was the favorite bower of his Marion! The soft perfume, as it saluted
his senses, seemed to breathe peace and safety; and as he emerged from
its fragrant embrace, he walked with a calmer step toward the house.
He approached a door which led into the garden. It was open. He
beheld his beloved leaning over a couch, on which was laid the person
he had rescued. Halbert was dressing his wounds.

Wallace paused for a moment, to contemplate his lovely wife in this
more lovely act of charity. Her beautiful hands held a cup to the lips
of the stranger; while her long hair, escaped from its band, fell in
jetty ringlets, and mingled with his silver locks.

"Marion!" exclaimed the overflowing soul of her husband. She looked up
at the well-known sound, and with a cry of joy, rushing forward, threw
herself into his arms; her tears flowed, she sobbed-she clung to his
breast. It was the first time Wallace had been from her; she had
feared it would have been the last. The hour-the conflict-the bleeding
stranger! But now he was returned-he was safe!

"Art thou indeed here!" exclaimed she. Blood fell from his forehead
upon her face and bosom: "O, my Wallace!" cried she, in agony.

"Fear not, my love! all is well, since our wounded countryman is safe."

"But you, bleed!" returned she. No tears now impeded her voice.
Terror had checked their joyful currents; and she felt as if she
expected his life-blood to issue from the wound on which she gazed.

"I hope my preserver is not hurt?" inquired the stranger.