The tidings of the dreadful vengeance which Edward had taken against the Scottish nation, by pouring all his wrath upon the head of Wallace, struck like the lightning of heaven through the souls of men. None of either country, but those in the confidence of Gloucester, knew that Heaven had snatched him from the dishonor of so vile a death. The English turned, blushing, from each other, and ventured not to breathe the name of a man whose virtues seemed to have found a sanctuary for his fame in every honest heart. But when the news reached Scotland, the indignation was general. All envyings, all strifes were forgotten, in unqualified resentment of the deed. There was not a man, even amongst the late refractory chiefs, excepting the Cummins, and their coadjutors Soulis and Monteith, who really had believed that Edward seriously meant to sentence the Scottish patriot to a severer fate than what he had pronounced against his rebellious vassal, the exiled Baliol. The execution of Wallace, whose offense could only be that of having served his country too faithfully, was therefore so unexpected, that on the first promulgation of it, so great an abhorrence of the perpetrator was excited in every breast, that the whole country rose as one man, threatening to march instantly to London, and sacrifice the tyrant on his throne.

At this crisis, when the mountains of the north seemed heaving from their base, to overwhelm the blood-stained fields of England, every heart which secretly rejoiced in the late sanguinary event quailed within its possessor, as it tremblingly anticipated the consequences of the fall of Wallace. At this instant, when the furies armed every clan in Scotland, breathing forth revenge like a consuming fire before them, John Cummin, the regent, stood aghast. He foresaw his own downfall, in this reawakened enthusiasm respecting the man whom his treachery had been the first means of betraying to his enemies. Baffled in the aim of his ambition by the very means he had taken to effect it, Cummin saw no alternative, but to throw himself at once upon the bounty of England; and, to this purpose, he bethought him of the only chance of preserving the power of past events, that this tempest of the soul — excited by remorse in some, and gratitude in others — could only be maintained to any conclusive injury to England, by a royal hand, and that that hand was expected to be Bruce’s, he determined at once, that the prince to whom he had sworn fealty, and to whom he owed his present elevation, should follow the fate of his friend. By the spies which he constantly kept round Huntingtower, he was apprised that Bruce had set off toward London in a vessel from Dundee. On these grounds, he sent a dispatch to King Edward, informing him that destiny had established him supreme lord of Scotland; for not its second and its last hope had put himself into his hands. With this intelligence, he gave a particular account of all Bruce’s proceedings, from the time of his meeting Wallace in France, to his present following the chief to London. He then craved his majesty’s pardon for having been betrayed into a union with such conspirators; and repeating his hope that the restitution he now made, in thus showing the royal hand where to find its last opponent, would give full conviction of his penitence and duty. He closed his letter by urging the king to take instant and effectual measures to disable Bruce from disturbing the quiet of Scotland, or ever again disputing his regal claims!

Gloucester happened to be in the presence when this epistle was delivered in and read by his majesty. On the suit of his daughter, Edwin had been reconciled to his son-in-law; but when he showed him the contents of Cummin’s letter, with a suspicious smile he said in a loud voice, “In case you should know this new rebel’s lurking-place, presume not to ............