The Scottish Chiefs

by Jane Porter

"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.