leaders as it is oppressive to Sir William Wallace. Edwin, you will
come for me when your aunt consents to be guided by right reason."
While yet speaking he entered the passage that led to his own apartment.

Lady Mar sat a few minutes silent. She was not to be warned from her
determination by the displeasure of a husband whom she now regarded
with the impatience of a bondwoman toward her taskmaster; and only
solicitous to compass the detention of Sir William Wallace, she
resolved, if he would not remain at the castle, to persuade him to
conduct her himself to her husband's territories in the Isle of Bute.
She could contrive to make the journey occupy more than one day, and
for holding him longer she would trust to chance and her own
inventions. With these resolutions she looked up. Edwin was speaking
to Wallace. "What does he tell you?" said she; "that my lord has left
me in displeasure? Alas! he comprehends not a mother's anxiety for her
sole remaining child. One of my sweet twins, my dear daughter, died on
my being brought a prisoner to this horrid fortress, and to lose this
also would be more than I could bear. Look at this babe," cried she,
holding it up to him; "let it plead to you for its life! Guard it,
noble Wallace, whatever may become of me!"

The appeal of a mother made instant way to Sir William's heart; even
her weaknesses, did they point to anxiety respecting her offspring,
were sacred with him. "What would you have me do, madam? If you fear
to remain here, tell me where you think you would be safer, and I will
be your conductor?"

She paused to repress the triumph with which this proposal filled her,
and then, with downcast eyes, replied: "In the seagirt Bute stands
Rothsay, a rude, but strong castle of my lord's. It possesses nothing