The prisoners who had been taken with Montgomery were lodged behind the town, and the wounded carried into the Abbey of Cambus–Kenneth; but when Edwin came to move that earl himself, he found him too faint with loss of blood to sit a horse to Snawdoun. He therefore ordered a litter; and so conveyed his brave prisoner to that palace of the kings of Scotland in Stirling.

The priests in Wallace’s army not only exercised the Levitical but the good Samaritan’s functions, and they soon obeyed the young knight’s summons to dress the wounds of Montgomery.

Messengers, meanwhile, arrived from Wallace, acquainting his chieftains in Stirling with the surrender of De Warenne’s army. Hence no surprise was created in the breast of the wounded earl when he saw his commander enter the palace as the prisoner of the illustrious Scot.

Montgomery held out his hand to the lord warden in silence, and with a flushed cheek.

“Blush not, my noble friend!” cried De Warenne; “these wounds speak more eloquently than a thousand tongues, the gallantry with which you maintained the sword that fate compelled you to surrender. But I, without a scratch, how can I meet the unconquered Edward? And yet it was not for myself I feared: my brave and confiding soldiers were in all my thoughts; for I saw it was not to meet an army I led them, but against a whirlwind, a storm of war, with which no strength that I commanded could contend.”

While the English generals thus conversed, Edwin’s impatient heart yearned to be again at the side of Wallace; and gladly resigning the charge of his noble prisoner to Sir Alexander Ramsay, as soon as he observed a cessation in the conversation of the two earls, he drew near Montgomery to take his leave.

“Farewell, till we meet again!” said the young earl, pressing his hand; “you have been a young brother rather than an enemy, to me.”

“Because,” returned Edwin, “I follow the example of my general, who would willingly be the friend of all mankind.”

Warenne looked at him with surprise: “And who are you, who, in that stripling form, utters gallant sentiments which might grace the maturest years?”

With a sweet dignity, Edwin replied, “I am Edwin Ruthven, the adopted brother of Sir William Wallace.”

“And the son of him,” asked De Warenne, “who, with Sir William Wallace, was the first to mount Dumbarton walls?”

At these words the cheeks of Edwin were suffused with a more animated bloom. At the moment when his courage was distinguished on the heights of Dumbarton, by the vowed friendship of Wallace, he had found himself beloved by the bravest and most amiable of beings; and in his light he felt both warmth and brightness; but this question of De Warenne, conveyed to him that he had found fame himself; that he was there publicly acknowledged to be an object not unworthy of being called the brother of Sir William Wallace!-and, casting down his eyes, beaming with exultation, from the fixed gaze of De Warenne, he answered, “I am that happy Ruthven, who had the honor to mount Dumbarton Rock by the side of my general; and from his hand there received the stroke of knighthood.”

De Warenne rose, much agitated: “If such be the boys of Scotland need we wonder, when the spirit of resistance is roused in the nation, that our strength should wither before its men?”

“At least,” said Montgomery, whose admiration of what passed seemed to reanimate his languid faculties, “it deprives defeat of its sting, when we are conscious we yielded to power that was irresistible. But, my lord,” added he, “if the courage of this youth amazes you, what will you say ought to be the fate of this country? what to be the crown of Sir William Wallace’s career, when you know the chain of brave hearts by which he is surrounded? Even tender woman loses the weakness of her sex when she belongs to him.” Earl de Warenne, surprised at the energy with which he spoke, looked at him with an expression that told him so. “Yes,” continued he, “I witnessed the heroism of Lady Wallace, when she defended the character of her husband in the midst of an armed host, and preserved the secret of his retreat inviolate. I saw that loveliest of women, whom the dastard Heselrigge slew.”

“Disgrace to knighthood!” cried Edwin, with indignant vehemence; “if you were a spectator of that bloody deed, retire from this house; go to Cambus–Kenneth — anywhere; but leave this city before the injured Wallace arrives; blast not his eyes with a second sight of one who could have beheld his wife murdered.”

Every eye was now fixed on the commanding figure of the young Edwin, who stood with the determination of being obeyed breathing in every look. De Warenne then at once saw the possibility of so gentle a creature being transformed into the soul of enterprise, into the fearless and effective soldier.

Lord Montgomery held out his hand to Edwin. “By this right arm, I swear, noble youth, that had I been on the spot when Heselrigge, lifted his sword against the breast of Lady Wallace, I would have sheathed my sword in his. It was before then that I saw that matchless woman; and offended with my want of severity in the scrutiny I had made at Ellerslie for its chief. Heselrigge sent me back to Ayr. Arnuf quarreled with me there, on the same subject; and I immediately retired in disgust to England.”

“Then how? you ought to be Sir Gilbert Hambledon?” replied Edwin; “but whoever you are, as you were kind to the Lady Marion, I cannot but regret my late hasty charge; and for which I beseech your pardon.”

Montgomery took his hand, and pressed it. “Generous Ruthven, your warmth is too honorable to need forgiveness. I am that Sir Gilbert Hambledon; and had I remained so, I should not now be in Scotland. But in my first interview with the Prince of Wales, after my accession to the Earldom of Montgomery, his highness told me, it had been rumored from Scotland that I was disloyal in my heart to my king. ‘And to prove the falsehood of such calumniators,’ continued the prince, ‘I appoint you second in command there to the Earl de Warenne.’ To have refused to fight against Sir William Wallace, would have been to have accused myself of treason. And while I respected the husband of the murdered Lady Marion, I yet condemned him as an insurgent; and with the same spirit you follow him in the field, I obeyed the commands of my sovereign.”

“Lord Montgomery,” returned Edwin, “I am rejoiced to see one who proves to me what my general, wronged as he has been, yet always inculcates-that all the Southrons are not base and cruel! When he knows who is indeed his prisoner, what recollections will it awaken! But till you and he again meet, I shall not intimate to him the melancholy satisfaction he is to enjoy, for, with the remembrances it will arouse, your presence must bring the antidote.”

The brave youth then telling Ramsay in what parts of the palace the rest of the lords were to be lodged, with recovered composure descended to the courtyard, to take horse for Tor Wood. He was galloping along, under the bright light of the moon, when he heard a squadron on full speed approaching, and presently Murray appeared at its head. “Hurrah, Edwin!” cried he; “well met! We are come to demand the instant surrender of the citadel. Hilton’s division has surrendered!”

The two barons had indeed come up about half an hour after Earl de Warenne’s division was discomfited. Sir William Wallace had sent forward to the advancing enemy two heralds, bearing the colors De Valence and Montgomery, with the captive banner of De Warenne, and requiring the present division to lay down its army also. The sight of these standards was sufficient to assure Hilton there was no deceit in the embassy. The nature of his position precluded retreat; and not seeing any reason for ten thousand men disputing the day with a power to whom fifty thousand had just surrendered, he and his compeer, with the reluctance of veterans, embraced the terms of surrender.

The instant Hilton put his argent banner33 into the victor’s hand, Wallace knew that the castle must now be his; he had discomfited all who could have maintained it against him. Impatient to apprise Lord Mar and his family of their safety, he dispatched Murray with a considerable escort to demand its surrender.

33 The arms of Hilton are, argent, two bars azure. The charge on those of Blenkinsopp are three wheat-sheaves; crest, a lion rampant, grasping a rose. The ruins of the patrimonial castles of these two ancient barons are still to be seen in the north of England. The author’s revered mother was a descendant from the latter venerable name, united with that of the brave and erudite race of Adamson, of further north.

Murray gladly obeyed, and now, accompanied by Edwin, with the standards of Cressingham and De Warenne trailing in the dust, he arrived before the castle, and summoned the lieutenant to the walls. But that officer, well aware of what was going to happen, feared to appear. From the battlements of the keep he had seen the dreadful conflict on the banks of the Forth-he had seen the thousands of De Warenne pass before the conqueror. To punish his treachery, in not only having suffered Cressingham to steal out under the armistice, but upholding also the breaking of his word to surrender at sunset, the terrified officer believed that Wallace was now come to put the whole garrison to the sword.

At the first sight of Murray’s approaching squadron, the lieutenant hurried to Lord Mar, to offer him immediate liberty if he would go forth to Wallace and treat with him to spare the lives of the garrison. Closed up in a solitary dungeon, the earl knew naught of what was occurring without; and when the Southron entered, he expected it was to lead him again to the death which had been twice averted. But the pale and trembling lieutenant had no sooner spoken the first word than Mar discerned it was a suppliant, not an executioner, he saw before him, and he was even promising that clemency from Wallace, which he knew dwelt in his heart, when Murray’s trumpet sounded.

The lieutenant started, horror-struck. “It is now too late! We have not made the first overture, and there sounds the death-bell of this garrison! I saved your life, earl!” cried he, imploringly, to Lord Mar; “when the enraged Cressingham commanded me to pull the cord which would have launched you into eternity. I disobeyed him! For my sake, then, preserve this garrison, and accompany me to the ramparts.”

The chains were immediately knocked off the limbs of Lord Mar, and the lieutenant presenting him with a sword, they appeared together on the battlements. As the declining moon shone on their backs, Murray did not discern that it was his uncle who mounted the walls; but calling to him in a voice which declared there was no appeal, pointed to the humbled colors of Edward, and demanded the instant surrender of the citadel.

“Let it be, then with the pledge of Sir William Wallace’s mercy?” cried the venerable earl.

“With every pledge, Lord Mar,” returned Murray, now joyfully recognizing his uncle, “which you think safe to give.”

“Then the keys of the citadel are yours,” cried the lieutenant; “I only ask the lives of my garrison.”

This was granted, and immediately preparations were made for the admission of the Scots. As the enraptured Edwin heard the heavy chains of the portcullis drawn up, and the massy bolts of the huge doors grating in their guards, he thought of his mother’s liberty, of his father’s joy, in pressing her again in his arms; and hastening to the tower where Lord Ruthven held watch over the now sleeping De Valance, he told him all that had happened. “Go, my father,” added he; “enter with Murray, and be the first to open the prison doors of my mother.”

Lord Ruthven embraced his son. “My dear Edwin! this sacrifice to my feelings is worthy of you. But I have a duty to perform, superior even to the tenderest private ones. I am planted hereby my commander; and shall I quit my station, for any gratification, till he gives me leave? No, my son! Be you my representative to your mother; and while my example teaches you, above all earthly considerations, to obey your honor, those tender embraces will show her what I sacrifice to duty.”

Edwin no longer urged his father, and leaving his apartment, flew to the gate of the inner ballium. It was open; and Murray already stood on the platform before the keep, receiving the keys to the garrison.

“Blessed sight!” cried the earl, to his nephew. “When I put the banner of Mar into your unpracticed hand, little could I expect that, in the course of four months, I should see my brave Andrew receive the keys of proud Stirling from its commander!”

Murray smiled, while his plumed head bowed gratefully to his uncle, and turning to the lieutenant, “Now,” said he, “lead me to the Ladies Mar and Ruthven that I may assure them they are free.”

The gates of the keep were now unclosed, and the lieutenant conducted his victors along a gloomy passage, to a low door, studded with knobs of iron. As he drew the bolt, he whispered to Lord Mar, “These severities are the hard policy of Governor Cressingham.”

He pushed the door slowly open, and discovered a small, miserable cell-its walls, of rugged stone, having no other covering than the incrustations which time, and many a dripping winter, had strewn over their vaulted service. On the ground, on a pallet of straw, lay a female figure in a profound sleep. But the light which the lieutenant held, streaming full upon the uncurtained slumberer, she started, and, with a shriek of terror at the sight of so many armed men, discovered the pallid features of the Countess of Mar. With an anguish which hardly the freedom he was going to bestow could ameliorate, the earl rushed forward, and, throwing himself beside her, caught her in his arms.

“Are we, then, to die?” cried she, in a voice of horror. “Has Wallace abandoned us? Are we to perish? Heartless-heartless man!”

Overcome by his emotions, the earl could only strain her to his breast in speechless agitation. Edwin saw a picture of his mother’s sufferings, in the present distraction of the countess; and he felt his powers of utterance locked up; but Lord Andrew, whose ever-light heart was gay the moment he was no longer unhappy, jocosely answered, “My fair aunt, there are many hearts to die by your eyes before that day! and, meanwhile, I come from Sir William Wallace-to set you free!”

The name of Wallace, and the intimation that he had sent to set her free, drove every former thought of death and misery from her mind; again the ambrosial gales of love seemed to breathe around her-she saw not her prison walls; she felt herself again in his presence; and in a blissful trance, rather endured than participated in the warm congratulations of her husband on their mutual safety.

Edwin and Murray turned to follow the lieutenant, who, preceding them, stopped at the end of the gallery. “Here,” said he, “is Lady Ruthven’s habitation; and-alas! not better than the countess’.” While he spoke, he threw open the door, and discovered its sad inmate also asleep. But when the glad voice of her son pierced her ear-when his fond embraces clung to her bosom, her surprise and emotions were almost insupportable. Hardly crediting her senses, that he whom she had believed was safe in the cloisters of St. Colomba, could be within the dangerous walls of Stirling; that it was his mailed breast that pressed against her bosom; that it was his voice she heard exclaiming, “Mother, we come to give you freedom!” all appeared to her like a dream of madness.

She listened, she felt him, she found her cheek wet with his rapturous tears. “Am I in my right mind?” cried she, looking at him with a fearful, yet overjoyed countenance; “am I not mad? Oh! tell me,” cried she, turning to Murray, and the lieutenant, “is this my son that I see, or has terror turned my brain?”

“It is indeed your son, your Edwin, my very self,” returned he, alarmed at the expression of her voice and countenance. Murray gently advanced, and kneeling down by her, respectfully took her hand. “He speaks truth, my dear madam. It is your son Edwin. He left his convent, to be a volunteer with Sir William Wallace. He has covered himself with honor on the walls of Dumbarton; and here also a sharer in his leader’s victories, he is come to set you free.”

At this explanation, which, being given in the sober language of reason, Lady Ruthven believed, she gave way to the full happiness of her soul, and falling on the neck of her son, embraced him with a flood of tears: “And thy father, Edwin, where is he? Did not the noble Wallace rescue him from Ayr?”