"Blood for blood!" cried a horrid voice, which penetrated the almost
palsied senses of Lady Marion. "Vengence on Wallace, for the murder of
Heselrigge!"

"Fly, fly!" cried she, looking wildly at her husband.

"Whither?" answered he, supporting her in his arms. "Would this be a
moment to leave you, and our wounded guest? I must meet them."

"Not now!" cried Lord Mar. "Hear you not how numerous they are? Mark
that shout! they thirst for blood. If you have love, pity, for your
wife, delay not a moment. Again-"

The uproar redoubled, and the room was instantly filled with shrieking
women in their night-clothes, the attendants of Lady Wallace. She
almost expiring, on her husband's breast.

"O my lord!" cried the terrified creatures, wringing their hands, "what
will become of us! The Southrons are at the gates, and we shall be
lost forever!"

"Fear not," replied Wallace; "retire to your chambers. I am the person
they seek: none else will meet with injury."

Appeased by this assurance, the women retreated to their apartments;
and Wallace, turning to the earl, who continued to enforce the
necessity of his flight, repeated, that he would not consent to leave
his wife in such a tumult.

"Leave me," cried she, in an inarticulate voice, "or see me die."