The Scottish Chiefs Part 49

"Then, never utter it!" exclaimed Helen, turning pale, and trembling from head to foot; too well guessing, by the generous glow in his countenance, what would have been that wish.

At this instant the door opened, and Lady Mar appeared. Both rose at her entrance. She bowed her head coldly to Helen. To Edwin she graciously extended her hand. "Why, my dear nephew, did you not come into the audience-hall?"

Edwin answered, smiling, that as he "did not know the Governor of Stirling's lady lived in the state of a queen, he hoped he should be excused for mistaking lords and ladies in waiting for company; and for that reason, having retired till he could bid her adieu in a less public scene."

Lady mar, with much stateliness, replied, "Perhaps it is necessary to remind you, Edwin, that I am more than Lord Mar's wife. I am not only heiress to the sovereignty of the northern isles, but, like Badenoch, am of the blood of the Scottish kings."

To conceal an irrepressible laugh at this proud folly in a woman, otherwise of shrewd understanding, Edwin turned toward the window; but not before the countess had observed the ridicule which played on his lips. Vexed, but afraid to reprimand one who might so soon resent it, by speaking of her disparagingly to Wallace, she unburdened the swelling of her anger upon the unoffending Helen. Not doubting that she felt as Edwin did, and fancying that she saw the same expression in her countenance. "Lady Helen," cried she, "I request an explanation of that look of derision which I now see on your face. I wish to know whether the intoxication of your vanity dare impel you to despise claims which may one day be established to your confusion."

This attack surprised Helen, who, absorbed in other meditations, had scarcely heard her mother's words to Edwin. "I neither deride you, Lady Mar, nor despise the claims of your kinsman, Badenoch. But since you have condescended to speak to me on the subject, I must, out of respect to yourself, and duty to my father, frankly say, that the a.s.sumption of honors not legally in your possession may excite ridicule on him, and even trouble to our cause."

Provoked at the just reasoning of this reply and at being misapprehended with regard to the object with whom she hoped to share all the reflected splendors of a throne, Lady Mar answered, rather inconsiderately, "Your father is an old man, and has outlived every n.o.ble emulation. He neither understands my actions, nor shall he control them." Struck dumb by this unexpected declaration, Helen suffered her to proceed. "And as to Lord Badenoch giving me the rank to which my birth ent.i.tled me, that is a foolish dream--I look to a greater hand."

"What!" inquired Edwin, with a playful bow, "does my highness aunt expect my uncle to die, and that Bruce will come hither to lay the crown of Scotland at her feet?"

"I expect nothing of Bruce, nor of your uncle," returned she, with a haughty rearing of her head; "but I look for respect from the daughter of Lord Mar, and from the friend of Sir William Wallace."

She rose from her chair, and presenting Edwin with a packet for Wallace, told Helen she might retire to her own room.

"To my father's I will, madam," returned she.

Lady Mar colored at this reproof, and, turning to Edwin, more gently said, "You know that the dignity of his situation must be maintained; and while others attend his couch, I must his reputation."

"I have often heard that 'Fame is better than life!'" replied Edwin, still smiling; "and I thank Lady mar for showing me how differently people may translate the same lesson. Adieu, dear Helen!" said he, touching her mantling cheek with his lips.

"Farewell," returned she, "may good angels guard you!"

The substance of the latter part of this scene Edwin did relate to Wallace. He smiled at the vain follies of the countess, and broke the seal of her letter. It was in the same style with her conversation; at one moment declaring herself his disinterested friend, in the next, uttering wild professions of never-ending attachment. She deplored the sacrifice which had been made of her, when quite a child, to the doting pa.s.sion of Lord Mar; and complained of his want of sympathy with any of her feelings. Then picturing the happiness which must result from the reciprocal love of congenial hearts, she ventured to show how truly hers would unite with Wallace's. The conclusion of this strange epistle told him that the devoted grat.i.tude of all her relations of the house of c.u.mmin was ready, at any moment, to relinquish their claims on the crown, to place it on brows so worthy to wear it.

The words of this letter were so artfully and so persuasively penned, that had not Edwin described the inebriated vanity of Lady Mar, Wallace might have believed that she was ambitious only for him, and that could she share his heart, his throne would be a secondary object. To establish this deception in his mind, she added, "I live here as at the head of a court, and fools around me think I take pleasure in it; but did they look into my actions, they would see that I serve while I seem to reign. I am working in the hearts of men for your advancement."

But whether this were her real motive or not, it was the same to Wallace; he felt that she would always be, were she even free, not merely the last object in his thoughts, but the first in his aversion.

Therefore, hastily running over her letter, he recurred to a second perusal of Lord Mar's. In this he found satisfactory details of the success of his dispositions. Lord Lochawe had possessed himself of the western coast of Scotland, from the Mull of Kintyre, to the furthest mountains of Glenmore. There the victorious Lord Ruthven had met him, having completed the recovery of the Highlands, by a range of conquests from the Spey to the Murray frith and Inverness-s.h.i.+re. Lord Bothwell, also, as his colleague, had brought from the sh.o.r.e of Ross and the hills of Caithness, every Southron banner which had disgraced their embattled towers.

Graham was sent for by Wallace to hear these pleasant tidings.

"Ah!" cried Edwin, in triumph, "not a spot north of the Forth now remains, that does not acknowledge the supremacy of the Scottish lion!"

"Nor south of it either," returned Graham; "from the Mull of Galloway to my gallant father's government on the Tweed; from the Cheviots to the Northern Ocean, all now is our own. The door is locked against England, and Scotland must prove unfaithful to herself before the Southrons can again set feet on her borders."

The more private accounts were not less gratifying to Wallace; for he found that his plans for disciplining and bringing the people into order were everywhere adopted, and that in consequence, alarm and penury had given way to peace and abundance. To witness the success of his comprehensive designs, and to settle a dispute between Lord Ruthven and the Earl of Athol, relative to the government of Perth, Lord Mar strongly urged him (since he had driven the enemy so many hundred miles into their own country) to repair immediately to the scene of controversy. "Go," added the earl, "through the Lothians, and across the Queens ferry, directly into Perths.h.i.+re. I would not have you come to Stirling, lest it should be supposed that you are influenced in your judgment either my myself or my wife. But I think there cannot be a question that Lord Ruthven's services to the great cause invest him with a claim which his opponent does not possess. Lord Athol has none beyond that of superior rank; but being the near relation of my wife, I believe she is anxious for his elevation. Therefore come not near us, if you would avoid female importunity, and spare me the pain of hearing what I must condemn."

Wallace now recollected a pa.s.sage in Lady Mar's letter which, though not speaking out, insinuated how she expected he would decide. She said: "As your interest is mine, my n.o.ble friend, all that belongs to me is yours. My kindred are not withheld in the gift my devoted heart bestows on you. Use them as your own; make them bulwarks around your power, the creatures of your will, the instruments of your benevolence, the defenders of your rights."

Well pleased to avoid another rencounter with this lady's love and ambition, Wallace sent off the substance of these dispatches to Murray; and next morning, taking a tender leave of the venerable Gregory and his family, with Edwin and Sir John Graham, he set off for the Frith of Forth.

Chapter XLVIII.

Loch Awe.

It was on the eve of St. Nicholas that the boat which contained Wallace drew near to the coast of Fife. A little of the right towered the tremendous precipice of Kinghorn.

"Behold, Edwin," said he, "the cause of all our woe! From those horrible cliffs fell the best of kings, the good Alexander. My father accompanied him in that fatal ride, and was one of the unhappy group who had the evil hap to find his mangled body among the rocks below."

"I have heard," observed Graham, "that the sage of Ercildown prophesied this dreadful calamity to Scotland."

"He did prognosticate," replied Wallace, "that on the eighteenth of April, a storm should burst over this land which would lay the country in ruins. Fear seized the farmers; but his prophecy regarded a n.o.bler object than their harvests. The day came, rose unclouded, and continued perfectly serene. Lord March, to whom the seer had presaged the event, at noon reproached him with the unlikeliness of its completion. But even at the moment he was ridiculing the sage, a man on a foaming steed arrived at the gate, with tidings that the king had accidentally fallen from the precipice of Kinghorn, and was killed.

'This,' said the Lord of Ercildown, 'is the scathing wind and dreadful tempest which shall long blow calamity and trouble on the realm of Scotland!' And surely his words have been verified, for still the storm rages around our borders--and will not cease, I fear, till the present dragon of England be laid as low as our n.o.ble lion was by that mysterious blast."**

**Alexander III. was killed in this manner on the 18th of April, 1290, just seven years before the consequent calamities of his country made it necessary for Wallace to rise in its defense.

The like discourse held the friends till they landed at Roseyth Castle, where they lodged for the night; and next morning recommencing their journey at daybreak, they crossed the Lomonds under a wintery sun, and entered Perth in the midst of a snow-storm.

The regent's arrival soon spread throughout the province, and the hall of the castle was speedily crowded with chieftains, come to pay their respects to their benefactor; while an army of grateful peasantry from the hills filled the suburbs of the town, begging for one glance only of their beloved lord. To oblige them, Wallace mounted his horse, and between the Lords Ruthven and Athol, with his bonnet off, rode from the castle to the populace-covered plain, which lay to the west of the city. He gratified their affectionate eagerness by this condescension, and received in return the sincere homage of a thousand grateful hearts. The snow-topped Grampians echoed with the proud acclamations of "Our deliverer," "Our prince," "The champion of Scotland," "The glorious William Wallace!" and the sh.o.r.es of the Tay resounded with similar rejoicings at sight of him who made the Scottish seamen lords of the Northern Ocean.

Ruthven beheld this eloquence of nature with sympathetic feelings. His just sense of the unequaled merits of the regent had long internally acknowledged him as his sovereign; and he smiled with approbation at every breathing amongst the people which intimated what would at last be their general shout. Wallace had proved himself not only a warrior but a legislator. In the midst of war he had planted the fruits of peace, and now the olive and the vine waved abundant on every hill.

Different were the thoughts of the gloomy Athol as he rode by the side of the regent. Could he by a look have blasted those valiant arms--have palsied that youthful head, whose judgment shamed the h.o.a.riest temples--gladly would he have made Scotland the sacrifice so that he might never again find himself in the triumphant train of one whom he deemed a boy and an upstart! Thus did he muse, and thus did envy open a way into his soul for those demons to enter which were so soon to possess it with the fellest designs.

The issue of Ruthven's claims did not lessen Lord Athol's hatred of the regent. Wallace simply stated the case to him, only changing the situations of the opponents; he supposed Athol to be in the place of Ruthven and then asked the frowning earl if Ruthven had demanded a government which Athol had bravely won and n.o.bly secured, whether he should deem it just to be sentenced to relinquish it into the hands of his rival? By this question he was forced to decide against himself.

But while Wallace generously hoped that, by having made him his own judge, he had found an expedient both to soften the pain of disappointment and to lessen the humiliation of defeat, he had only redoubled the hatred of Athol, who thought he had thus been cajoled out of even the privilege of complaint. He, however, affected to be reconciled to the issue of the affair, and, taking a friendly leave of the regent, retired to Blair; and there, amongst the numerous fortresses which owned his power--amongst the stupendous strongholds of nature, the cloud invested mountains and the labyrinthine winding of his lochs and streams--he determined to pa.s.s his days and nights in devising the sure fall of this proud usurper; for so the bitterness of an envy he durst not yet breathe to any impelled him internally to designate the unpretending Wallace.

Meanwhile, the unconscious object of this hatred, oppressed by the overwhelming crowds constantly a.s.sembling at Perth to do him homage, retired to Huntingtower--a castle of Lord Ruthven's, at some distance from the town. Secluded from the throng, he there arranged, with the chiefs of several clans, matters of consequence to the internal repose of the country; but receiving applications for similar regulations from the counties further north, he decided on going thither himself.

Severe as the weather was at that season, he bade adieu to the warm hospitalities of Huntingtower, and, accompanied by Graham and his young friend Edwin, with a small but faithful train he commenced a journey which he intended should comprehend the circuit of the Highlands.

With the chieftain of almost every castle in his progress he pa.s.sed a day, and according to the interest which the situation of the surrounding peasantry created in his mind he lengthened his sojourn.

Everywhere he was welcomed with enthusiasm, and his glad eye beheld the festivities of Christmas with a delight which recalled past emotions, till they wrung his heart.

The last day of the old year he spent with Lord Loch-awe, in Kichurn Castle; and after a bounteous feast, in which lord and va.s.sal joined, sat up the night to hail the coming in of the new season. Wallace had pa.s.sed that hour, twelve months ago, alone with his Marion. They sat together in the window of the eastern tower of Ellerslie: and while he listened to the cheerful lilts to which their servants were dancing, the hand of his lovely bride was clasped in his. Marion smiled and talked of the happiness which should await them in the year to come.

"Ay, my beloved," answered he, "more than thy beauteous self will then fill these happy arms! Thy babe, my wife, will then hand at thy bosom, to bless with a parent's joys thy grateful husband!"

That time was now come round, and where was Marion?-cold in the grave.

Where that smiling babe?-a murderer's steel had reached it ere it saw the light.

Wallace groaned at these recollections; he struck his hand forcibly on his bursting heart, and fled from the room. The noise of the harps, the laughing of the dancers, prevented his emotions from being observed; and rus.h.i.+ng far from the joyous tumult, till its sounds died in the breeze, or were only brought to his ear by fitful gusts, he speeded along the margin of the lake, as if he would have flown even from himself. But memory, racking memory, followed him. Throwing himself on a bank, over which the ice hung in pointed ma.s.ses, he felt not the roughness of the ground, for all within him was disturbed and at war.

"Why," cried he, "O! why was I selected for this cruel sacrifice? Why was this heart, to whom the acclaim of mult.i.tudes could bring no selfish joy--why was it to be bereft of all that ever made it beat with transport? Companion of my days, partner of my soul! my lost, lost Marion! And are thine eyes forever closed on me? Shall I never more clasp that hand which ever thrilled my frame with every sense of rapture? Gone, gone forever--and I am alone!"

Long and agonizing was the pause which succeeded to this fearful tempest of feeling. In that hour of grief, renewed in all its former violence, he forgot country, friends and all on earth. The recollection of his fame was mockery to him; for where was she to whom the sound of his praises would have given so much joy?

"Ah!" said he, "it was indeed happiness to be brightened in those eyes!

When the grat.i.tude of our poor retainers met thine ear, how didst thou lay thy soft cheek to mine, and shoot its gentle warmth into my heart!"

At that moment he turned his face on the gelid bank; starting with wild horror, he exclaimed, "Is it now so cold? My Marion, my murdered wife!" and, rus.h.i.+ng from the spot, he again hastened along the margin of the loch. But there he still heard the distant sound of the pipes from the castle; he could not bear their gay notes; and, darting up the hill which overhung Loch-awe's domain, he ascended, with swift and reckless steps, the rocky sides of Ben Cruachan. Full of distracting thoughts, and impelled by a wild despair, he hurried from steep to steep, and was rapidly descending the western side of the mountain, regardless of the piercing sleet, when his course was suddenly checked by coming with a violent shock against another human being, who, running as hastily through the storm, had driven impetuously against Wallace; but, being the weaker of the two, was struck to the ground.

The accident rallied the scattered senses of the chief. He now felt that he was out in the midst of a furious winter tempest, had wandered he knew not whither, and probably had materially injured some poor traveler by his intemperate motion.