The Scottish Chiefs | Page 3

expectation, and disappointment, unable to say whence arose her fears,
she sat down again to look; but her eyes were blinded with tears, and in
a voice interrupted by sighs she exclaimed, "Not yet, not yet! Ah, my
Wallace, what evil hath betided thee?"
Trembling with a nameless terror, she knew not what to dread. She
believed that all hostile recounters had ceased, when Scotland no longer
contended with Edward. The nobles, without remonstrance, had
surrendered their castles into the hands of the usurper; and the
peasantry, following the example of their lords, had allowed their
homes to be ravaged without lifting an arm in their defense. Opposition
being over, nothing could then threaten her husband from the enemy;
and was not the person who had taken him from Ellerslie a friend?
Before Wallace's departure he had spoken to Marion alone; he told her
that the stranger was Sir John Monteith, the youngest son of the brave
Walter Lord Monteith,** who had been treacherously put to death by
the English in the early part of the foregoing year. This young man was
bequeathed by his dying father to the particular charge of his friend
William Lord Douglas, at that time governor of Berwick. After the fall
of that place and the captivity of its defender, Sir Jon Monteith had
retired to Douglas Castle, in the vicinity of Lanark, and was now the
sole master of that princely residence: James Douglas, the only son of
its veteran lord, being still at Paris, whither he had been dispatched,
before the defeat at Dunbar, to negotiate a league between the French
monarch and the then King of Scots.
**Walter Stewart, the father of Sir John Monteith, assumed the name
and earldom of Monteith in right of his wife, the daughter and heiress
of the preceding earl. When his wife died he married an Englishwoman
of rank, who, finding him ardently attached to the liberties of his
country, cut him off by poison, and was rewarded by the enemies of
Scotland for this murder with the hand of a British nobleman.-(1809.)
Informed of the privacy in which Wallace wished to live, Monteith had
never ventured to disturb it until this day; but knowing the steady honor

of his old school-companion, he came to entreat him, by the respect he
entertained for the brave Douglas, and by his love for his country, that
he would not refuse to accompany him to the brave exile's castle.
"I have a secret to disclose to you," said he, "which cannot be divulged
on any other spot."
Unwilling to deny so small a favor, Wallace, as has been said before,
consented; and accordingly was conducted by Monteith toward
Douglas.
While descending the heights which led to the castle, Monteith kept a
profound silence; and when crossing the drawbridge toward it, he put
his finger to his lips, in token to the servants for equal caution. This
was explained as they entered the gate and looked around. It was
guarded by English soldiers. Wallace would have drawn back; but
Monteith laid his hand on his arm, and whispered, "For your country!"
At these words, a spell to the ear of Wallace, he proceeded; and his
attendants followed into the courtyard.
The sun was just setting as Monteith led his friend into the absent earl's
room. Its glowing reflection on the distant hills reminded Wallace of
the stretch he had to retread to reach his home before midnight; and
thinking of his anxious Marion, he awaited with impatience the
development of the object of his journey.
Monteith closed the door, looked fearfully around for some time; then,
trembling at every step, approached Wallace. When drawn quite near,
in a low voice he said, "You must swear upon the cross that you will
keep inviolate the secret I am going to reveal."
Wallace put aside the hilt of the sword which Monteith presented to
receive his oath. "No," said he, with a smile; "in these times I will not
bind my conscience on subjects I do not know. If you dare trust the
word of a Scotsman and a friend, speak out; and if the matter be honest,
my honor is your pledge."
"You will not swear?"

"No."
"Then I must not trust you."
"Then our business is at an end," returned Wallace, rising, "and I may
return home."
"Stop!" cried Monteith. "Forgive me, my old companion, that I have
dared to hesitate. These are, indeed, times of such treason to honor, that
I do not wonder you should be careful how you swear; but the nature of
the confidence reposed in me will. I hope, convince you that I ought
not to share it rashly. Of any one but you, whose truth stands unsullied,
amidst the faithlessness of the best, I would exact