Wallace in a moment recovered from the transient wildness which had
possessed him. "None, my Edwin," replied he; "the affections are never
criminal but when by their excess they blind us to other duties. The
offense of mine is judged, and I bow to the penalty. When that is
paid, then may my ashes sleep in rescued Scotland! Then may the God of
victory and of mercy grant that the seraph spirits of my wife and
infant may meet my pardoned soul in paradise." Edwin wept afresh.
"Cease, dear boy!" said he; "these presages are very comforting; they
whisper that the path of glory leads thy brother to his home." As he
spoke he took the arm of the silent Edwin (whose sensibility locked up
the powers of speech), and putting it through his, they descended the
hill together.

On the open ground before the great tower they were met by Murray. "I
come to seek you," cried he. "We have had woe on woe in the citadel
since you left it."

"Nothing very calamitous," returned Wallace, "if we may guess by the
merry aspect of the messenger."

"Only a little whirlwind of my aunt's, in which we have had airs and
showers enough to wet us through and blow us dry again."

The conduct of the lady had been even more extravagant than her nephew
chose to describe. After the knight's departure, when the chiefs
entered into conversation respecting his future plans, and Lennox
mentioned that when his men should arrive (for whom he had that evening
dispatched Ker), it was Wallace's intention to march immediately for
Stirling, whither, it could hardly be doubted, Aymer de Valence had