"Wallace! Wallace," cried Lady Ruthven, looking on his animated countenance with wondering rapture; "and art thou a man of earth and of the sword? Oh! rather say, an angel; lent us here a little while to teach us to live and to die!"
A glowing blush passed over the pale but benign cheek of Wallace.
"I am a soldier of Him who was, indeed, brought into the world to show us, by his life and death, how to be virtuous and happy. Know me, by my life, to be his follower; and David himself wore not a more glorious title!"
Lady mar, while she contemplated the matchless form before her, exclaimed to herself, "Why is it animated by as faultless a soul? Oh, Wallace! wert thou less excellent, I might hope; but hell is in my heart, and heaven in thine!"
She tore her eyes from a view which blasted while it charmed her, and rushed from the cloisters.
Chapter LVII.
Durham.
The sun rose as the funeral procession of the Earl of Mar moved from before the gates of the monastery at Falkirk. Lord Ruthven and Edwin mounted their horses. The maids of the two ladies led them forth toward the litters which were to convey them so long a journey. Lady Ruthven came first, and Wallace placed her tenderly in her carriage. The countess next appeared, clad in the deep weeds of widowhood. Her child followed in the arms of its nurse. At the sight of the innocent babe, whom he had so often seen pressed to the fond bosom of the father it was now following to his grace, tears rushed into the eyes of Wallace. Lady Mar hid the tumult of her feelings on the shoulder of her maid. He advanced to her respectfully, and handing her to her vehicle, urged her to cherish life for the sake of her child. She threw herself with increased agitation on her pillow, and Wallace, deeming the presence of her babe the surest comforter, laid it tenderly by her side. At that moment, before he had relinquished it, she bent her face upon his hands, and bathing them with tears, faintly murmured, "Oh! Wallace, remember me!" Lord Ruthven rode up to bid adieu to his friend, and the litters moved on. Wallace promised that both he and Edwin should hear of him in the course of a few days; and affectionately grasping the hand of the latter, bade him farewell.
Hear of him they should, but not see him; for it was his determination to set off that night for Durham, where, he was informed, Edward now lay, and, joined by his young queen, meant to sojourn till his wounds were healed. Believing that his presence in Scotland could no longer be serviceable, and would engender continual intestine divisions, Wallace did not hesitate in fixing his course. His first object was to fulfill his vow to Lord Mar. He thought it probable, that Helen might have been carried to the English court; and that in seeking her, he might also attempt an interview with young Bruce; hoping to learn how far he had succeeded in persuading his father to leave the vassalage of Edward, and once more dare resuming the specter of his ancestors.
To effect his plan without hinderance, on the disappearance of the funeral cavalcade, Wallace retired to his apartment to address a letter to Lord Ruthven. In this epistle he told the chief that he was going on an expedition which he hoped would prove beneficial to his country; but it was an enterprise of rashness, he would not make any one his companion; he therefore begged Lord Ruthven to teach his friends to consider with candor a flight they might otherwise deem unkind.