On the evening of the fatal day in which the sun of William Wallace had set forever on his country, the Earl of Gloucester was imparting to the Warden of the Tower his last directions respecting the sacred remains, when the door of the chamber suddenly opened, and a file of soldiers entered. A man in armor, with his visor closed, was in the midst of them. The captain of the band told the warden that the person before him had behaved in a most seditious manner. He first demanded admittance into the Tower; then, on the sentinel making answer that in consequence of the recent execution of the Scottish chief, orders had been given “to allow no strangers to approach the gates till the following morning,” he, the prisoner, burst into a passionate emotion, uttering such threats against the King of England, that the captain thought it his duty to have him seized and brought before the warden.

On the entrance of the soldiers, Gloucester had retired into the shadow of the room. He turned round on hearing these particulars. When the captain ceased speaking, the stranger fearlessly threw up his visor and exclaimed:

“Take me, not to our warden alone, but to your king; let me pierce his conscience with his infamy — would it were to stab him ere I die!”

In this frantic adjuration, Gloucester discovered the gallant Bruce. And hastening toward him to prevent his apparently determined exposure of himself, with a few words he dismissed the officer and his guard; and then, turning to the warden, “Sir Edward,” said he, “this stranger is not less my friend than he that was Sir William Wallace!”

“Then far be it from me, earl, to denounce him to our enraged monarch. I have seen enough of noble blood shed already. And though we, the subjects of King Edward, may not call your late friend a martyr, yet we must think his country honored in so steady a patriot, and may surely wish we had many the like in our own!” With these words the worthy old knight bowed and withdrew.

Bruce, who had hardly heard the observation of the warden, on his departure turned upon the earl, and, with a bursting heart, exclaimed:

“Tell me, is it true? Am I so lost a wretch as to be deprived of my best, my dearest friend? And is it true, as I am told, that every infernal rigor of the sentence has been executed on that brave and breathless body! Answer me to the fact, that I may speedily take my course!”

Alarmed at the direful expression of his countenance, with a quivering lip, but in silence, Gloucester laid his hand upon his arm. Bruce too well understood what he durst not speak, and, shaking it off, frantically:

“I have no friend!” cried he. “Wallace! my dauntless, my only Wallace, thou art rifled from me! And shall I have fellowship with these? No, all mankind are my enemies, and soon will I leave their detested sojourn!”

Gloucester attempted to interrupt him; but he broke out afresh and with redoubled violence:

“And you, earl,” cried he, “lived in this realm, and suffered such a sacrilege on God’s most perfect work! Ungrateful, worthless man! fill up the measure of your baseness; deliver me to Edward, and let me brave him to his face. Oh! let me die, covered with the blood of thy enemies, my murdered Wallace! my more than brother, that shall be the royal robe thy Bruce will bring to thee!”

Gloucester stood in dignified forbearance under the invectives and stormy grief of the Scottish prince; but when exhausted nature seemed to take rest in momentary silence, he approached him. Bruce cast on him a lurid glance of suspicion.

“Leave me!” cried he; “I hate the whole world, and you the worst in it; for you might have saved him, and you did not — you might have preserved his sacred limbs from being made the gazing-stock of traitors, and you did not. Away from me, apt son of a tyrant, lest I tear you in piecemeal!”

“By the heroic spirit of him whom this outrage on me dishonors, hear my answer, Bruce! And, if not on this spot, let me then exculpate myself by the side of his body, yet uninvaded by a sacrilegious touch.”

“How?” interrupted Bruce. Gloucester continued:

“All that was mortal in our friend now lies in a distant chamber of this quadrangle. When I could not prevail on Edward, either by entreaty or reproaches, to remit the last gloomy vengeance of tyrants, I determined to wrest its object from his hands. A notorious murderer died yesterday under the torture. After the inanimate corpse of our friend was brought into this house, to be conveyed to the scene of its last horrors, by the assistance of the warden the malefactor’s body was conveyed here also, and placed on the traitor’s sledge, in the stead of his who was no traitor, and on that murderer most justly fell the rigor of so dreadful a sentence.”

The whole aspect of Bruce changed during this explanation, which was followed by a brief account from Gloucester of their friend’s heroic suffering and death.

“Can you pardon my reproaches to you?” cried the prince, stretching out his hand. “Forgive, generous Gloucester, the distraction of a severely wounded spirit!”

This pardon was immediately accorded; and Bruce impetuously added:

“Lead me to these dear remains, that with redoubled certainty I may strike his murderer’s heart! I came to succor him. I now stay to die — but not unrevenged!”

“I will lead you,” returned the earl, “where you shall learn a different lesson. His soul will speak to you by the lips of his bride, now watching by those sacred relics. Feeble is now her lamp of life; but a saint’s vigilance keeps it burning, till it may expire in the grave with him she so chastely loved.”

A few words gave Bruce to understand that he meant Lady Helen Mar; and with a deepened grief when he heard in what an awful hour their hands were plighted, he followed his conductor through the quadrangle.

When Gloucester gently opened the door, which contained the remains of the bravest and the best, Bruce stood for a moment on th............