Part 13 (1/2)

Think then my horror, when in my journey I found redoubled legions hemming in the hills; and on advancing toward Bothwell Castle, was seized with that n.o.bleman, who, they said, was condemned to lose his head!”

”Not so bad as that, my brave Ker,” cried Murray, a glow of indignation flus.h.i.+ng his cheek; ”many a bull's head** shall frown in this land, on the Southron tables, before my uncle's neck gluts their axes! No true Scottish blood, I trust, will ever stain their scaffolds; for while we have arms to wield a sword, he must be a fool that grounds them on any other terms than freedom or death. We have cast our lives on the die; and Wallace's camp or the narrow house must be our prize!”

**A bull's head, presented at a feast, was a sign that some one of the company was immediately to be put to death.-(1809.)

”n.o.ble youth!” exclaimed the prior, ”may the innocence which gives animation to your courage, continue its moving soul! They only are invincible who are as ready to die as to live; and no one can be firm in that principle, whose exemplary life is not a happy preparation for the awful change.”

Murray bowed modestly to this pious encomium, and turning to Ker, informed him, that since he must abandon all hope of hearing any more of the fifty brave men his cousin Helen had sent to the craigs, he bethought him of applying to his uncle, Sir John Murray, who dwelt hard by, on his estate at Drumshargard. ”It is small,” said he, ”and cannot afford many men; but still he may spare sufficient to effect the escape of our commander; and that for the present will be a host!”

To accomplish his design without delay--for prompt.i.tude is the earnest of success--and to avoid a surprise from the English lieutenant at Bothwell (who, hearing of the reencounter before the castle, might choose to demand his men's prisoner). Murray determined to take Ker with him; and, disguised as peasants, as soon as darkness should shroud their movements, proceed to Drumshargard.

Chapter XII.

Drumshargard.

While these transactions occupied the morning, Lady Helen (who the night before had been removed into the quiet cell appointed for her) slept long and sweetly. Her exhausted frame found renovation; and she awoke with a heavenly calm at her heart. A cheering vision had visited her sleeping thoughts; and a trance of happy feelings absorbed her senses, while her hardly disengaged spirit still hovered over its fading images.

She had seen in her dream a young knight enter her cell, bearing her father in his arms. He laid the earl down before her; but as she stooped to embrace him, the knight took her by the hand, leading her to the window of the apartment (which seemed extended to an immense size), he smiled, and said, ”Look out and see how I have performed my vow!”

She obeyed, and saw crowds of rejoicing people, who at sight of the young warrior raised such a shout, that Helen awoke. She started--she looked around--she was still in the narrow cell, and lone; but the rapture of beholding her father yet fluttered in her breast, and the touch of the warrior's hand seemed still warm upon hers. ”Angels of rest,” cried she, ”I thank ye for this blessed vision!”

The prior of St. Fillan might have read his own just sentiment in the heart of Lady Helen. While the gentlest of human beings, she was an evidence that an ardent and pious mind contains the true principles of heroism. Hope, in such a mind, treads down impossibilities; and, regardless of impediments or dangers, rushes forward to seize the prize. In the midst of hosts, it feels a conqueror's power; or, when its strength fails, sees, by the eye of faith, legions of angels watching to support the natural weakness. Lady Helen knew that the cause was just which had put the sword into the hand of Wallace; that it was virtue which had prompted her father to second him; and where justice is there are the wings of the Most High stretched out as a s.h.i.+eld!

This dream seemed prophetic. ”Yes,” cried she, ”though thousands of Edward's soldiers surrounded my father and his friend, I should not despair. Thy life, O n.o.ble Wallace, was not give to be extinguished in an hour! Thy morn has hardly risen, the perfect day must come that is to develop thy greatness--that is to prove thee (and oh! gracious G.o.d, grant my prayer!) the glory of Scotland!”

Owing to the fervor of her apostrophe, she did not observe the door of the cell open, till the prior stood before her. After expressing his pleasure at the renovation in her countenance, he informed her of the departure of the English soldier, and of the alarm which he and Murray had sustained for his safety, by the adventure which had thrown a stranger from the craigs into their protection. At the mention of that now momentous spot, she blushed; the golden-haired warrior of her dream seemed ready to rise before her; and with a beating heart she prepared to hear some true but miraculous account of her father's rescue.

Unconscious of what was pa.s.sing in her young and eager mind, the prior calmly proceeded to relate all that Ker had told of the dangerous extremity to which Wallace was reduced; and then closed his intelligence, by mentioning the attempt which meditated to save him.

The heightened color gradually faded from the face of Helen, and low sighs were her only responses to the observations the good priest made on the difficulty of the enterprise. But when his pity for the brave man engaged in the cause, betrayed him into expressing his fears that the patriotic zeal of Wallace would only make him and them a sacrifice, Helen looked up; there was inspiration on her lips and in her eyes.

”Father,” said she, ”hast thou not taught me that G.o.d s.h.i.+eldeth the patriot as well as armeth him!”

”True!” returned he, with an answering smile; ”steadily believe this, and where will be the sighs you have just been breathing!”

”Nature will shrink,” replied she; ”but the Christian's hope checks her ere she falls. Pardon me then, holy father, that I sometimes weep; but they are often tears of trust and consolation.”

”Daughter of heaven,” replied the good prior, ”you might teach devotion to age, and cause youth to be enamored of the graces of religion! Be ever thus, and you may look with indifference on the wreck of worlds.”

Helen having meekly replied to this burst from the heart of the holy man, begged to see her cousin before he set off on his expedition. The prior withdrew, and within an hour after, Murray entered the apartment.

Their conversation was long, and their parting full of an interest that dissolved them both into tears. ”When I see you again, my brave cousin, tell me that my father is free, and his preserver safe. Your own life, dear Andrew,” added she, as he pressed his cheek to hers, ”must always be precious to me.”

Murray hastily withdrew, and Helen was again alone.

The young chieftain and Ker covered their armor with shepherd's plaids; and having received a thousand blessings from the prior and Halbert, proceeded under shelter of the night, through the obscurest paths of the wood which divided Bothwell from Drumshargard.

Sir John Murray was gone to rest when his nephew arrived, but Lord Andrew's voice being well known by the porter, he was admitted into the house; and leaving his companion in the dining-hall, went to the apartment of his uncle. The old knight was soon aroused, and welcomed his nephew with open arms; for he had feared, from the accounts brought by the fugitive tenants of Bothwell, that he also had been carried away prisoner.

Murray now unfolded his errand--first to obtain a band of Sir John's trustiest people to a.s.sist in rescuing the preserver of the earl's life from immediate destruction; and secondly, if a commission for Lord Mar's release did not arrive from King Edward, to aid him to free his uncle and the countess from Dumbarton Castle.