a better crown. And never in my eyes did the descendant of Alexander seem so worthy of his blood!"

The grateful monarch pressed his hand. Bruce continued to gaze on him with a thousand awful thoughts occupying his mind. Baliol read in his expressive countenance the reflections which chained his tongue.

"Behold, how low is laid the proud rival of your grandfather!" exclaimed he, turning to Bruce. "I compassed a throne I could not fill. I mistook the robes, the homage, for the kingly dignity. I bartered the liberties of my country for a crown I knew not how to wear, and the insidious trafficker not only reclaimed it, but repaid me with a prison. There I expiated my crime against the upright Bruce! Not one of all the Scottish lords who crowded Edward's court came to beguile a moment of sorrow from their captive monarch. Lonely I lived, for the tyrant even deprived me of the comfort of seeing my fellow-prisoner, Lord Douglas--he whom attachment to my true interests had betrayed to an English prison. I never saw him after the day of his being put into the Tower until that of his death." Wallace interrupted the afflicted Baliol with an exclamation of surprise. "Yes," added he, "I myself closed his eyes. At that awful hour he had petitioned to see me, and the boon was granted. I went to him, and then, with his dying breath, he spoke truths to me, which were indeed messengers from Heaven! They taught me what I was, and what I might be. He died. Edward was then in Flanders, and you, brave Wallace, being triumphant in Scotland, and laying such a stress in your negotiations for the return of Douglas, the Southron cabinet agreed to conceal his death, and, by making his name an instrument to excite your hopes and fears, turn your anxiety for him to their own advantage."

A deep scarlet kindled over the face of Bruce. "With what a race have I been so long connected! What mean subterfuges, what dastardly deceits, for the leaders of a great nation to adopt! Oh, king!" exclaimed he, turning to Baliol, "if you have errors to atone for, what then must be the penalty of my sin, for holding so long with an enemy as vile as he is ambitious! Scotland! Scotland! I must weep tears of blood for this!" He rose in agitation. Baliol followed him with his eyes.

"Amiable Bruce! you too severely arraign a fault that was venial in you. Your father gave himself to Edward, and his son accompanied the tribute."

Bruce vehemently answered, "If King Edward ever said that, he uttered a falsehood. My father loved him, confided in him, and the ingrate betrayed him! His fidelity was no gift of himself, in acknowledgment of inferiority; it was the pledge of a friendship exchanged on equal terms on the fields of Palestine. And well did King Edward know that he had no right over either my father or me; for in the moment he doubted our attachment, he was aware of having forfeited it. He knew he had no legal claim on us; and forgetting every law, human and divine, he made us prisoners. But my father found liberty in the grave, and I am ready to take a sure revenge in--" he would have added "Scotland," but he forbore to give the last blow to the unhappy Baliol, by showing him that his kingdom had indeed passed from him, and that the man was before him who might be destined to wield his scepter. Bruce paused, and sat down in generous confusion.

"Hesitate not," said Baliol, "to say where you will take your revenge! I know that the brave Wallace has laid open the way. Had I possessed such a leader of my troops, I should not now be a mendicant in this hovel; I should not be a creature to be pitied and despised. Wear him, Bruce--wear him in your heart's core. He gives the throne he might have filled."

"Make not that a subject of praise," cried Wallace, "which if I had left undone, would have stamped me a traitor. I have only performed my duty; and may the Holy Anointer of the hearts of kings guide Bruce to his kingdom, and keep him there in peace and honor!"

Baliol rose in his bed at these words: "Bruce," said he, "approach me near." He obeyed. The feeble monarch turned to Wallace: "You have supported what was my kingdom through its last struggles for liberty; put forth your hand and support its exiled sovereign in his last legal act." Wallace raised the king, so as to enable him to assume a kneeling posture. Dizzy with the exertion, for a moment he rested on the shoulder of the chief; and then looking up, he met the eyes of Bruce gazing on him with compassionate interest. The unhappy monarch stretched out his arms to Heaven: "May God pardon the injuries which my fatal ambition did to you and yours--the miseries I brought upon my country; and let your reign redeem my errors! May the spirit of wisdom bless you, my son!" His hands were now laid, with pious fervor, on the head of Bruce, who sunk on his knees before him. "Whatever rights I had to the crown of Scotland, by the worthlessness of my reign they are forfeited; and I resign all unto you, even to the participation of the mere title of king. It has been as the ghost of my former self, as an accusing spirit to me, but, I trust, an angel of light to you, it will conduct your people into all happiness!" Exhausted by his feelings, he sunk back into the arms of Wallace. Bruce, rising from his knees, poured a little of the herb-balsam into the king's mouth, and he revived. As Wallace laid him back on his pillows, he gazed wistfully at him, and grasping his hand, said in a low voice: "How did I throw a blessing from me! But in those days, when I rejected your services at Dunbar, I knew not the Almighty arm which brought the boy of Ellerslie to save his country! I scorned the patriot flame that spoke your mission, and the mercy of Heaven departed from me!"**

**This renunciation of Baliol's in favor of Bruce is an historical fact, and it was made in France.

Memory was now busy with the thoughts of Bruce. He remembered his father's weak, if not criminal devotion at that time to the interests of Edward; he remembered his heart-wrung death; and looking at the desolate old age of another of Edward's victims, his brave soul melted to pity and regret, and he retired into a distant part of the room, to shed, unobserved, the tears he could not restrain. Wallace soon after saw the eyes of the exhausted king close in sleep; and cautious of awakening him, he did not stir; but leaning against the thick oaken frame of the bed, was soon lost in as deep a repose.

After some time of complete stillness (for the old dame and the attendants were at rest in the outer chamber), Bruce, whose low sighs were echoed by the wind alone, which swept in gusts by the little casement, looked toward the abdicated monarch's couch. He slept profoundly, yet frequently started, as if disturbed by troubled dreams. Wallace moved not on his hard pillow; and the serenity of perfect peace rested upon all his features.

"How tranquil is the sleep of the virtuous!" thought Bruce, as he contemplated the difference between his state and that of Baliol; "there lies an accusing conscience; here rests one of the most faultless of created beings. It is, it is the sleep of innocence! Come, ye slanderers," continued he, mentally calling on those he had left at Edward's court, "and tell me if an adulterer could look thus when he sleeps! Is there one trace of irregular passion about that placid mouth? Does one of those heavenly-composed features bear testimony to emotions which leave marks even when subdued? No, virtue has set up her throne in that breast, and well may kings come to bow to it!"

LXII. The Widow's Cell

The entrance of the old woman, about an hour after sunrise, awakened Wallace; but Baliol continued to sleep. On the chief's opening his eyes, Bruce with a smile, stretched out his hand to him. Wallace rose; and whispering the widow to abide by her guest till they should return, the twain went forth to enjoy the mutual confidence of friendship. A wood opened its umbrageous arms at a little distance; and thither, over the dew-bespangled grass, they bent their way. The birds sung from tree to tree; and Wallace, seating himself under an overhanging beech, which canopied a narrow winding of the River Seine, listened with mingled pain and satisfaction, to the communications which Bruce had to impart relative to the recent scenes at Durham.

"So rapid had been the events," observed the Scottish prince, when he concluded his narrative, "that all appears to me a troubled vision; and blessed, indeed, was the awaking of last night, when your voice, sounding from the room below that in which I slept, called me to embrace my best friend, as became the son of my ancestors--free, and ready to renew the brightness of their name!"

The discourse next turned to their future plans. Wallace, narrating his adventure with the Red Reaver, proposed that the favor he should ask in return (the King of France being earnest to bestow on him some especial mark of gratitude), should be his interference with Edward to grant the Scots a peaceable retention of their rights.

"In that case, my prince," said he, "you will take possession of your kingdom with the olive-branch in your hand."

Bruce smiled, but shook his head.

"And what then will Robert Bruce be? A king to be sure!--but a king without a name! Who won me my kingdom? Who accomplished this peace? Was it not William Wallace? Can I then consent to mount the throne of my ancestors--so poor, so inconsiderable a creature? I am not jealous of your fame, Wallace; I glory in it; for you are more to me than the light to my eyes; but I would prove my right to the crown by deeds worthy of a sovereign. Till I have shown myself in the field against Scotland's enemies, I cannot consent to be restored to my inheritance, even by you."

"And is it in war alone," returned Wallace, "that you can show deeds worthy of a sovereign? Think a moment, my honored prince, and then scorn your objection. Look on the annals of history, nay, on the daily occurrences of the world, and see how many are brave and complete generals; how few wise legislators; how few such efficient rulers as to procure obedience to the laws, and so give happiness to their people. This is the commission of a king--to be the representative on earth of the Father who is in heaven. Here is exercise for courage, for enterprise, for fortitude, for every virtue which elevates the character of a man, this is the godlike jurisdiction of a sovereign. TO go to the field, to lead his people to scenes of carnage, is often a duty in kings; but it is one of those necessities, which, more than the trifling circumstances of sustaining nature by sleep and food, reminds the conqueror of the degraded state of mortality.** The one shows the weakness of the body, the other, the corruption of the soul. For, how far must man have fallen beneath his former heavenly nature before he can delight in the destruction of his fellow-men! Lament not, then, brave and virtuous prince, that I have kept your hands from the stains of blood. Show yourself beyond the vulgar apprehension of what is fame; and, conscious of the powers with which the Creator has endowed you, assume your throne with the dignity that is their due. Whether it be to the cabinet or to the field that He calls you to act, obey; and rely on it, a name greater than that of the hero of Macedon will await Robert, King of Scots!"

**Alexander the Great one day said to his friend Hephaestion, that "the business of eating and drinking compelled him to remember, and with a sense of abasement, his mortal nature, although he was the son of Ammon."

"You almost persuade me," returned Bruce; "but let us see Philip, and then I will decide."

As morning was now advanced, the friends turned toward the cottage, intending to see Baliol safe, and then proceed together to Guienne to the rescue of Lady Helen. That accomplished, they would visit Paris and hear its monarch's determination.

On entering the humble mansion they found Baliol awake, and anxiously inquiring of the widow what was become of the two knights. At sight of them he stretched out his hands to both, and said he should be able to travel in a few hours. Wallace proposed sending to Rouen for a litter to carry him the more easily thither. "No," cried Baliol with a frown; "Rouen shall never see me again within its walls. It was coming from thence that I lost my way last night; and though my poor servants would gladly have returned with me sooner than see me perish in the storm; yet rather would I have been found dead on the road, a reproach to the kings who have betrayed me, than have taken an hour's shelter in that inhospitable city."

While the friends took the simple breakfast prepared for them by the widow, Baliol related, that in consequence of the interference of Philip le Bel with Edward, he had been released from the Tower of London and sent to France, but under an oath never to leave that country. Philip gave the exiled king the castle of Galliard for a residence; where for some time he enjoyed the shadow of royalty, having still a sort of court composed of his own noble followers, some of whom were now with him, and the barons of the neighborhood. Philip allowed him guards and a splendid table. But on the peace being signed between France and England, in order that Edward might give up his ally the Earl of Flanders to his offended liege lord, the French monarch consented to relinquish the cause of Baliol, and though he should continue to grant him a shelter in his dominions, he removed from him all the appendages of a king.

"Accordingly," continued Baliol, "the guard was taken from my gates, my establishment reduced to that of a private nobleman, and no longer having it in my power to gratify the avidity or to flatter the ambition of those who came about me, I was soon left nearly alone. All but the poor old lieges whom you see, and who had been faithful to me through every change of my life, instantly deserted the forlorn Baliol. In vain I remonstrated with Philip. Either my letters never reached him, or he disdained to answer the man whose claims he had abandoned. Things were in this state when, the other day, and English lord found it convenient to bring his suit to my castle. I received him with hospitality, but soon found that what I gave in courtesy he seized as a right. In the true spirit of his master Edward he treated me more like the keeper of an hostel than a generous host. And on my attempting to plead with him for a Scottish lady whom his turbulent passions have forced from her country and reduced to a pitiable state of illness, he derided my arguments, sarcastically telling me that had I taken care of my kingdom, the door would not have been left open for him to steal its fairest prize--"

Wallace interrupted him: "Heaven grant you may be speaking of Lord de Valence and Lady Helen Mar."

"I am," replied Baliol. "They are now at Galliard, and as her illness seems a lingering one, De Valence declared to me his intentions of continuing there. He seized upon the best apartments, and carried himself with so much haughtiness that, provoked beyond endurance, I ordered my horse and, accompanied by my honest courtiers, rode to Rouen to obtain redress from the governor. But the unworthy Frenchman advised me to go back, and by flattering De Valence try to regain the favor of Edward. I retired in indignation, determined to assert my own rights in my own castle, but the storm overtook me, and being forsaken by false friends, I am saved by generous enemies."

Wallace explained his errand respecting Lady Helen, and anxiously inquired of Baliol whether he meant to return to Galliard?

"Immediately," replied he; "go with me, and if the lady consents (which I do not doubt, for she scorns his prayers for her hand, and passes night and day in tears), I engage to assist in her escape."

Baliol then advised they should not all return to the castle together, the sight of two knights of their appearance accompanying his host being likely to alarm De Valence.

"The quietest way," continued the deposed king, "is the surest. Follow me at a short distance, and toward the shadows of evening, knock at the gates and request a night's entertainment. I will grant it, and then your happy destiny, ever fortunate Wallace, must do the rest."

This scheme being approved, a litter of hurdles was formed for the invalid monarch, and the old woman's pallet spread upon it.

"I will return it to you, my good widow," said Baliol, "and with proofs of my gratitude."

The two friends assisted the king to rise. When he set his food on the floor, he felt so surprisingly better that he though he could ride the journey. Wallace overruled this wish, and with Bruce supported his emaciated figure toward the door. The widow stood to see her guests depart. As Baliol mounted the litter, he slid a piece of gold into her hand. Wallace saw not what the king had given and gave a purse as his reward. Bruce had naught to bestow. He had left Durham with little, and that little was expended.

"My good widow," said he, "I am poor in everything but gratitude. In lieu of gold you must accept my prayers."

"May they, sweet youth," replied she, "return on your own head, giving you bread from the barren land and water out of sterile rock!"

"And have you no blessing for me, mother?" asked Wallace, turning round and regarding her with an impressive look; "some spirit you wist not of, speaks in your words."

"Then it must be a good spirit," answered she; "for all around me betokens gladness. The Scripture saith, 'Be kind to the wayfaring man, for many have so entertained angels unawares!' Yesterday at this time I was the poorest of all the daughters of charity.

"Last night I opened my doors in the storm, you enter and give me riches; he follows and endows me with his prayers! Am I not then greatly favored by Him who dispenseth to all who trust in Him. His mercy and your goodness shall not be hidden; for from this day forth I will light a fire each night in a part of my house whence it may be seen on every side from a great distance. Like you, princely knight, whose gold will make it burn, it shall shine afar, and give light and comfort to all who approach it."

"And when you look on it," said Wallace, "tell your beads for me. I am a son of war, and it may blaze when my vital spark is expiring."

The widow paused, gazed on him steadily, and then burst into tears.

"Is it possible," cried she, "that beautiful face may be laid in dust, that youthful form lay cold in clay, and these aged limbs survive to light a beacon to your memory!--and it shall arise! it shall burn like a holy flame, an incense to Heaven for the soul of him who has succored the feeble, and made the widow's heart to sing for joy!"

Wallace pressed the old woman's withered hand; Bruce did the same. She saw them mount their horses, and when they disappeared from her eyes, she returned into her cottage and wept.

LXIII. Chateau Galliard

When Baliol arrived within a few miles of Chateau Galliard, he pointed to a wooded part of the forest, and told the friends, that under its groves they had best shelter themselves till the sun set; soon after which he should expect them at the castle.

Long indeed seemed the interval. It usually happens that in contemplating a project, while the period of its execution appears distant, we think on it with composure; but when the time of action is near, when we only wait the approach of an auxiliary, or the lapse of an hour, every passing moment seems an age, and the impatient soul is ready to break every bound, to grasp the completion of its enterprise. So Wallace now felt--felt as he had never done before; for in all his warlike exploits each achievement had immediately followed the moment of resolve; but here he was delayed, to grow in ardor as he contemplated an essay in which every generous principle of man was summoned into action. He was going to rescue a helpless woman from the hands of a man of violence; she was also the daughter of his first ally in the great struggle for Scotland, and who had fallen in the cause. Glad was he then to see the sun sink behind the distant hills. At that moment he and his friend closed their visors, mounted their horses, and set off at full speed toward the chateau.

When they came in view of the antique towers of Galliard, they slackened their pace, and leisurely advanced to the gates. The bugle of Wallace demanded admittance; a courteous assent was brought by the warder; the gates unfolded, the friends entered; and in the next instant they were conducted into a room where Baliol sat. De Valence was walking to and fro in a great chafe; he started at sight of the princely armor of Wallace (for he, as Baliol had done, now conceived, from the lilied diadem, that the stranger must be of the royal house of France); and composing his turbulent spirit, he bowed respectfully to the supposed prince. Wallace returned the salutation, and Baliol rising, accosted him with a dignified welcome. He saw the mistake of De Valence, and perceived how greatly it might facilitate the execution of their project.

On his host's return to the chateau, De Valence had received him with more than his former insolence, for the Governor of Rouen had sent him information of the despised monarch's discontent; and when the despotic lord hear a bugle at the gate, and learned that it was answered by the admission of two traveling knights, he flew to Baliol in displeasure, commanding him to recall his granted leave. At the moment of his wrath, Wallace entered, and covered him with confusion. Struck at seeing a French prince in one of the persons he was going to treat with such indignity, he shrunk into himself, and bowed before him with all the cowering meanness of a base and haughty soul. Wallace, feeling his real pre-eminence, bent his head in acknowledgment, with a majesty which convinced the earl that he was not mistaken. Baliol welcomed his guest in a manner not to dispel the illusion.

"Happy am I," cried he, "that the hospitality which John Baliol intended to show to a mere traveler, confers on him the distinction of serving one of a race whose favor confers protection, and its friendship honor."

Wallace returned a gracious reply to this speech; and turning to Bruce, said:

"This knight is my friend; and though from peculiar circumstances neither of us chooses to disclose his name during our journey, yet, whatever they may be, I trust you will confide in the word of one whom you have honored by the address you have now made, and believe that his friend is not unworthy the hospitalities of him who was once King of Scots."

De Valence now approached, and announcing who he was, assured the knights in the name of the King of England, whom he was going to represent in Guienne, of every respect from himself, assistance from his retinue, to bring them properly on their way.

"I return you the thanks due to your courtesy," replied Wallace; "and shall certainly remain to-night a burden on King Baliol; but in the morning we must depart as we came, having a vow to perform, which excludes the service of attendants."

A splendid supper was served, at the board of which De Valence sat, as well as Baliol. From the moment that the strangers entered, the English earl never withdrew; so cautious was he to prevent Baliol informing his illustrious guests of the captivity of Lady Helen Mar. Wallace ate nothing; he sat with his visor still closed, and almost in profound silence, never speaking but when spoken to, and then only answering in as few words as possible. De Valence supposed that this taciturnity was connected with his vow, and did not further remark it; but Bruce (who at Caen had furnished himself with a complete suit of black armor) appeared, though equally invisible under his visor, infinitely more accessible. The humbler fashion of his martial accouterment did not announce the prince; but his carriage was so noble, his conversation bespoke so accomplished a mind, and brave a spirit, that De Valence did not doubt that both men before him were of the royal family. He had never seen Charles de Valois; and believing that he now saw him in Wallace, he directed all that discourse to Bruce, which he meant should reach the ear of De Valois, and from him pass to that of the King of France. Bruce guessed what was passing in his mind; and, with as much amusement as design, led forward the earl's mistake--but rather by allowing him to deceive himself, than by any actual means on his side to increase the deception. De Valence threw out hints respecting a frontier town in Guienne, which, he said, he thought his royal master could be persuaded to yield to the French monarch, as naturally belonging to Gascony. But then the affair must be properly represented, he added; and had he motive enough to investigate some parchments in his possession, he believed he could place the affair in a true light, and convince Edward of the superior claims of the French king. Then casting out hints of the claim he had, by right of his ancestors, to the seigniory of Valence in Dauphiny, he gave them to understand, that if Philip would invest him with the revenues of Valence on the Rhone, he would engage that the other town in question should be delivered to France.

Notwithstanding Baliol's resolution to keep awake and assist his friends in their enterprise, he was so overcome by fatigue that he fell asleep soon after supper, and so gave De Valence full opportunity to unveil his widely-grasping mind to the Scottish chiefs. Wallace now saw that the execution of his project must depend wholly upon himself; and how to inform Helen that he was in the castle, and of his plan to get her out of it, hardly occupied him more than what to devise to detain De Valence in the banqueting-room, while he went forth to prosecute his design. As these thoughts absorbed him, by an unconscious movement he turned toward the English earl. De Valence paused, and looked at him, supposing he was going to speak; but finding him still silent, the earl addressed him, though with some hesitation, feeling an inexplicable awe of directly saying to him what he had so easily uttered to his more approachable companion.

"I seek not, illustrious stranger," said he, "to inquire the name you have already intimated must be concealed; but I have sufficient faith in that brilliant circlet around your brows, to be convinced (as none other than the royal hand of Philip could bestow it) that it distinguishes a man of the first honor. You now know my sentiments, prince; and for the advantage of both kings, I confide them to your services."

Wallace rose.

"Whether I am prince or vassal," replied he, "my services shall ever be given in the cause of justice; and of that, Earl de Valence, you will be convinced when next you hear of me. My friend," cried he, turning to Bruce, "you will remain with our host; I go to perform the vigils of my vow."

Bruce understood him. It was not merely with their host he was to remain, but to detain De Valence, and, opening at once the versatile powers of his abundant mind, his vivacity charmed the earl, while the magnificence of his views in policy corroborated to De Valence the idea that he was conversing with one whose birth had placed him beyond even the temptations of those ambitions which were at that moment subjecting his auditor's soul to every species of flattery, meanness, and, in fact, disloyalty. Bruce, in his turn, listened with much apparent interest to all De Valence's dreams of aggrandizement, and recollecting his reputation for a love of wine, he replenished the earl's goblet so often, that the fumes made him forget all reserve; and after pouring forth the whole history of his attachments to Helen, and his resolution to subdue her abhorrence by love and grandeur, he gradually lowered his key, and at last fell fast asleep.

Meanwhile Wallace wrapped himself in Baliol's blue cloak, which lay in the anteroom, and enveloping even his helmet in the friendly mantle, he moved swiftly along the gallery toward the chamber of Helen. To be prepared for obstacles, he had obtained from Baliol a particular description of the situation of every apartment leading to it. It was now within an hour of midnight. He passed through several large vacant rooms, and at last arrived at the important door. It opened into a small chamber, in which two female attendants lay asleep. He gently raised the latch, and, with caution taking the lamp which burned on the table, glided softly through the curtains which filled the cedar arch that led into the apartment of Helen. He approached the bed, covering the light with his hand, while he observed her. She was in a profound sleep, but pale as the sheet which enveloped her--her countenance seemed troubled, her brows frequently knit themselves, and she started as she dreamed, as if in apprehension. Once he heard her lips faintly murmur, "Save me, my father! on you alone--" There she stopped. His heart bled at this appeal. "Thy father's friend comes to save thee," he would have cried, but he checked the exclamation--his hand dropped at the same instant from before the lamp, and the blaze striking full on her eyes, waked her. She looked up, and she believed her dream realized--De Valence leaning over the bed, and herself wholly in his power! A shriek of horror as bursting from her lips, when Wallace hastily raised his visor. At the moment when despair was in her orphan heart, and her whole soul turned with abhorrence from the supposed De Valence, she met the eyes of the dearest to her on earth--those of indeed her father's friend! Stretching forth her arms, for an instant she seemed flying to the protection of him to whose honor she had been bequeathed; but falling back again on her bed, the glad surprise of seeing him, who in her estimation was her only earthly security now that her father was no more, shook her with such emotion, that Wallace feared to see her delicate frame sink into some deadly swoon.

Alarmed for her life, or the accomplishment of her deliverance, he threw himself on his knees beside her, and softly whispered, "Be composed, for the love of Heaven and your own safety. Be collected and firm, and you shall fly this place with me to-night."

Hardly conscious of the action, Helen grasped the hand that held hers, and would have replied; but her voice failing, she fainted on his arm. Wallace now saw no alternative but to remove her hence, even in this insensible state; and, raising her gently in his arms, enveloped in the silk coverlet, with cautious steps he bore her through the curtained entrance, and passed the sleeping damsels into the anterooms. To meet any of De Valence's men while in this situation would betray ll. To avoid this, he hastened through the illuminated passages, and turning into the apartment appointed for himself, laid the now reviving Helen upon a couch. "Water," said she, "and I shall soon be myself again."

He gave her some, and at the same time laying a page's suit of clothes (which Baliol had provided) beside her, "Dress yourself in these, Lady Helen," said he; "I shall withdraw meanwhile into the passage, but your safety depends on expedition."

Before she could answer he had disappeared. Helen instantly threw herself on her knees to thank a higher power for this commencement of her deliverance, and to beseech His blessing on its consummation. She rose strengthened, and, obeying Wallace, the moment she was equipped, she laid her hand upon the latch, but the watchful ear of her friend heard her, and he immediately opened the door. The lamps of the gallery shone full upon the light grace of her figure, as shrinking with blushing modesty, and yet eager to be with her preserver, she stood hesitating before him. He threw his cloak over her, and putting her arm through his, in the unobscured blaze of his princely armor, he descended to the lower hall of the castle. One man only was there. Wallace ordered him to open the great door. "It is a fine night," said he, "and I shall ride some miles before I sleep." The man asked if he were to saddle the horses; he was answered in the affirmative, and the gate being immediately unbarred, Wallace led his precious charge into the freedom of the open air. As soon as she saw the outside of those towers, which she had entered as the worst of all prisoners, her heart so overflowed with gratitude to her deliverer, that sinking by his side upon her knees, she could only grasp his hand, and bathe it with the pure tears of rescued innocence. Her manner penetrated his soul, and he raised her in his arms; but she, dreading that she had perhaps done too much, convulsively articulated, "My father--his blessing--"

"Was a rich endowment, Lady Helen," returned Wallace, "and you shall ever find me deserving of it." Her head leaned on his breast. But how different was the lambent flame which seemed to emanate from either heart, as they now beat against each other, from the destructive fire which shot from the burning veins of Lady mar, when she would have polluted with her unchaste lips this shrine of a beloved wife, this bosom consecrated to her sacred image! Wallace had shrunk from her, as from the touch of some hideous contagion, but with Lady Helen it was soul meeting soul, it was innocence resting on the bosom of virtue. No thought that saints would not have approved was there, no emotion which angels might not have shared, glowed in their grateful bosoms--she, grateful to him; both grateful to God.

The man brought the horses from the stable. He knew that two strangers had arrived at the castle, and not noticing Helen's stature, supposed they were both before him. He had been informed by the servants, that the taller of the two was the Count de Valois, and he now held the stirrup for him to mount; But Wallace placed Helen on Bruce's horse, and then vaulting on his own, put a piece of gold into the attendant's hand.

"You will return, noble prince?" inquired the man.

"Why should you doubt it?" answered Wallace.

"Because," replied the servant, "I wish the brother of the King of France to know the foul deeds which are doing in his dominions."

"By whom?" asked Wallace, surprised at this address.

"By the Earl de Valence, prince," answered he; "he has now in this castle a beautiful lady, whom he brought from a foreign land, and treats in a manner unbecoming a knight or a man."

"And what would you have me do?" said Wallace, willing to judge whether this applicant were honest in his appeal.

"Come in the power of your royal brother," answered he, "and demand the Lady Helen Mar of Lord de Valence."

Helen, who had listened with trepidation to this dialogue, drew nearer Wallace, and whispered in an agitated voice, "Ah! let us hasten away."

The man was close enough to hear her.

"Hah!" cried he, in a burst of doubtful joy; "is it so? Is she here? say so, noble knight, and Joppa Grimsby will serve ye both forever!"

"Grimsby!" cried Helen, recollecting his voice the moment he had declared his name; "what! the honest English soldier? I and my preserver will indeed value so trusty a follower."

The name of Grimsby was too familiar to the memory of Wallace, too closely associated with his most cherished meditations, for him not to recognize it with melancholy pleasure. He had never seen Grimsby, but he knew him well worthy of his confidence; and ordered him (if he really desired to follow Lady Helen) to bring two more horses from the stables. When they were brought, Wallace made the joyful signal concerted with Bruce and Baliol, to sound the Scottish pryse as soon as he and his fair charge were out of the castle.

The happy tidings met the ear of the prince while anxiously watching the sleeping of De Valence, for fear he should awake and, leaving the room, interrupt Wallace in his enterprise. What, then, was his transport when the first note of the horn burst upon the silence around him! He sprung on his feet. The impetuosity of the action roused Baliol, who had been lying all the while sound asleep in his chair. Bruce made a sign to him to be silent, and pressing his hand with energy, forgot the former Baliol in the present, and, for a moment bending his knee, kissed the hand he held; then, rising, disappeared in an instant.

He flew through the open gates. Wallace perceiving him, rode out from under the shadow of the trees. The bright light of the moon shone on his sparkling crest; that was sufficient for Bruce, and Wallace, falling back again into the shade, was joined the next moment by his friend. Who this friend was for whom her deliverer had told Helen he waited, she did not ask; for she dreaded, while so near danger, to breathe a word; but she guessed that it must either be Murray or Edwin. De Valence had barbarously told her that not only her father was no more, but that her uncles, the Lords Bothwell and Ruthven, had both been killed in the last battle. Hence, with a saddened joy, one of her two bereaved cousins she now prepared to see; and every filial recollection pressing on her heart her tears flowed silently and in abundance. As Bruce approached, his black mantle so wrapped him she could not distinguish his figure. Wallace stretched forth his hand to him in silence; he grasped it with the warm but mute congratulation of friendship, and throwing himself on his horse, triumphantly exclaimed, "Now for Paris!" Helen recognized none she knew in that voice; and drawing close to the white courser of Wallace, with something like disappointment mingling with her happier thoughts, she made her horse keep pace with the fleetness of her companions.

LXIV. Forest of Vincennes

Avoiding the frequented track to Paris, Wallace (to whom Grimsby was now a valuable auxiliary, he being well acquainted with the country) took a sequestered path by the banks of the Marne, and entered the Forest of Vincennes just as the moon set. Having ridden far, and without cessation, the old soldier proposed their alighting, to allow the lady an opportunity of reposing awhile under the trees. Helen was indeed nearly exhausted, though the idea of her happy flight, by inspiring her with a strength which surprised even herself, for a long time had kept her insensible to fatigue. While her friends pressed on with a speed which allowed no more conversation than occasional inquiries of how she bore the journey, the swiftness of the motion and the rapidity of the events which had brought her from the most frightful of situations into one the dearest to her secret and hardly-breathed wishes, so bewildered her faculties, that hse almost feared she was only enjoying one of those dreams which since her captivity had often mocked her with the image of Wallace and her release; and every moment she dreaded to awake and find herself still a prisoner to De Valence. "I want no rest," replied she to the observation of Grimsby; "I could feel none till we are beyond the possibility of being overtaken by my enemy."

"You are as safe in this wood, lady," returned the soldier, "as you can be in any place betwixt Galliard and Paris. It is many miles from the chateau, and lies in so remote a direction, that were the earl to pursue us, I am sure he would never choose this path."

"And did he even come up with us, dear Lady Helen," said Wallace, "could you fear, when with your father's friend?"

"It is for my father's friend I fear," gently answered she; "I can have no dread for myself while under such protection."

A very little more persuaded Helen; and Grimsby having spread his cloak on the grass, Wallace lifted her from her horse. As soon as she put her foot to the ground her head grew giddy, and she must have fallen but for the supporting arm of her watchful friend. He carried her to the couch prepared by the good soldier, and laid her on it. Grimsby had been more provident than they could have expected; for after saddling the second pair of horses, he had returned into the hall for his cloak, and taking an undrawn flask of wine from the seneschal's supper-table, put it into his vest. This he now produced, and Wallace made Helen drink some of it. The cordial soon revived her, and sinking on her pillow of leaves, she soon found the repose her wearied frame demanded and induced. For fear of disturbing her not a word was spoken. Wallace watched at her head, and Bruce sat at her feet, while Grimsby remained with the horses, as a kind of outpost.

Sweet was her sleep, for the thoughts with which she sunk into slumber occupied her dreams. Still she was riding by the side of Wallace, listening to his voice, cheering her through the lengthening way! But some wild animal in its nightly prowl crossing before the horses, they began to snort and plunge, and though the no less terrified alarmer fled far away, it was with difficulty the voice and management of Grimsby could quiet them. The noise suddenly awoke Helen, and her scattered faculties not immediately recollecting themselves, she felt an instant impression that all had indeed been a dream, and starting in affright, she exclaimed, "Where am I? Wallace, where art thou?"

"Here!" cried he, pressing her hand with fraternal tenderness; "I am here; you are safe with your friend and brother."

Her heart beat with a terror which this assurance could hardly subdue. At last she said in an agitated voice, "Forgive me if my senses are a little strayed! I have suffered so much, and this release seems so miraculous, that at moments I hardly believe it real. I wish daylight were come that I might be convinced." When she had uttered these words, she suddenly stopped, and then added, "But I am very weak to talk thus; I believe my late terrors have disordered my head."

"What you feel, lady, is only natural," observed Bruce; "I experienced the same when I first regained my liberty, and found myself on the road to join Sir William Wallace. Dear, indeed, is liberty; but dearer is the friend whose virtues make our recovered freedom sure."

"Who speaks to me?" said Helen, in a low voice to Wallace, and raising her head from that now supporting arm, on which she felt she did but too much delight to lean.

"One," answered Wallace, in the same tone, "who is not to be publicly known until occasion demands it; one who, I trust in God, will one day seal the happiness of Scotland--Robert Bruce."

That name which, when in her idea it belonged to Wallace, used to raise such emotions in her breast, she now heard with an indifference that surprised her. But who could be more to Scotland than Wallace had been? All that was in the power of patriot or of king to do for his country, he had done; and what then was Bruce in her estimation? One who, basking in pleasures while his country suffered, allowed a brave subject to breast, to overthrow every danger, before he put himself forward? and now he appeared to assume a throne, which, though his right by birth, he had most justly forfeited, by neglecting the duties indispensable in the heir of so great and oppressed a kingdom! These would have been her thoughts of him; but Wallace called this Bruce his friend! and the few words she had heard him speak, being full of gratitude to her deliverer, that engaged her esteem.

The answer, however, which she made to the reply of Wallace was spontaneous, and it struck upon the heart of Bruce. "How long," said she, "have you promised Scotland that it should see that day!"

"Long, to my grief, Lady Helen," rejoined Bruce; "I would say to my shame--had I ever intentionally erred toward my country; but ignorance of her state, and of the depth of Edward's treachery, was my crime. I only required to be shown the right path to pursue it, and Sir William Wallace came to point the way. My soul, lady, is not unworthy the destiny to which he calls me." Had there been light, she would have seen the flush of conscious virtue that overspread his fine countenance while he spoke; but the words were sufficient to impress her with that respect he deserved, and which her answer showed.

"My father taught me to consider the Bruce the rightful heirs of Scotland; and now that I see the day which he so often wished to hail, I cannot but regard it as the termination of Scotland's woes. Oh! had it been before! perhaps--" Here she paused, for tears stopped her utterance.

"You think," rejoined Bruce, "that much bloodshed might have been spared! But, dear lady, poison not the comfort of your life by that belief. No man exists who could have effected so much for Scotland in so short a time, and with so little loss, as our Wallace has done. Who, like him, makes mercy the companion of war, and compels even his enemies to emulate the clemency he shows? Fewer have been slain on the Scottish side during the whole of his struggle with Edward, than were lost by Baliol on the fatal day of Dunbar. Then, no quarter was given; and too many of the wounded were left to perish on the field. But with Wallace, life was granted to all who asked; the wounded enemy and the friend were alike succored by him. This conduct provoked the jealousy of the Southron generals, not to be surpassed in generosity, and thus comparatively few have been lost. But if in that number some of our noblest chiefs, we must be resigned to yield to God what is his own; may, we must be grateful, daughter of the gallant Mar, for the manner in which they were taken. They fell in the arms of true glory, like parents defending their offspring; while others--my grandfather and father--perished with broken hearts, in unavailing lamentations that they could not share the fate of those who died for Scotland."

"But you, dear Bruce," returned Wallace, "will live for her; will teach those whose hearts have bled in her cause, to find a balm for every wound in her prosperity."

Helen smiled through her tears at those words. They spoke the heavenly consolation which had descended on her mourning spirit. "If Scotland be to rest under the happy reign of Robert Bruce, then envy cannot again assail Sir William Wallace, and my father has not shed his blood in vain. His beautified spirit, with those of my uncles Bothwell and Ruthven, will rejoice in such a peace, and I shall enjoy it to felicity, in so sacred a participation." Surprised at her associating the name of Lord Ruthven with those who had fallen, Wallace interrupted her with the assurance of her uncle's safety. The Scottish chiefs easily understood that De Valence had given her the opposite intelligence, to impress her with an idea that she was friendless, and so precipitate her into the determination of becoming his wife. But she did not repeat to her brave auditors all the arguments he had used to shake her impregnable heart--impregnable, because a principle kept guard there, which neither flattery nor ambition could dispossess. He had told her that the very day in which she would give him her hand, King Edward would send him viceroy into Scotland, where she should reign with all the power and magnificence of a queen. He was handsome, accomplished, and adored her; but Helen could not love him whom she could not esteem, for she knew he was libertine, base and cruel. That he loved her affected her not; she could only be sensible to an affection placed on worthy foundations; and he who trampled on all virtues in his own actions, could not desire them when seen in her; he therefore must love her for the fairness of her form alone; and to place any value on such affection was to grasp the wind.

Personal flatteries having made no impression on Helen, ambitious projects were attempted with equal failure. Had De Valence been lord of the eastern and western empires, could he have made her the envy and admiration of a congregated world, all would have been in vain; she had seen and known the virtues of Sir William Wallace; and from that hour, all that was excellent in man, and all that was desirable on earth, seemed to her to be in him summed up. "On the barren heath," said she to herself, "in some desert island, with only thee and thy virtues, how happy could be Helen Mar! how great! For, to share thy heart--thy noble, glorious heart--would be a bliss, a seal of honor from Heaven, with which no terrestrial elevation could compare!" Then would she sigh; capable of appreciating and loving above all earthly things the matchless virtues of Sir William Wallace. On the very evening of the night in question in which he had so unexpectedly appeared to release her, her thoughts had been engaged in this train: "Yes," cried she to herself, "even in loving thy perfections there is such enjoyment, that I would rather be as I am--what others might call the hopeless Helen, than the loving and beloved of any other man on earth. In thee I love virtue; and the imperishable sentiment will bless me in the world to come." With these thoughts she had fallen asleep; she dreamed that she called on her father, on Wallace to save her, and on opening her eyes, she had found him indeed near.

Every word which this almost adored friend now said to comfort her with regard to her own immediate losses, to assure her of the peace of Scotland, should Heaven bless the return of Bruce, took root in her soul, and sprung up into resignation and happiness. She listened to the plans of Wallace and of Bruce to effect their great enterprise, and the hours of the night passed to her not only in repose, but in enjoyment. Wallace, though pleased with the interest she took in even the minutest details of their design, became fearful of overtasking her weakened frame; he whispered Bruce to gradually drop the conversation; and, as it died away, slumber again stole over her eyelids.

The dawn had spread far over the sky while she yet slept. Wallace sat contemplating her, and the now sleeping Bruce, who had also imperceptibly sunk to rest. Various and anxious were his meditations. He had hardly seen seven-and-twenty years, yet so had he been tried in the vicissitudes of life, that he felt as if he had lived a century; and instead of looking on the lovely Helen as on one whose charms might claim a lover's lovely Helen as on one whose charms might claim a lover's wishes in his breast, he regarded her with sentiments more like parental tenderness. That, indeed, seemed the affection which now reigned in his bosom. He felt as a father toward Scotland. For every son and daughter of that harassed country, he was ready to lay down his life. Edwin he cherished in his heart as he would have done the dearest of his own offspring. It was as a parent to whom a beloved and prodigal son had returned, that he looked on Bruce. But Helen, of all Scotland's daughters, she was the most precious in his eyes; set love aside, and no object without the touch of that all-pervading passion could he regard with more endearing tenderness than he did Helen Mar.

The shades of night vanished before the bright uprise of the king of day, and with them her slumbers. She stirred; she awoke. The lark was then soaring with shrill cadence over her head; its notes pierced the ear of Bruce, and he started on his feet.

"You have allowed me to sleep, Wallace?"

"And why not?" replied he. "Here it was safe for all to have slept. Yet had there been danger, I was at my post to have called you." He gently smiled as he spoke.

"Whence, my friend," cried Bruce, with a respondent beam on his countenance, "did you draw the ethereal essence that animates your frame? You toil for us--watch for us, and yet you never seem fatigued, never discomposed! How is this? What does it mean?"

"That the soul is immortal," answered Wallace; "that it has a godlike power given to it by the Giver of all good, even while on earth, to subdue the wants of this mortal frame. The circumstances in which Heaven has cast me, have disciplined my circumstances in which Heaven has cast me, have disciplined my body to obey my mind in all things; and, therefore, when the motives for exertion are strong within me, it is long, very long, before I feel hunger, thirst, or drowsiness. Indeed, while thus occupied, I have often thought it possible for the activity of the soul so to wear the body, that some day she might find it suddenly fall away from about her spiritual substance, and leave her unencumbered, without having felt the touch of death. And yet, that Elisha-like change," continued Wallace, following up on his own thought, "could not be till Heaven sees the appointed time. 'Man does not live by bread alone;' neither by sleep, nor any species of refreshment. His Spirit alone, who created all things, can give us a rest, while we keep the strictest vigils; His power can sustain the wasting frame, even in a barren wilderness."

"True," replied Helen, looking timidly up: "but, because Heaven is so gracious as sometimes to work miracles in our favor, surely we are not authorized to neglect the natural means of obtaining the same end?"

"Certainly not," returned Wallace; "it is not for man to tempt God at any time. Sufficient for us it is to abide by His all-wise dispensations. When we are in circumstances that allow the usual means of life, it is demanded of us to use them. But when we are brought into situations where watching, fasting, and uncommon toils are not to be avoided, then it is an essential part of our obedience to perform our duties to the end, without any regard to the wants which may impede our way. It is in such an hour, when the soul of man, resolved to obey, looks down on human nature and looks up to God, that he receives both the manna and the ever-living waters of heaven. By this faith and perseverance, the uplifted hands of Moses prevailed over Amalek in Rephidim; and by the same did the lengthened race of the sun light Joshua to a double victory in Gibeon."

The morning vapors having dispersed from the opposite plain, and Helen being refreshed by her long repose, Wallace seated her on horseback, and they recommenced their journey. The helmets of both chiefs were now open. Grimsby looked at one and the other; the countenances of both assured him that he should find a protector in either. He drew toward Helen; she noticed his manner, and observing to Wallace that she believed the soldier wished to speak with her, checked her horse. At this action, Grimsby presumed to ride up, and bowing respectfully, said, that before he followed her to Paris, it would be right for the Count de Valois to know whom he had taken into his train; "one, madam, who has been degraded by King Edward; degraded," added he, "but not debased; that last disgrace depends on myself; and I should shrink from your protection rather than court it, were I indeed vile."

"You have too well proved your integrity, Grimsby," replied Helen, "to doubt it now; but what has the Count de Valois to do with your being under my protection? It is not to him we go, but to the French king."

"And is not that knight with the diadem," inquired Grimsby, "the Count de Valois? The servants at Chateau Galliard told me he was so."

Surprised at this, Helen said the knight should answer for himself; and quickening the step of her horse, followed by Grimsby, rejoined his side.

When she informed Wallace of what had passed, he called the soldier to approach. "Grimsby," said he, "you have claims upon me which should insure you my protection were I even insensible to the honorable principles you have just declared to Lady Helen. But, I repeat, I am already your friend. You have only to speak, and all in my power to serve you shall be done."

"Then, sir," returned he, "as mine is rather a melancholy story, and parts of it have already drawn tears from Lady Helen, if you will honor me with your attention apart from her, I would relate how I fell into disgrace with my sovereign."

Wallace fell a little back with Grimsby; and while Bruce and Helen rode briskly forward, he, at a slower pace, prepared to listen to the recapitulation of scenes in which he was only too deeply interested. The soldier began by narrating the fatal events at Ellerslie, which had compelled him to leave the army in Scotland. He related that after quitting the priory of St. Fillan, he reached Guienne, and there served under the Earl of Lincoln, until the marriage of Edward with King Philip's sister gave the English monarch quiet possession of that province. Grimsby then marched with the rest of the troops to join their sovereign in Flanders. There he was recognized, and brought to judgment by one of Heselrigge's captains; one who had been a particular favorite with the tyrant from their similarity of disposition, and to whom he had told the mutiny and desertion (as he called it) of Grimsby. But on the presentation of the Earl of Lincoln, his punishment was mitigated from death to the infliction of a certain number of lashes. This sentence, which the honest officer regarded as worse than the loss of life, was executed. On stripping him at the halberts, Lady Helen's gift, the diamond clasp, was found hanging round his neck; this was seized as a proof of some new crime; his general now gave him up; and so inconsistent were his judges, that while they allowed this treason (for so they stigmatized his manly resentment of Heselrigge's cruelty) to prejudice them in this second charge, they would not believe what was so probable, that this very jewel had been given to him by a friend of Sir William Wallace in reward for his behavior on that occasion. He appealed to Edward, but he appealed in vain; and on the following day he was adjudged to be broken on the wheel for the supposed robbery.

Every heart was callous to his sufferings, but that of the wife of his jailer; who, fancying him like a brother of hers, who had been killed ten years before in Italy, at the dead of the night she opened his prison doors. He fled into Normandy; and, without a home, outlawed, branded as a traitor and a thief, he was wandering half-desperate one stormy night on the banks of the Marne, when a cry of distress attracted his attention. It issued from the suit of De Valence, on his way to Guienne. Scared at the tempest, the female attendants of Lady Helen had abandoned themselves to shrieks of despair; but she, insensible to anything but grief, lay in perfect stillness in the litter that conveyed her. As Grimsby approached the travelers, De Valence demanded his assistance to conduct them to a place of shelter. Chateau Galliard was the nearest residence fit to receive the earl and his train. Thither the soldier led them, and heard from the servants that the lady in the vehicle was their lord's wife, and a lunatic. Grimsby remained in the chateau, because he had nowhere else to go; and by accidental speeches from the lady's attendants soon found that she was not married to the earl; and was not only perfectly sane, but often most cruelly treated. Her name he had never learned until the last evening, when, carrying some wine into the banqueting-room, he heard De Valence mention it to the other stranger knight. He then retired full of horror, resolving to essay her rescue himself; but the unexpected sight of the two knights in the hall determined him to reveal the case to them. "This," added Grimsby, "is my story; and whoever you are, noble lord, if you think me not unworthy your protection, grant it, and you shall find me faithful unto death."

"I owe you that, and more," replied the chief; "I am that Wallace on whose account you fled your country; and if you be willing to share the fortunes of one who may live and die in camps, I pledge you that my best destiny shall be yours." Could Grimsby in his joyful surprise have thrown himself at the feet of Wallace, he would have done so; but taking hold of the end of his scarf, he pressed it enthusiastically to his lips, and exclaimed:

"Bravest of the brave, this is beyond my prayers; to meet here the triumphant lord of Scotland! I fell innocently into disgrace; ah! how am I now exalted unto honor! My country would have deprived me of life; I am therefore dead to it, and live only to gratitude and you!"

"Then," replied Wallace, "as the first proof of the confidence I repose in you, know that the young chief who is riding forward with Lady Helen is Robert Bruce, the Prince of Scotland. Our next enterprise is to place him upon the throne of his ancestors. Meanwhile, till we license you to do otherwise, keep our names a secret, and call us by those we may hereafter think fit to assume."

Grimsby, once more reinstated in the station he deserved--that of trust and respect--no longer hung his head in abject despondency; but looking erect as one born again from disgrace, he became the active, cheerful, and faithful servant of Wallace.

During Wallace's conversation with the soldier, Helen was listening with delight to the encomiums which Bruce passed upon his friend and champion. As his eloquent tongue described the merits of Wallace, and expressed an ardent gratitude for his having so gloriously supplied his place to Scotland, Helen turned her eyes upon the prince. Before she had scarcely remarked that he was more than young and handsome; but now, while she contemplated the noble confidence which breathed in every feature, she said to herself: "This man is worthy to be the friend of Wallace! His soul is a mirror to reflect all the brightness of Wallace's; ay, like as with the sun's rays, to kindle with heaven's fire all on whom it turns."

Bruce remarked the unusual animation of her eyes as she looked at him.

"You feel all I say of Wallace," said he. And it was not a charge at which she need blush.

It was addressed to that perception of exalted worth which regards neither sex nor age. Helen did not misapprehend him. The amiable frankness of his manner seemed to open to him her heart. Wallace she adored almost as a god; Bruce she could love as a brother. It requires not time nor proof to make virtuous hearts coalesce; there is a language without sounds, a recognition, independent of the visual organ, which acknowledges the kindred of congenial souls almost in the moment they meet. "The virtuous mind knoweth its brother in the dark!" This was said by the man whose soul sympathized in every noble purpose with that of Wallace; while Helen, impelled by the same principle, and blushing with an emotion untainted by any sensation of shame, replied:

"I am too grateful to Heaven for having allowed me to witness the goodness, to share the esteem of such a being--a man whose like I have never seen."

"He is one of the few, Lady Helen," replied Bruce, "who is worthy of so august a title; and he brightly shows the image in which he was made; so humble, so dignified, so great, so lowly; so super-eminent in all accomplishments of mind and body; wise, brave, and invincible; yet forbearing, gentle, and unassuming; formed to be beloved, yet without a touch of vanity; loving all who approach him, without the least alloy of passion. Ah! Lady Helen, he is a model after which I will fashion my life; for he has written the character of the Son of God in his heart, and it shall be my study to transcribe the blessed copy into mine!"

Tears of gratitude glittered in the eye, and on the smile of Helen. To answer Bruce she found to be impossible, but that her smile and look were appreciated by him, his own told her; and stretching out his hand to her, as she put hers into his, he said:

"We are united in his heart, my sweet friend!"

At this moment Wallace joined them. He saw the action, and the animation on each countenance, and looked at Bruce with a glance of inquiry; but Bruce perceived nothing of a lover's jealousy in the look; it carried the wish of a friend to share what had impressed them with such happy traits.

"We have been talking of you," returned the prince, "and if to be beloved is a source of joy, you must be peculiarly blessed. The affections of Lady Helen and myself have met, and made your heart the altar on which we have pledged our fraternal love."

Wallace regarded each with a look of tenderness. "It is my joy to love you both like a brother, but Lady Helen must consider me as even more than that to her. I am her father's representative, I am the voice of grateful Scotland, thanking her for the preservation her generous exertions yielded! And to you, my prince, I am your friend, your subject--all that is devoted and true."

Thus enjoying the dear communion of hearts, the interchange of mind, and mingling soul with soul, did these three friends journey toward the gates of Paris. Every hour seemed an age of blessedness to Helen, so gratefully did she enjoy each passing moment of a happiness that seemed to speak of Paradise. Nature never before appeared so beautiful in her eyes, the sky was more serene, the birds sung with sweeter notes, the landscape shone in brighter charms; the fragrances of the flowers bathed her senses in the softest balm; and the very air as it breathed around her, seemed fraught with life and joy. But Wallace animated the scene; and while she fancied that she inhaled his breath in every respiration, she moved as if on enchanted ground. Oh! she could have lingered there forever! and hardly did she know what it was to draw any but sighs of bliss till she saw the towers of Paris embattling the horizon. They reminded her that she was now going to be occasionally divided from him; that when entered within those walls, it would no longer be decorous for her to pass days and nights in listening to his voice, in losing all of woman's love in the beautified affection of an angel.

This passion of the soul (if such it may be called), which has its rise in virtue and its aim the same, would be most unjustly degraded were it classed with what the herd generally entitle love. The love which men stigmatize, deride, and yet encourage, is a fancy, an infatuation, awakened by personal attraction, by--the lover knows not what, sometimes by gratified vanity, sometimes by idleness, and often by the most debasing propensities of human nature. Earthly it is, and unto earth it shall return! But love, true heaven-born love, that pure affection which unites congenial spirits here, and with which the Creator will hereafter connect in one blessed fraternity the whole kindred of mankind, has but one cause--the universal unchangeableness and immortality, a something so excellent that the simple wish to partake its essence in the union of affection, to facilitate and to share its attainment of true and lasting happiness, invigorates our virtue and inspires our souls. These are the aims and joys of real love. It has nothing selfish; in every desire it soars above this earth; and anticipates, as the ultimatum of its joy, the moment when it shall meet its partner before the throne of God. Such was the sentiment of Helen toward Wallace. So unlike what she had seen in others of the universal passion, she would hardly have acknowledged to herself that what she felt was love, had not the anticipation of even an hour's separation from him, whispered the secret to her heart.

LXV. Paris

When they were arrived within a short distance from Paris, Wallace wrote a few lines to King Philip, informing him who were the companions of his journey, and that he would rest near the Abbey of St. Genevieve until he should receive his majesty's greetings to Bruce; also the queen's granted protection for the daughter of the Earl of Mar. Grimsby was the bearer of this letter. He soon returned with an escort of honor, accompanied by Prince Louis himself. At sight of Wallace he flew into his arms, and after embracing him again and again with all the unchecked ardor of youthful gratitude, he presented to him a packet from the king.

It expressed the satisfaction of Philip at the near prospect of his seeing the man whom he had so long admired, and whose valor had wrought him such service as the preservation of his son. He then added that he had other matters to thank him for when they should meet, and subjects to discuss which would be much elucidated by the presence of Bruce. "According to your request," continued he, "the name of neither shall be made public at my court. My own family only know who are to be my illustrious guests. The queen is impatient to bid them welcome, and no less eager to greet the Lady Helen Mar with her friendship and protection."

A beautiful palfrey, superbly caparisoned, and tossing its fair neck amid the pride of its gorgeous chamfraine, was led forward by a page. Two ladies, also, bearing rich apparel for Helen, appeared in the train. When their errand was made known to Wallace, he communicated it to Helen. Her delicacy indeed wished to lay aside her page's apparel before she was presented to the queen; but she had been so happy while she wore it!

"Days have passed with me in these garments," said she to herself, "which may never occur again!"

The laddies were conducted to her. They delivered a gracious message from their royal mistress, and opened the caskets. Helen sighed; she could urge nothing in opposition to their embassy, and reluctantly assented to the change they were to make in her appearance. She stood mute while they disarrayed her of her humble guise, and clothed her in the robes of France. During their attendance, in the adulatory strains of the court, they broke out in encomiums on the graces of her person; but to all this she turned an inattentive ear--her mind was absorbed in what she had enjoyed, in the splendid penance she might now undergo.

One of the women was throwing the page's clothes carelessly into a bag, when Helen perceiving her, with ill-concealed eagerness, cried:

"Take care of that suit, it is more precious to me than gold or jewels."

"Indeed!" answered the attendant, more respectfully folding it; "it does not seem of very rich silk."

"Probably not," returned Helen, "but it is valuable to me, and wherever I lodge, I will thank you to put it into my apartment."

A mirror was now presented that she might see herself. She started at the load of jewels with which they had adorned her, and while tears filled her eyes, she mildly said:

"I am a mourner, and these ornaments must not be worn by me."

The ladies obeyed her wish to have them taken off, and with thoughts divided between her father and her father's friend, she was conducted toward the palfrey. Wallace approached her, and Bruce flew forward, with his usual haste, to assist her; but it was no longer the beautiful little page that met his view, the confidential and frank glance of a youthful brother--it was a lovely woman arrayed in all the charms of female apparel, trembling and blushing, as she again appeared as a woman before the eyes of the man she loved. Wallace sighed as he touched her hand, for there was something in her air which seemed to say, "I am not what I was a few minutes ago." It was the aspect of the world's austerity, the decorum of rank and situation--but not of the heart--that had never been absent from the conduct of Helen; had she been in the wilds of Africa, with no other companion than Wallace, still would those chaste reserves which lived in her soul have been there the guardian of her actions, for modesty was as much the attribute of her person, as magnanimity the character of her mind.

Her more distant air at this time was the effect of reflections while in the abbey where he had lodged her. She saw that the frank intercourse between them was to be interrupted by the forms of a court, and her manner insensibly assumed the demeanor she was so soon to wear. Bruce looked at her with delighted wonder. He had before admired her as beautiful, he now gazed on her as transcendently so. He checked himself in his swift step--he paused to look on her and Wallace, and contemplating them with sentiments of unmingled admiration, this exclamation unconsciously escaped him:

"How lovely!"

He could not but wish to see two such perfectly amiable and perfectly beautiful beings united as closely by the bonds of the altar as he believed they were in heart, and he longed for the hour when he might endow them with those proofs of his fraternal love which should class them with the first of Scottish princes.

"But how," thought he, "can I ever sufficiently reward thee, Wallace, for what thou hast done for me and mine? Thy services are beyond all price; thy soul is above even empires. Then how can I show thee all that is in my heart for thee?"

While he thus apostrophized his friend, Wallace and Helen advanced toward him. Bruce held out his hand to her with a cordial smile.

"Lady Helen, we are still to be the same! Robes of no kind must ever separate the affections born in our pilgrimage!"

She put her hand into his with a glow of delight.

"While Sir William Wallace allows me to call him brother," answered she, "that will ever be a sanction to our friendship; but courts are formal places, and I now go to one."

"And I will soon remove you to another," replied he, "where"--he hesitated--looked at Wallace and then resumed: "where every wish of my sister Helen's heart shall be gratified, or I be no king."

Helen blushed deeply and hastened toward the palfrey. Wallace placed her on the embroidered saddle, and Prince Louis preceding the cavalcade, it moved on.

As Bruce vaulted into his seat he said something to his friend of the perfectly feminine beauty of Helen.

"But her soul is fairer!" returned Wallace.

The Prince of Scotland, with a gay but tender smile, softly whispered:

"Fair, doubly fair to you!"

Wallace drew a deep sigh.

"I never knew but one woman who resembled her, and she did indeed excel all of created mold. From infancy to manhood I read every thought of her angelic heart; I became the purer by the study, and I loved my model with an idolatrous adoration. There was my error! But those sympathies, those hours are past. My heart will never throb as it has throbbed; never rejoice as it has rejoiced; for she who lived but for me, who doubled all my joys, is gone! Oh, my prince, though blessed with friendship, there are times when I feel that I am solitary!"

Bruce looked at him with some surprise.

"Solitary, Wallace! can you ever be solitary, and near Helen of Mar?"

"Perhaps more so then than at any other time; for her beauties, her excellences, remind me of what were once mine, and recall every regret. Oh, Bruce! thou canst not comprehend my loss! To mingle thought with thought, and soul with soul, for years; and then, after blending our very beings, and feeling as if indeed made one, to be separated--and by a stroke of violence! This was a trial of the spirit which, but for Heaven's mercy, would have crushed me. I live, but still my heart will mourn, mourn her I have lost--and mourn that my rebellious nature will not be more resigned to the judgments of its God."

"And is love so constant, so tenacious?" exclaimed Bruce; "is it to consume your youth, Wallace? Is it to wed such a heart as yours to the tomb? Ah! am I not to hope that the throne of my children may be upheld by a race of thine?"

Wallace shook his head, but with a placid firmness replied:

"Your throne and your children's, if they follow your example, will be upheld by Heaven; but should they pervert themselves, a host of mortal supports would not be sufficient to stay their downfall."

In discourse like this, the youthful Prince of Scotland caught a clearer view of the inmost thoughts of his friend than he had been able to discern before; for war, or Bruce's own interests, having particularly engaged them in all their former conversations, Wallace had never been induced to glance at the private circumstances of his history. While Bruce sighed in tender pity for the captivated heart of Helen, he the more deeply revered, more intensely loved, his suffering and heroic friend.

A few hours brought the royal escort to the Louvre; and through a train of nobles, Helen was led by Prince Louis into the regal saloon. The Scottish chiefs followed. The queen and the Count D'Evereux received Bruce and Helen, while De Valois conducted Wallace to the king, who had retired for the purpose of this conference to his closet.

At sight of the armor which he had sent to the preserver of his son, Philip instantly recognized the Scottish hero, and rising from his seat, hastened forward and clasped him in his arms. "Wonder not, august chief," exclaimed he, "at the weakness exhibited in these eyes! It is the tribute of nature to a virtue which loads even kings with benefits. You have saved my son's life; you have preserved from taint the honor of my sister!" Philip then proceeded to inform his auditor that he had heard from a confessor of Queen Margaret's, just arrived from England, all that had lately happened at Edward's court; and of Wallace's letter, to clear the innocence of that injured princess. "She is perfectly reinstated in the king's confidence," added Philip, "but I can never pardon the infamy with which he would have overwhelmed her; nay, it has already dishonored her, for the blasting effects of slander no time nor labor can erase. I yield to the prayers of my too gentle sister, not to openly resent this wrong, but in private he shall feel a brother's indignation. I do not declare war against him, but ask what you will, bravest of men, and were it to place the crown of Scotland on your head, demand it of me, and by my concealed agency it shall be effected."

The reply of Wallace was simple. He claimed no merit in the justice he had done the Queen of England; neither in his rescue of Prince Louis, but as a proof of King Philip's friendship, he gladly embraced his offered services with regard to Scotland.

"Not," added he, "to send troops into that country against England. Scotland is now free of its Southron invaders; all I require is that you will use your royal influence with Edward to allow it to remain so. Pledge your faith, most gracious monarch, with my master the royally descended Bruce, who is now in your palace. He will soon assume the crown that is his right; and with such an ally as France to hold the ambition of Edward in check, we may certainly hope that the bloody feuds between Scotland and England may at last be laid to rest."

Wallace explained to Philip the dispositions of the Scots, the nature of Bruce's claims, and the transcendent virtues of his youthful character. The monarch took fire at the speaker's enthusiasm, and, giving him his hand, exclaimed:

"Wallace, I know not what manner of man you are! You seem born to dictate to kings, while you put aside as things of no moment the crowns offered to yourself. You are young and, marveling, I would say without ambition, did I not know that your deeds and your virtues have set you above all earthly titles. But to convince me that you do not disdain the gratitude we pay, at least accept a name in my country; and know, that the armor you wear, the coronet around your helmet, invest you with the rank of a prince of France, and the title of Count of Gascony."

To have refused this mark of the monarch's esteem would have been an act of churlish pride foreign from the character of Wallace. He graciously accepted the offered distinction, and bowing his head, allowed the king to throw the brilliant collar of Gascony over his neck.

This act was performed by Philip with all the emotions of disinterested esteem. But when he had proposed it to his brother D'Evereux, as the only way he could devise of rewarding Wallace for the preservation of his son, and the honor of their sister, he was obliged to urge in support of his wish, the desire he had to take the first opportunity of being revenged on Edward by the reseizure of Guienne. To have Sir William Wallace lord of Gascony would then be of the greatest advantage as no doubt could be entertained of his arms soon restoring the sister province to the French monarchy. In such a case, Philip promised to bestow Guienne on his brother D'Evereux.

To attach this new count to France was now all the wish of Philip, and he closed the conference with every expression of friendship which man could deliver to man. Wallace lost not the opportunity of pleading for the abdicated King of Scots; and Philip, eager as well to evince his resentment to Edward as to oblige Wallace, promised to send immediate orders to Normandy that De Valence should leave Chateau Galliard, and Baliol be attended with his former state.

The king then led his guest into the royal saloon, where they found the queen seated between Bruce and Helen. At sight of the Scottish chief her majesty rose. Philip led him up to her; and Wallace, bending his knee, put the fair hand extended to his lips.

"Welcome," said she, "bravest of knights; receive a mother's thanks." Tears of gratitude stood in her eyes. She clasped the hand of her son and his together, and added, "Louis, wherever our Count of Gascony advises you to pledge this hand, give it."

"Then it will follow mine!" cried the king, putting his into that of Bruce; "You are Wallace's acknowledged sovereign, young prince, and you shall ever find brothers in me and my son! Sweet lady," added he, turning to the glowing Helen, "thanks to your charms for having drawn this friend of mankind to bless our shores!"

The court knew Wallace merely as Count of Gascony; and, to preserve an equal concealment, Bruce assumed the name of the young De Longueville, whom Prince Louis had, in fact, allowed to leave him on the road to Paris to retire to Chartres, there to pass a year of mourning within its penitential monastery. Only two persons ever came to the Louvre who could recognize Bruce to be other than he seemed, and they were, John Cummin, the elder twin brother of the present Regent of Scotland, and James Lord Douglas. The former had remained in France, out of dislike to his brother's proceedings, and as Bruce knew him in Guienne, and believed him to be a blunt, well-meaning young man, he saw no danger in trusting him. The brave son of William Douglas was altogether of a nobler mettle, and both Wallace and his prince rejoiced at the prospect of receiving him to their friendship.

Philip opened the affair to the two lords; and having declared his designs in favor of Bruce, conducted them into t he queen's room, and pointing where he stood, "There," cried he, "is the King of Scotland."

Douglas and Cummin would have bent their knees to their young monarch, but Bruce hastily caught their hands, and prevented them:

"My friends," said he, "regard me as your fellow-soldier only, till you see me on the throne of my fathers. Till then, that is our prince," added he, looking on Wallace; "he is my leader, my counselor, my example! And, if you love me, he must be yours."

Douglas and Cummin turned toward Wallace at these words. Royalty did indeed sit on his brow, but with a tempered majesty which spoke only in love and honor. From the resplendent countenance of Bruce it smiled and threatened, for the blaze of his impassioned nature was not yet subdued. The queen looked from one to the other. The divinely composed air of Wallace seemed to her the celestial port of some heaven-descended being, lent awhile to earth to guide the steps of the Prince of Scotland. She had read, in Homer's song, of the deity of wisdom assuming the form of Mentor to protect the son of Ulysses, and had it not been for the youth of the Scottish chief, she would have said, here is the realization of the tale.

Helen had eyes for none but Wallace. Nobles, princes, kings, were all involved in one uninteresting mass to her when he was present. Yet she smiled on Douglas when she heard him express his gratitude to the champion of Scotland for the services he had done a country for which his own father had died. Cummin, when he paid his respects to Wallace, told him that he did so with double pleasure, since he had two unquestionable evidences of his unequaled merit--the confidence of his father, the Lord Badenoch, and the hatred of his brother, the present usurper of that title.

The king soon after led his guests to the council-room, where a secret cabinet was to be held, to settle the future bonds between the two kingdoms; and Helen, looking long after the departing figure of Wallace, with a pensive step followed the queen to her apartment.

LXVI. The Louvre

These preliminaries of lasting friendship being arranged, and sworn to by Philip, Wallace dispatched a messenger to Scotland, to Lord Ruthven, at Huntingtower, informing him of the present happy dispositions with regard to Scotland. He made particular inquiries respecting the state of the public mind; and declared his intention not to introduce Bruce amongst the cabals of his chieftains until he knew exactly how they were all disposed. Some weeks passed before a reply to this letter arrived. During the time, the health of Helen, which had been much impaired by the sufferings inflicted on her by De Valence, gradually recovered, and her beauty became as much the admiration of the French nobles as her meek dignity was of their respect. A new scene of royalty presented itself in this gay court to Wallace, for all was pageant and chivalric gallantry; but it had no other effect on him than that of exciting those benevolent affections which rejoiced in the innocent gayeties of his fellow-beings. His gravity was not that of a cynic. Though hilarity never awakened his mind to buoyant mirth, yet he loved to see it in others, and smiled when others laughed.

With a natural superiority, which looked over these court pastimes to objects of greater moment, Bruce merely endured them; but it was with an urbanity congenial with his friend's, and while the princes of France were treading the giddy mazes of the dance, or tilting at each other in the mimic war of the tournament, the Prince of Scotland, who excelled in all these exercises, left the field of gallantry undisputed, and moved an uninterested spectator in the splendid scene, talking with Wallace or with Helen on events which yet lay in fate, and whose theater would be the field of his native land. So accustomed had the friends now been to share their thoughts with Lady Helen, that they imparted to her their plans, and listened with pleasure to her timid yet judicious remarks. Her soul was inspired with the same zeal for Scotland which animated their own breasts; like Bruce's it was ardent; but, like Wallace's, it was tempered with a moderation which, giving her foresight, freed her opinion from the hazard of rashness. What he possessed by the suggestions of genius, or had acquired by experience, she learned from love. It taught her to be careful for the safety of Wallace; and while she saw that his life must often be put in peril for Scotland, her watchful spirit, with an eagle's ken, perceived and gave warning where his exposure might incur danger without adequate advantage.

The winds of this season of the year being violent and often adverse. Wallace's messenger did not arrive at his destined port in Scotland till the middle of November, and the January of 1299 had commenced before his returning bark entered the mouth of the Seine.

Wallace was alone, with Grimsby, opening the door, announced Sir Edwin Ruthven. In a moment the friends were locked in each other's arms. Edwin, straining Wallace to his heart, reproached him in affectionate terms for having left him behind; but while he spoke, joy shone through the tears which hung on his eyelids, and with the smiles of fraternal love, again and again he kissed his friend's hand, and pressed it to his bosom. Wallace answered his glad emotions with similar demonstrations of affection, and when the agitations of their meeting were subdued, he learned from Edwin that he had left the messenger at some distance on the road, so impatient was he to embrace his friend again, and to congratulate his dear cousin on her escape.

Edwin answered the anxious inquiries of Wallace respecting his country, by informing him that Badenoch, having arrogated to himself the supreme power in Scotland, had determined to take every advantage of the last victory gained over King Edward. In this resolution he was supported by the Lords Athol, Buchan, and Soulis, who were returned, full of indignation from the Court of Durham. Edward removed to London; and Badenoch, soon hearing that he was preparing other armies for the subjugation of Scotland, sent embassadors to the Vatican to solicit the Pope's interference. Flattered by this appeal, Boniface wrote a letter to Edward, exhorting him to refrain from Further oppressing a country over which he had no lawful power. Edward's answer was full of artifice and falsehood, every good principle, and declaring his determination to consolidate Great Britain into one kingdom, or to make the northern part one universal grave.** Wallace sighed as he listened.

**Both these curious letters are extant in Hollingshed.

"Ah! my dear Edwin," said he, "how just is the observation, that the almost total neglect of truth and justice, which the generality of statesmen discover in their transactions with each other, is an unaccountable to reason as it is dishonorable and ruinous! It is one source of the misery of the human race--a misery in which millions are involved, without any compensation; for it seldom happens that this dishonesty contributes ultimately even to the interests of the princes who thus basely sacrifice their integrity to their ambition. But proceed, my friend."

"The speedy consequence of this correspondence," Edwin continued, "was a renewal of hostilities against Scotland. Badenoch took Sir Simon Fraser as his colleague in military duty, and a stout resistance for a little while was made on the borders; but Berwick soon became the prey of Lord Percy, and the brave Lord Dundaff was killed defending the citadel. Many other places fell, and battles were fought, in which the English were everywhere victorious; for," added Edwin, "none of your generals would draw a sword under the command of Badenoch; and, alarmed at these disasters, the Bishop of Dunkeld is gone to Rome, to entreat the Pope to order your return. The Southrons are advancing into Scotland in every direction. They have landed again on the eastern coast; they have possessed themselves of all the border counties; and without your Heaven-anointed arm to avert the blow, our country must be irretrievably lost."

Edwin had brought letters from Ruthven and the young Earl of Bothwell, which none particularly narrated these ruinous events, to enforce every argument to Wallace for his return. They gave it as their opinion, however, that he must revisit Scotland under an assumed name. Did he come openly, the jealousy of the Scottish lords would be reawakened, and the worst of them might put a finishing stroke to their country by taking him off by assassination or poison. Ruthven and Bothwell, therefore, entreated that, as it was his wisdom as well as his valor their country required, he would hasten to Scotland, and condescend to serve her unrecognized till Bruce should be established on the throne.

While Edwin was conducted to the apartments of Lady Helen, Wallace took these letters to his prince. On Bruce being informed of the circumstances in which his country lay, and of the wishes of its most virtuous chiefs for his accession to the crown, he assented to the prudence of their advice with regard to Wallace. "But," added he, "our fortunes must be in every respect, as far as we can mold them, the same. While you are to serve Scotland under a cloud, so will I. At the moment Bruce is proclaimed King of Scotland, Wallace shall be declared its bravest friend. We will go together--as brothers, if you will!" continued he. "I am already considered by the French nobility as Thomas de Longueville; you may personate the Red Reaver; Scotland does not yet know that he was slain; and the reputation of his valor and a certain nobleness in his wild warfare having placed him, in the estimation of our shores, rather in the light of one of their own island sea-kings than in that of his real character--a gallant, though fierce pirate--the aid of his name would bring no evil odor to our joint appearance. But were you to wear the title you bear here, a quarrel might ensue between Philip and Edward, which I perceive the former is not willing should occur openly. Edward must deem it a breach of their amity did his brother-in-law permit a French prince to appear in arms against him in Scotland; but the Reaver being considered in England as outlawed by France, no surprise can be excited that he and his brother should fight against Philip's ally. We will, then, assume their characters; and I shall have the satisfaction of serving for Scotland before I claim her as my own. When we again drive Edward over the boarders, on that day we will throw off our visors, and Sir William Wallace shall place the crown on my head."

Wallace could not but approve the dignity of mind which these sentiments displayed. In the same situation they would have been his own; and he sought not, from any motive of policy, to dissuade Bruce from a delicacy of conduct which drew him closer to his heart. Sympathy of tastes is a pleasant attraction; but congeniality of principles is the cement of souls. This Wallace felt in his new-born friendship with Bruce; and though his regard for him had none of that fostering tenderness with which he loved to contemplate the blooming virtues of the youthful Edwin, yet it breathed every endearment arising from a perfect equality in heart and mind. It was the true fraternal tie; and while he talked with him on the fulfillment of their enterprise, he inwardly thanked Heaven for blessing him so abundantly. He had found a son in Edwin; a brother, and a tender sister in the noble Bruce and lovely Helen.

Bruce received Edwin with a welcome which convinced the before anxious youth that he met a friend, rather than a rival, in the heart of Wallace. And every preliminary being settled by the three friends respecting their immediate return to Scotland, they repaired to Philip, to inform him of Lord Ruthven's dispatches and their consequent resolutions.

The king liked all they said, excepting their request to be permitted to take an early leave of his court. He urged them to wait the return of a second embassador he had sent to England. Immediately on Wallace's arrival, Philip had dispatched a request to the English king, that he would grant the Scots the peace which was their right. Not receiving any answer, he sent another messenger with a more categorical demand. The persevered hostilities of Edward against Scotland explained the delay; but the king yet hoped for a favorable reply, and made such entreaties to Bruce and his friend to remain in Paris till it should arrive, that they at last granted a reluctant consent.

At the end of a week, the embassador returned with a conciliatory letter to Philip; but, affirming Edward's right to Scotland, declared his determination never to lay down his arms till he had again brought the whole realm under his scepter.

Wallace and his royal friend now saw no reason for lingering in France; and having visited the young De Longueville at Chartres, they apprised him of their intention to still further borrow his name. "We will not disgrace it," cried Bruce; "I promised to return it to you, a theme for your country's minstrels." When the friends rose to depart, the brave and youthful penitent grasped their hands: "You go, valiant Scots, to cover with a double glory, in the field of honor, a name which my unhappy brother Guy dyed deep in his own country's blood! The tears I weep before this cross for his and my transgressions have obtained me mercy; and your design is an earnest to me from Him who hung on this sacred tree, that my brother also is forgiven."

At an early hour next day, Wallace and Bruce took leave of the French king. The queen kissed Helen affectionately, and whispered, while she tied a jeweled collar round her neck, that when she returned, she hoped to add to it the coronet of Gascony. Helen's only reply was a sigh, and her eyes turned unconsciously on Wallace. He was clad in a plain suit of black armor, with a red plume in his helmet--the ensign of the Reaver, whose name he had assumed. All of his former habit that he now wore about him, was the sword which he had taken from Edward. At the moment Helen looked toward Wallace, Prince Louis was placing a cross-hilted dagger in his girdle. "My deliverer," said he, "wear this for the sake of the descendant of St. Louis. It accompanied that holy king through all his wars in Palestine. It twice saved him from the assassin's steel; and I pray Heaven it may prove as faithful to you."**

**The author was shown the dagger of Wallace by a friend. It was of very strong but simple workmanship, and could be used as a knife as well as a weapon.

Soon after this, Douglas and Cummin entered, to pay their parting respects to the king; and that over, Wallace taking Helen by the hand, led her forth, followed by Bruce and his friends.

At Havre, they embarked for the Frith of Tay; and a favorable gate driving them through the straits of Calais, they launched out into the wide ocean.

LXVII. Scotland

The eighth morning from the day in which the Red Reaver's ship was relaunched from the Norman harbor, Wallace, now the representative of that once formidable pirate, bearing the white flag of good faith, entered between the castled shores of the Frith of Tay, and cast anchor under the towers of Dundee.

When Bruce leaped upon the beach, he turned to Wallace and said with exultation, though in a low voice, "Scotland now receives her king! This earth shall cover me, or support my throne!"

"It shall support your throne, and bless it too," replied Wallace; "you are come in the power of justice, and that is the power of God. I know Him in whom I bid you confide; for He has been my shield and sword, and never yet have I turned my back upon my enemies. Trust, my dear prince, where I have trusted; and while virtue is your incense, you need not doubt the issue of your prayers."

Had Wallace seen the face of Bruce at that moment, but the visor concealed it, he would have beheld an answer in his eloquent eyes which required not words to explain. He grasped the hand of Wallace with fervor, and briefly replied, "Your trust shall be my trust!"

The chiefs did not stay longer at Dundee than was requisite to furnish them with horses to convey them to Perth, where Ruthven still bore sway. When they arrived, he was at Huntingtower, and thither they went. The meeting was fraught with many mingled feelings. Helen had not seen her uncle since the death of her father; and, as soon as the first gratulations were over, she retired to an apartment to weep alone.

On Cummin's being presented to Lord Ruthven, the earl told him he must now salute him as Lord Badenoch, his brother having been killed a few days before in a skirmish on the skirts of Ettrick Forest. Ruthven then turned to welcome the entrance of Bruce, who, raising his visor, received from the loyal chief the homage due to his sovereign dignity. Wallace and the prince soon engaged him in a discourse immediately connected with the design of their return; and learned that Scotland did indeed require the royal arm, and the counsel of its best and lately almost banished friend. Much of the eastern part of the country was again in possession of Edward's generals. They had seized on every castle in the Lowlands; none having been considered too insignificant to escape their hands. Nor could the quiet of reposing age elude the general devastation; and after a dauntless defense of his castle, the veteran Knight of Thirlestane had fallen, and with him his only son. On hearing this disaster, the sage of Ercildown, having meanwhile protected Lady Isabella mar at Learmont, conveyed her northward; but falling sick at Roslyn, he had stopped there; and the messenger he dispatched to Huntingtower with these calamitous tidings (who happened to be that brave young Gordon whose borrowed breastplate had been that of Bruce's, in his first battle for Scotland!), bore also information that besides several parties of the enemy which were hovering on the heights near Roslyn, an immense army was approaching from Northumberland. Ercildown said he understood Sir Simon Fraser was hastening forward with a small body to attempt cutting off these advanced squadrons; but, he added, while the contentions continued between Athol and Soulis for the vacant regency, no man could have hope of any steady stand against England.

At this communication, Cummin bluntly proposed himself as the terminator of this dispute. "If the regency were allowed to my brother as head of the house of Cummin, that dignity now rests with me. Give the word, my sovereign," said he, addressing Bruce, "and none there shall dare oppose my rights." Ruthven approved this proposal; and Wallace, deeming it not only the best way of silencing the pretensions of those old disturbers of the public tranquility, but a happy opportunity of putting the chief magistracy into the hands of a confidant of their design, seconded the advice of Ruthven. Thus John Cummin, Lord Badenoch, was invested with the regency, and immediately dispatched to the army, to assume it as if in right of his being the next heir to the throne in default of the Bruce.

Wallace sent Lord Douglas privately into Clydesdale, to inform Earl Bothwell of his arrival, and to request his instant presence with the Lanark division and his own troops on the banks of the Eske. Ruthven ascended the Grampians, to call out the numerous clans of Perthshire, and Wallace, with his prince, prepared themselves for meeting the auxiliaries before the towers of Roslyn. Meanwhile, as Huntingtower would be an insecure asylum for Helen, when it must be left to domestics alone, Wallace proposed to Edwin that he should escort his cousin to Braemar, and place her under the care of his mother and the widowed countess. "Thither," continued he, "we will send Lady Isabella also, should Heaven bless our arms at Roslyn." Edwin acquiesced, as he was to return with all speed to join his friend on the southern bank of the Forth; and Helen, aware that scenes of blood were no scenes for her, while her heart was wrung to agony at the thought of relinquishing Wallace to new dangers, yielded a reluctant assent, not merely to go, but to take that look of him which might be the last.

The sight of her uncle, and the objects around, had so recalled the image of her father, that ever since her arrival a foreboding sadness had hung over her spirits. She remembered that a few months ago she had seen that beloved parent go out to battle, whence he never returned. Should the same doom await her with regard to Wallace! The idea shook her frame with an agitation that sunk her, in spite of herself, on the bosom of this trust of friends, when Edwin approached to lead her to her horse. Her emotions penetrated the heart against which she leaned.

"My gentle sister," said Wallace, "do not despair of our final success; of the safety of all whom you regard."

"Ah! Wallace," faltered she, in a voice rendered hardly audible by tears, "but did I not lose my father?"

"Sweet Helen," returned he, tenderly grasping her trembling hand, "you lost him, but he gained by the exchange. And should the peace of Scotland be purchased by the lives of your friends--if Bruce survives, you must still think your prayers blessed. Were I to fall, my sister, my sorrows would be over; and from the region of universal blessedness I should enjoy the sight of Scotland's happiness."

"Were we all to enter those regions at one time," faintly replied Helen, "there would be comfort in such thoughts; but as it is--" Here she paused; tears stopped her utterance. "A few years is a short separation," returned Wallace, "when we are hereafter to be united to all eternity. This is my consolation, when I think of Marion--when memory dwells with the friends lost in these dreadful conflicts; and whatever may be the fate of those who now survive, call to remembrance my words, dear Helen, and the God who was my instructor will send you comfort."

"Then farewell, my friend, my brother!" cried she, forcibly tearing herself away, and throwing herself into the arms of Edwin; "leave me now; and the angel of the just will bring you in glory, here or hereafter, to your sister Helen." Wallace fervently kissed the hand she again extended to him; and, with an emotion which he had thought he would never feel again for mortal woman, left the apartment.

LXVIII. Roslyn

The day after the departure of Helen, Bruce became impatient to take the field; and, to indulge this laudable eagerness, Wallace set forth with him to meet the returning steps of Ruthven and his gathered legions.

Having passed along the borders of Invermay, the friends descended toward the precipitous banks of the Earn, at the foot of the Grampians. In these green labyrinths they wound their way, till Bruce, who had never before been in such mountain wilds, expressed a fear that Wallace had mistaken the track; for this seemed far from any human footstep.

Wallace replied, with a smile. "The path is familiar to me as the garden of Huntingtower."

The day, which had been cloudy, suddenly turned to wind and rain, which certainly spread an air of desolation over the scene, very dreary to an eye accustomed to the fertile plains and azure skies of the south. The whole of the road was rough, dangerous, and dreadful. The steep and black rocks, towering above their heads, seemed to threaten the precipitation of their impending masses into the path below. But Wallace had told Bruce they were in the right track, and he gaily breasted both the storm and the perils of the road. They ascended a mountain, whose enormous piles of granite, torn by many a winter tempest, projected their barren summits from a surface of moorland, on which lay a deep incrustation of snow. The blast now blew a tempest, and the rain and sleet beat so hard, that Bruce, laughing, declared he believed the witches of his country were in league with Edward, and, hid in shrouds of mist, were all assembled here to drive their lawful prince into the roaring cataracts beneath.

Thus enveloped in a sea of vapors, with torrents of water pouring down the sides of their armor, did the friends descend the western brow of this part of the Grampians until they approached Loch Earn. They had hardly arrived there before the rain ceased, and the clouds, rolling away from the sides of the mountains, discovered the vast and precipitous Ben Vorlich. Its base was covered with huge masses of cliffs, scattered in fragments, like the wreck of some rocky world, and spread abroad in wide and horrid desolation. The mountain itself, the highest in this chain of the Grampians, was in every part marked by deep and black ravines, made by the rushing waters in the time of floods; but where its blue head mingled with the clouds, a stream of brightness issued that seemed to promise the dispersion of its vapors; and consequently a more secure path for Wallace, to lead his friend over its perilous heights.**

**This description of Ben Vorlich, written ten years before the journey of the author's brother, Sir. R. K. Porter, into Armenia and Persia, on her reperusing it now, while revising these volumes, reminds her strongly of his account of the appearance of Mount Arafat, as he saw it under a storm, and which he describes with so much, she must be allowed to say, sacred interest, in his travels through those countries.--(1840.)

This appearance did not deceive. The whole mantle of clouds, with which the tops of all the mountains had been obscured, rolled away toward the west, and discovered to the eye of Wallace that this line of light which he had discerned through the mist, was the host of Ruthven descending Ben Vorlich in defiles. From the nature of the path, they were obliged to move in a winding direction, and as the sun now shone full upon their arms, and their lengthened lines gradually extended from the summit of the mountain to its base, no sight could contain more of the sublime, none of truer grandeur to the enraptured mind of Bruce. He forgot his horror of the wastes he had passed over in the joy of beholding so noble an army of his countrymen thus approaching to place him upon the throne of his ancestors. "Wallace," cried he, "these brave hearts deserve a more cheerful home! My scepter must turn this Scotia desrta into Scotia felix; and so shall I reward the service they this day bring me."

"They are happy in these wilds," returned Wallace, "their flocks browse the hills, their herds the valleys. The soil yields sufficient to support its sons; and their luxuries are, a minstrel's song and the lip of their brides. Their ambition is satisfied with following their chief to the field; and their honor lies in serving their God and maintaining the freedom of their country. Beware, then, my dear prince, of changing the simple habits of those virtuous mountaineers. Introduce the luxurious cultivation of France into these tracts, you will infect them with artificial wants; and, with every want, you put a link to a chain which will fasten them to bondage whenever a tyrant chooses to grasp it. Leave them then their rocks as you find them, and you will ever have a hardy race, ready to perish in their defense, or to meet death for the royal guardian of their liberties."

Lord Ruthven no sooner reached the banks of Loch Earn, than he espied the prince and Wallace. He joined them; then marshaling his men in a wide tract of land at the head of that vast body of water, placed himself with the two supposed De Longuevilles in the van; and in this array marched through the valleys of Strathmore and Strathallen, into Stirlingshire. The young Earl of Fife held the government of the castle and town of Stirling; and as he had been a zealous supporter of the rebellious Lord Badenoch, Bruce negatized Ruthven's proposal to send in a messenger for the earl's division of the troops.

"No, my lord," said he, "like my friend Wallace, I will have no divided spirits near me; all must be earnest in my cause, or entirely out of the contest. I am content with the brave men around me."

After rapid marchings and short haltings, they arrived safe at Linlithgow, where Wallace proposed staying a night to refresh the troops, who were now joined by Sir Alexander Ramsay, at the head of a thousand of his clan. While the men took rest, the chiefs waked to think for them. And Wallace, with Bruce and Ruthven, and the brave Ramsay (to whom Wallace had revealed himself, but still kept Bruce unknown), were in deep consultation when Grimsby entered to inform his master that a young knight desired to speak with Sir Guy de Longueville.

"His name?" demanded Wallace.

"He refused to tell it," replied Grimsby, "and wears his beaver shut."

Wallace looked around with a glance that inquired whether the stranger should be admitted.

"Certainly," said Bruce, "but first put on your mask."

Wallace closed his visor, and the moment after Grimsby reentered, with a knight of elegant mien, habited in a suit of green armor, linked with gold. He wore a close helmet, from which streamed a long feather, of the same hue. Wallace rose at his entrance; the stranger advanced to him.

"You are he whom I seek. I am a Scot, and a man of few words. Accept my services, allow me to attend you in this war, and I will serve you faithfully."

Wallace replied: "And who is the brave knight to whom Sir Guy de Longueville must owe so great an obligation?"

"My name," answered the stranger, "shall not be revealed till he who now wears that of the Reaver proclaims his own in the day of victory. I know you, sir, but your secret is as safe with me as in your own breast. Place me to fight by your side, and I am yours forever."

Wallace was surprised, but not confounded by this speech. "I have only one question to ask you, noble stranger," replied he, "before I confide a cause dearer to me than life in your integrity. How did you become master of a secret, which I believed out of the power of treachery to betray?"

"No one betrayed your secret to me. I came by my information in an honorable manner, but the means I shall not reveal till I see the time to declare my name, and that, perhaps, may be in the moment when the assumed brother of yon young Frenchman," added the stranger, turning to Bruce, and lowering his voice, "again appears publicly in Scotland, as Sir William Wallace."

"I am satisfied," replied he, well pleased that whoever this knight might be, Bruce yet remained undiscovered; "I grant your request. Yon brave youth, whose name I share, forgives me the success of my sword. I slew the red Reaver, and therefore would restore a brother to Thomas de Longueville, in myself. He fights on my right hand, you shall be stationed at my left."

"On the side next your heart!" exclaimed the stranger, "let that ever be my post, there to guard the bulwark of Scotland, the life of the bravest of men."

This enthusiasm did not surprise any present; it was the usual language of all who approached Sir William Wallace; and Bruce, particularly pleased with the heartfelt energy with which it was uttered, forgot his disguise in the amiable fervor of approbation, and half arose to welcome him to his cause; but a look from Wallace (who on being known had uncovered his face), arrested his intention and the prince sat down again, thankful for so timely a check on his precipitancy.

In passing the Pentland Hills, into Mid-Lothian, the chiefs were met by Edwin, who had crossed from the north by the Frith of Forth; and having heard no tidings of the Scottish army in the neighborhood of Edinburgh, he had turned to meet it on the most probably road. Wallace introduced him to the Knight of the Green Plume, for that was the appellation by which the stranger desired to be known--and then made inquiries how Lady Helen had borne the fatigues of her journey to Braemar. "Pretty well there," replied he, "but much better back again." He then explained that on his arrival with her, neither Lady Mar nor his mother would consent to remain so far from the spot where Wallace was to contend again for the safety of their country. Helen did not say anything in opposition to their wishes; and at last Edwin yielded to the entreaties and tears of his mother and aunt, to bring them to where they might, at least, not long endure the misery of suspense. Having consented, without an hour's delay, he set forth with the ladies, to retrace his steps to Huntingtower; and there he left them, under a guard of three hundred men, whom he brought from Braemar for that purpose.

Bruce, whose real name had not been revealed to the other ladies of Ruthven's family, in a lowered tone, asked Edwin some questions relative to the spirits in which Helen had parted with him. "In losing her," added he, "my friend and I feel but as part of what we were. Her presence seemed to ameliorate the fierceness of our war-councils, and ever reminded me of the angelic guard by whom Heaven points our way."

"I left her with looks like the angel you speak of," answered Edwin; "but she bade me farewell upon the platform of the eastern tower of the castle. When I gave her the parting embrace, she raised herself from my breast, and stretching her arms to heave, with her pure soul in her eyes, she exclaimed, 'Bless him, gracious God; bless him, and his noble commander! may they ever, with the prince they love, be thine especial care!' I knelt by her as she uttered this; and touching the hem of her garments as some holy thing, hurried from the spot."

"Her prayers," cried Bruce, "will fight for us. They are arms well befitting the virgins of Scotland to use against its foes."

"And without such unction," rejoined Wallace, looking to that Heaven she had invoked, "the warrior may draw his steel in vain."

On Edwin's introduction, the stranger knight engaged himself in conversation with Ramsay. But Lord Ruthven interrupted the discourse, by asking Ramsay some questions relative to the military positions on the banks of the Eske. Sir Alexander, being the grandson of the Lord of Roslyn, and having passed his youth in its neighborhood, was well qualified to answer these questions. In such discourses, the Scottish leaders marched along, till, passing before the lofty ridge of the Corstophine Hills, they were met by groups of flying peasantry. At sight of the Scottish banners they stopped, and informed their armed countrymen, that the new regent, John of Badenoch, having rashly attacked the Southron army in its vantage ground, near Borthwick Castle, had suffered defeat, and was in full and disordered retreat toward Edinburgh, while the country people fled on all sides before the victors. These reporters magnified the number of the enemy to an incredible amount.

Wallace was at no loss in comprehending how much to believe in this panic; but determining, whether great or small the power of his adversary, to intercept him at Roslyn, he sent to Cummin and to Fraser, the two commanders in the beaten and dispersed armies, to rendezvous on the banks of the Eske. The brave troops which he led, though ignorant of their real leader, obeyed his direction under an idea they were Lord Ruthven's, who was their ostensible general, and steadily pursued their march. Every village and solitary cot seemed recently deserted; and through an awful solitude they took their rapid way, till the towers of Roslyn Castle hailed them as a beacon from amidst the wooded heights of the northern Eske.

"There," cried Ramsay, pointing to the embattled rock, "stands the fortress of my forefathers! It must this day be made famous by the actions performed before its walls!"

Wallace, whose knowledge of this part of the country was not quite so familiar as that of Ramsay, learned sufficient from him to decide at once which would be the most favourable position for a small and resolute band to assume against a large and conquering army; and, accordingly disposing his troops, which did not amount to more than eight thousand men, he dispatched one thousand, under the command of Ramsay, to occupy the numerous caves in the southern banks of the Eske, where they were to issue in various divisions, and with shouts, on the first appearance of advantage, either on his side or on the enemy's.

Ruthven, meanwhile, went for a few minutes into the castle to embrace his niece, and to assure the venerable Lord of Roslyn that assistance approached his beleaguered walls.

Edwin, who, with Grimsby, had volunteered the dangerous service of reconnoitering the enemy, returned within an hour, bringing in a straggler from the English camp. His life was promised him on condition of his revealing the strength of the advancing army. The terrified wretch did not hesitate; and from him they learned that it was commanded by Sir John Segrave and Ralph Confrey, who, deeming the country subdued by the two last battles gained over the Black and Red Cummins,** were preparing for a general plundering. And, to sweep the land at once, Segrave had divided his army into three divisions, to scatter themselves over the country, and everywhere gather in the spoil. To be assured of this being the truth, while Grimsby remained to guard the prisoner, Edwin went alone into the track he was told the Southrons would take, and from a height he discerned about ten thousand of them winding along the valley. With this confirmation of the man's account, he brought him to the Scottish lines; and Wallace, who well knew how to reap advantage from the errors of his enemies, being joined by Fraser and the discomfited regent, made the concerted signal to Ruthven. That nobleman immediately pointed out to his men the waving colors of the Southron host, as it approached beneath the overhanging woods of Hawthorndean. He exhorted them, by their fathers, wives, and children, to breast the enemy at this spot; to grapple with him till he fell. "Scotland," cried he, "is lost or won, this day. You are freemen or slaves; your families are your own, or the property of tyrants! Fight stoutly, and God will yield you an invisible support."

**The Red Cummin was an attributive appellation of John, the last regent before the accession of Bruce. His father, the princely Earl of Badenoch, was called the Black Cummin.

The Scots answered their general by a shout, and calling on him to lead them forward, Ruthven placed himself, with the regent and Fraser, in the van, and led the charge. Little expecting an assault from an adversary they had so lately driven off the field, the Southrons were taken by surprise. But they fought well, and resolutely stood their ground till Wallace and Bruce, who commanded the flanking divisions, closed in upon them with an impetuosity that drove Confrey's division into the river. Then the ambuscade of Ramsay poured from his caves, the earth seemed teeming with mailed warriors, and the Southrons, seeing the surrounding heights and the deep defiles filled with the same terrific appearances, fled with precipitation toward their second division, which lay a few miles southward. Thither the conquering squadrons of the Scots followed them. The fugitives, leaping the trenches of the encampment, called out to their comrades: "Arm! arm! Hell is in league against us!" Segrave was soon at the head of his legions, and a battle more desperate than the first blazed over the field. The flying troops of the slain Confrey, rallying around the standard of their general-in-chief, fought with the spirit of revenge, and, being now a body of nearly 20,000 men, against 8000 Scots, the conflict became tremendous. In several points the Southrons gained so greatly the advantage that Wallace and Bruce threw themselves successively into those parts where the enemy most prevailed, and by exhortations, example and prowess they a thousand times turned the fate of the day, appearing as they shot from rank to rank to be two comets of fire sent before the Scottish troops to consume all who opposed them. Segrave was taken, and forty English knights besides.

The green borders of the Eske were dyed red with Southron blood; and the enemy on all sides were calling for quarter, when, of a sudden, the cry of "Havoc and St. George!" issued from the adjoining hill. At the same moment, a posse of country people (who, for the sake of plunder, had stolen into the height), seeing the advancing troops of a third division of the enemy, like guilty cowards rushed down amongst their brave defenders, echoing the war-cry of England, and exclaiming, "We are lost--a host, reaching to the horizon, is upon us!" Terror struck to many a Scottish heart. The Southrons who were just about giving up their arms, leaped upon their feet. The fight recommenced with redoubled fury. Sir Robert Neville, at the head of the new reinforcement, charged into the center of the Scottish legions. Bruce and Edwin threw themselves into the breach which this impetuous onset had made in that part of their line, and fighting man to man, would have taken Neville, had not a follower of that nobleman, wielding a ponderous mace, struck Bruce so terrible a blow, as to fracture his helmet, and cast him from his horse to the ground. The fall of so active a leader excited as much dismay in the surrounding Scots as it encouraged the reviving spirits of the enemy. Edwin exerted himself to preserve his prince from being trampled on; and while he fought for that purpose, and afterward sent his senseless body off the field, under charge of young Gordon (who had been chosen by the disguised Bruce as his especial aid), to Roslyn Castle, Neville rescued Segrave and his knights. Lord Ruthven now contended with a feeble arm. Fatigued with the two preceding conflicts, covered with wounds, and perceiving indeed a host pouring upon them on all sides (for the whole of Segrave's original army of 30,000 men, excepting those who had fallen in the preceding engagements, were now restored to the assault), the Scots, in despair, gave ground: some threw away their arms, to fly the faster; and by thus exposing themselves, panic-struck, to the swords of their enemies, redoubled the confusion.

Indeed, so great was the havoc, that the day must have ended in the universal destruction of every Scot on the field, had not Wallace felt the crisis, and that as Guy de Longueville he shed his blood in vain. In vain his terrified countrymen saw him rush into the thickest of the carnage; in vain he called to them, by all that was sacred to man, to stand to the last. He was a foreigner, and they had no confidence in his exhortations; death was before them, and they turned to fly. The fate of his country was hung on an instant. The last rays of the setting sun shone full on the rocky promontory of the hill which projected over the field of combat. He took his resolution; and spurring his steed up the steep ascent, stood on the summit, where he could be seen by the whole army then taking off his helmet, he waved it in the air with a shout, and having drawn all eyes upon him, suddenly exclaimed, "Scots! you have this day vanquished the Southrons twice! if you be men, remember Cambus-Kenneth, and follow William Wallace to a third victory!" The cry which issued from the amazed troops was that of a people who beheld the angel of their deliverance. "Wallace!" was the chargeword of every heart. The hero's courage seemed instantaneously diffused through every breast; and, with braced arms and determined spirits, forming at once into the phalanx his thundering voice dictated, the Southrons again felt the weight of the Scottish steel; and a battle ensued, which made the bright Eske run purple to the sea, and covered the pastoral glades of Hawthorndean with the bodies of its invaders.

Sir John Segrave and Neville were both taken; and ere night closed in upon the carnage, Wallace granted quarter to those who sued for it, and, receiving their arms, left them to repose in their before depopulated camp.

LXIX. Roslyn Castle

Wallace, having planted an adequate force in charge of the prisoners, went to the two Southron commanders to pay them the courtesy he thought due to their bravery and rank, before he retired with his victorious followers toward Roslyn Castle. He entered their tent alone. At sight of the warrior who had given them so signal a defeat, the generals rose. Neville, who had received a slight wound in one of his arms, stretched out the other to Wallace. "Sir William Wallace," said he, "that you were obliged to declare a name so deservedly renowned, before the troops I led, could be made to relinquish one step of their hard-earned advantage, was an acknowledgment in their favor almost equivalent to a victory."

Sir John Segrave, who stood leaning on his sword with a disturbed countenance, interrupted him. "The fate of this day cannot be attributed to any earthly name or hand. I believe my sovereign will allow the zeal with which I have served him; and yet thirty thousand as brave men as ever crossed the marshes, have fallen before a handful of Scots. Three victories, won over Edward's troops in one day, are not events of a commonplace nature. God alone has been our vanquisher."

"I acknowledge it," cried Wallace; "and that He is on the side of justice, let the return of St. Matthias' Day ever remind your countrymen!"

When Segrave gave the victory to the Lord of Hosts, he did it more from jealousy of what might be Edward's opinion of his conduct, when compared with Neville's, than from any intention to imply that the cause of Scotland was justly Heaven-defended. Such are the impious inconsistencies of unprincipled men! He frowned at the reply of Wallace, and turned gloomily away. Neville returned a respectful answer, and their conqueror soon after left them.

Edwin, with the Knight of the Green Plume (who had indeed approved his valor by many a brave deed performed at his commander's side), awaited Wallace's return from his prisoners' tent. Ruthven came up with Wallace before he joined them, and told him that Bruce was safe under the care of the sage of Ercildown, and that the regent, who had been wounded in the beginning of the day, was also in Roslyn Castle. Wallace then called Edwin to him, giving him orders that all of the survivors who had suffered in these three desperate battles, should be collected from amongst the slain, and carried into the neighboring castles of Hawthorndean, Brunston, and Dalkeith. The rest of the soldiers were commanded to take their refreshment still under arms. These duties performed, Wallace turned with the eagerness of friendship and loyalty to see how Bruce fared.

The moon shone brightly as his party rode forward. Wallace ascended the steep acclivity on which Roslyn Castle stands. In crossing the drawbridge which divides its rocky peninsula from the main land, he looked around and sighed. The scene reminded him of Ellerslie. A deep shadow lay on the woods beneath; and the pensile branches of the now leafless trees bending to meet the flood, seemed mourning the deaths which now polluted its stream. The water lay in profound repose at the base of these beautiful craigs, as if peace longed to become an inhabitant of so lovely a scene.

At the gate of the castle its aged master, the Lord Sinclair, met Wallace, to bid him welcome.

"Blessed be the saint of this day," exclaimed he, "for thus bringing our best defender, even as by a miracle, to snatch us as a brand from the fire! My gates, like my heart, open to receive the true Regent of Scotland."

"I have only done a Scotchman's duty, venerable Sinclair," replied Wallace, "and must not arrogate a title which Scotland has transferred to other hands."

"Not Scotland, but rebellion," replied the old chief. "It was rebellion against the just gratitude of the nation that invested the Black Cummin with the regency; and only some similar infatuation has bestowed the same title on his brother. What did he not lose till you, Scotland's true champion, have reappeared to rescue her again from bondage?"

"The present Lord Badenoch is an honest and a brave man," replied Wallace; "and as I obey the power which gave him his authority, I am ready, by fidelity to him, to serve Scotland with as vigorous a zeal as ever; so, noble Sinclair, when our rulers cast not trammels on our virtue, we must obey them as the vicegerents of Heaven."

Wallace then asked to be conducted to his wounded friend, Sir Thomas de Longueville, for Sinclair was ignorant of the real rank of his guest. Eager to oblige him, his noble host immediately led the way through a gallery, and opening the door of an apartment, discovered to him Bruce, lying on a couch; and a venerable figure, whose silver beard and sweeping robes, announced him to be the sage of Ercildown, was bathing the wounded chief's temples with balsams. A young creature, beautiful as a ministering seraph, also hung over the prostrate chief. She held a golden casket in her hand, out of which the sage drew the unctions he applied.

At the sound of Wallace's voice, who spoke in a suppressed tone to Ruthven while entering the chamber, the wounded prince started on his arm to greet his friend; but he as instantly fell back. Wallace hastened forward. When Bruce recovered from the swoon into which the suddenness of his attempt to rise had thrown him, he felt a hand grasping his; he guessed to whom it belonged, and gently pressed it, smiled; a moment afterward he opened his eyes, and in a low voice, articulated from his wounded lips:

"My dear Wallace, you are victorious?"

"Completely so, my prince and king," returned he, in the same tone; "all is now plain before you; speak but the word, and render Scotland happy!"

"Not yet; oh, not yet!" whispered he. "My more than brother, allow Bruce to be himself again before he is known in the land of his fathers! This cruel wound in my head must heal first, and then I may again share your dangers and your glory! Oh, Wallace, not a Southron must taint our native lands when my name is proclaimed in Scotland!"**

**It is a curious circumstance, that when the body of Bruce was discovered a few years ago in the abbey of Dunfermline, his head retained all its teeth excepting two in front, evidently originally injured by a stroke of violence. Beside this, the evidence remained in the bone of the chest of the fact of its having been cut open after his death, for the heart to be taken out, according to his dying command, to be sent to the Holy Land.

Wallace saw that his prince was not in a state to bear argument, and as all had retired far from the couch when he approached it, in gratitude for this propriety (for it had left him and his friend free to converse unobserved), he turned toward the other inmates of the chamber. The sage advanced to him, and recognizing in Wallace's now manly form the fine youth he had seen with Sir Ronald Crawford at the claiming of the crown, he saluted him with a paternal affection, tempering the sublime feelings with which even he approached the resistless champion of his country, and then beckoning the beautiful girl who had so compassionately hung over the couch of Bruce, she drew near the sage. He took her hand: "Sir William Wallace," said he, "this sweet child is the youngest daughter of the brave Mar, who died in the field of glory on the Carron. Her grandfather, the stalwart knight of Thirlestane, fell a few weeks ago, defending his castle, and I am almost all that is left to her, though she has, or had a sister, of whom we can learn no tidings." Isabella, for it was she, covered her face to conceal her emotions.

"Dear lady," said Wallace, "these venerable heroes were both known to and beloved by me. And now that Heaven has resumed them to itself, as the last act of friendship that I, perhaps, may be fated to pay to their offspring, I shall convey you to that sister whose matchless heart yearns to receive so dear a consolation."

To disengage Isabella's thoughts from the afflicting remembrances, now bathing her fair cheeks with tears, Ercildown put a cup, of the mingled juice of herbs, into her hand, and commissioned her to give it to their invalid. Wallace now learned that his friend's wound was not only in the head, accompanied by a severe concussion, but that it must be many days before he could remove him from his bed without danger. Anxious to release him from even the scarcely breathed whispers of his martial companions, who stood at some distance from his couch, Wallace immediately proposed leaving him to rest, and beckoning the chiefs, they followed him out of the apartment.

On the following morning he was aroused at daybreak by the abrupt entrance of Andrew Lord Bothwell into his tent. The well-known sounds of his voice made Wallace start from his pillow, and extend his arms to receive him.

"Murray! My brave, invaluable Murray!" cried he, "thou art welcome once more to the side of thy brother in arms. Thee and thine must ever be first in my heart!"

The young Lord Bothwell returned his warm embrace in silent eloquence; but sitting down by Wallace's couch, he grasped his hand, and pressing it to his breast, said, "I feel a happiness here which I have never known since the day of Falkirk. You quitted us, Wallace, and all good seemed gone with you, or buried in my father's grave. But you return! You bring conquest and peace with you, you restore our Helen to her family, you bless us with yourself! And shall you not see again the gay Andrew Murray? It must be so, my friend, melancholy is not my climate, and I shall now live in your beams."

"Dear Murray!" returned Wallace, "this generous enthusiasm can only be equaled by my joy in all that makes you and Scotland happy."

He then proceeded to confide to him all that related to Bruce; and to describe the minutiae of those plans for his establishment, which had only been hinted in his letters from France. Bothwell entered with ardor into these designs, and regretted that the difficulty he found in persuading the veterans of Lanark to follow him to any field where they did not expect to find their beloved Wallace, had deprived him of the participation of the late danger and new glory of his friend.

"To compensate for that privation," replied Wallace, "while our prince is disabled from pursuing victory in his own person, we must not allow our present advantages to lose their expected effects. You shall accompany me through the Lowlands, where we must recover the places which the ill-fortune of James Cummin has lost."

Murray gladly embraced this opportunity of again sharing the field with Wallace, and the chiefs joined Bruce. Bothwell was presented to his young sovereign, and Douglas entering, the discourse turned on their different posts of duty. Wallace suggested to his royal friend, that as his restoration to health could not be so speedy as the cause required, it would be necessary not to await that event, but begin the recovery of the border counties before Edward could reinforce their garrisons. Bruce sighed; but with a generous glow suffusing his pale face, said:

"Go, my friend! Bless Scotland which way you will, and let my ready acquiescence convince future ages, that I love my country beyond my own fame; for her sake I relinquish to you the whole glory of delivering her out of the hands of the tyrant who has so long usurped my rights. Men may say when they hear this, that I do not merit the crown you will put upon my head; that I have lain on a couch while you fought for me; but I will bear all obloquy rather than deserve its slightest charge, by withholding you an hour from the great work of Scotland's peace."

"It is not for the breath of men, my dear prince," returned Wallace, "that either you or I act. It is sufficient for us that we effect their good, and whether the agent be one or the other, the end is the same. Our deeds and intentions have one great Judge, and He will award the only true glory."

Such were the principles which filled the hearts of these two friends, worthy of each other, and alike honorable to the country that gave them birth. Gordon had won their confidence, and watched by his prince's pillow.

Though the wounded John Cummin remained possessed of the title of regent, Wallace was virtually endowed with the authority. Whatever he suggested was acted upon as by a decree--all eyes looked to him as to the cynosure by which every order of men in Scotland were to shape their course. The jealousies which had driven him from his former supreme seat, seemed to have died with their prime instigator, the late regent; and no chief of any consequence, excepting Soulis and Athol, who had retired in disgust to their castles, breathed a word of opposition to the general gratitude.

Wallace having dictated his terms and sent his prisoners to England, commenced the march that was to clear the Lowlands of the foe. His own valiant band, headed by Scrymgeour and Lockhart of Lee,** rushed toward his standard, with a zeal that rendered each individual a host in himself. The fame of his new victories, seconded by the enthusiasm of the people and the determination of the troops, soon made him master of all the lately lost fortresses.

**The crusading ancestor of this Lockhart was the bringer of the famous Lee penny from the Holy Land, and from his sprung the three brave branches of the name--Lockhart of Lee, Lockhart of Carnwarth, and Lockhart of Drydean.

Hardly four weeks were consumed in these conquests, and not a rood of land remained south of the Tay in the possession of England, excepting Berwick. Before that often-disputed stronghold, Wallace drew up his forces to commence a regular siege. The governor, intimidated by the powerful works which he saw the Scottish chief forming against the town, dispatched a messenger to Edward with the tidings; not only praying for succors, but to inform him that if he continued to refuse the peace for which the Scots fought, he would find it necessary to begin the conquest of the kingdom anew.