The Scottish Chiefs

by Jane Porter

  Chapter VIII.

  Bothwell Chapel.

  Night having passed over the sleepless heads of the inhabitants ofBothwell Castle, as soon as the sun arose, the Earl of Mar was carriedfrom his chamber, and laid on a couch in the state apartment. His ladyhad not yet left the room of his daughter, by whose side she had lainthe whole night in hopes of infecting her with the fears whichpossessed himself.

  Helen replied that she could see no reason for such direfulapprehension, if her father, instead of joining Wallace in person,would, when he had sent him succors, retire with his family into theHighlands, and there await the issue of the contest. "It is too lateto retreat, dear madam," continued she; "the first blow against thepublic enemy was struck in defense of Lord Mar; and would you have myfather act so base a part, as to abandon his preserver to the wrathsuch generous assistance has provoked?"

  "Alas, my child!" answered the countess, "what great service will hehave done to me or to your father, if he deliver him from one danger,only to plunge him into another? Edward's power in this country is toogreat to be resisted now. Have not most of our barons sworn fealty tohim? and are not the potent families of the Cummin, the Soulis, and theMarch, all in his interest? You may perhaps say, that most of theseare my relations, and that I may turn them which way I will; but if Ihave no influence with a husband, it would be madness to expect it overmore distant kindred. How, then, with such a host against him, canyour infatuated father venture, without despair, to support the man whobreaks the peace with England?"

  "Who can despair, honored lady," returned Helen, "in so just a cause?Let us rather believe with our good King David, that 'Honor must hopealways; for no real evil can befall the virtuous, either in this worldor in the next!' Were I a man, the justice that leads on the braveWallace would nerve my arm with the strength of a host. Besides, lookat our country; God's gift of freedom is stamped upon it. Ourmountains are his seal. Plains are the proper territories of tyranny;there the armies of a usurper may extend themselves with ease; leavingno corner unoccupied in which patriotism might shelter or treason hide.But mountains, glens, morasses, lakes, set bounds to conquest; andamidst these stands the impregnable seat of liberty. To such afortress, to the deep defiles of Loch Katrine, or to thecloud-curtained heights of Corryarraick, I would have my father retire.In safety he may there watch the footsteps of our mountain-goddess,till, led by her immortal champion, she plants her standard again uponthe hills of Scotland."

  The complexion of the animated Helen shone with a radiant glow. Herheart panted with a foretaste of the delight she would feel when allher generous wishes should be fulfilled; and pressing the now completedbanner to her breast, with an enthusiasm she believed prophetic, herlips moved, though her voice did not utter the inexpressible rapture ofher heart.

  Lady Mar looked at her. "It is well, romantic girl, that you are of myown powerless sex; had it been otherwise, your rash-headed disobediencemight have made me rue the day I became your father's wife."

  "Sex," returned Helen, mildly, "could not have altered my sense ofduty. Whether man or woman, I would obey you in all things consistentwith my duty to a higher power; but when that commands, then by theordinance of Heaven, we must 'leave father and mother, and cleave untoit.'"

  "And what, O foolish Helen, do you call a higher duty than that of achild to a parent, or a husband to his wife?"

  "Duty of any kind," respectfully answered the young daughter of Mar,"cannot be transgressed with innocence. Nor would it be anyrelinquishing of duty to you, should my father leave you to take uparms in the assertion of his country's rights. Her rights are yoursafety; and therefore, in defending them, a husband or a son best showshis sense of domestic, as well as of public duty."

  "Who taught you this sophistry, Helen? Not your heart, for it wouldstart at the idea of your father's blood."

  Helen turned pale. "Perhaps, madam, had not the preservation of myfather's blood occasioned such malignity from the English, that nothingbut an armed force can deliver his preserver, I, too, might be contentto see Scotland in slavery. But now, to wish my father to shrinkbehind the excuse of far-strained family duties, and to abandon SirWilliam Wallace to the blood hounds who hunt his life, would be todevote his name of Mar to infamy, and deservedly bring a curse upon hisoffspring."

  "Then it is to preserve Sir William Wallace you are thus anxious. Yourspirit of freedom is now disallowed, and all this mighty gathering isfor him. My husband, his vassals, your cousin, and, in short, thesequestration of the estates of Mar and Bothwell, are all to be put tothe hazard on account of a frantic outlaw, to whom, since the loss ofhis wife, I should suppose, death would be preferable to any gratitudewe can pay him."

  Lady Helen, at this ungrateful language, inwardly thanked Heaven thatshe inherited no part of the blood which animated so unfeeling a heart."That he is an outlaw, Lady Mar, springs from us. That death is thepreferable comforter of his sorrows, also, he owes to us; for was itnot for my father's sake that his wife fell, and that he himself wasdriven into the wilds? I do not, then, blush for making hispreservation my first prayer; and that he may achieve the freedom ofScotland, is my second."

  "We shall see whose prayers will be answered first," resumed Lady Mar,rising coldly from her seat. "My saints are perhaps nearer than yours,and before the close of this day you will have reason to repent suchextravagant opinions. I do not understand them."

  "Till now, you never disapproved them."

  "I allowed them in your infancy," replied the countess, "because Ithought they went no further than a minstrel's song; but since they arebecome so dangerous, I rue the hour in which I complied with theentreaties of Sir Richard Maitland, and permitted you and your sisterto remain at Thirlestane, to imbibe these romantic ideas from thewizard of Ercildown.** Had not Sir Richard been your own mother'sfather, I would not have been so easily prevailed on; and thus am Irewarded for my indulgence."

  **Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildown,usually called the Rhymer. He was a poet and a sage, and believed byhis contemporaries to be a prophet. He was born at Ercildown, avillage on the Leeder (or Lauder), where the ruins of his paternalcastle, called Learmont Tower, still remain.-(1809.)

  "I hope, honored madam," said Helen, still wishing to soften thedispleasure of her step-mother, "I hope you will never be ill-rewardedfor that indulgence, either by my grandfather, my sister, or myself.Isabella, in the quiet of Thirlestane, has no chance of giving you theoffense that I do; and I am forced to offend you, because I cannotdisobey my conscience." A tear stood in the eye of Lady Helen."Cannot you, dear Lady Mar," continued she, forcing a smile, "pardonthe daughter of your early friend, my mother, who loved you as asister? Cannot you forgive her Helen for revering justice even morethan your favor?"

  More influenced by the sweet humility of her daughter-in-law than bythe ingenuous eloquence with which she maintained her sentiments, orwith the appeal to the memory of the first Lady Mar, the countessrelaxed the frigid air she had assumed, and kissing her, with manyrenewed injunctions to bless the hand that might put a final stop to soruinous an enthusiasm in her family, she quitted the room.

  As soon as Helen was alone, she forgot the narrow-minded arguments ofthe countess; and calling to recollection the generous permission withwhich her father had endowed her the night before, she wrapped herselfin her mantle, and, attended by her page, proceeded to the armory. Thearmorer was already there, having just given out arms for three hundredmen, who, by the earl's orders were to assemble by noon on BothwellMoor.

  Helen told the man she came for the best suit of armor in hiscustody-"one of the most excellent proof."

  He drew from an oaken chest a coat of black mail, studded with gold.Helen admired its strength and beauty. "It is the richest in allScotland," answered he; "and was worn by our great Canmore in all hisvictories."

  "Then it is worthy its destination. Bring it, with its helmet andsword, to my apartment."

  The armorer took i
t up; and, accompanied by the page carrying thelighter parts, followed her into the western tower.

  When Helen was again alone, it being yet very early in the morning, sheemployed herself in pluming the casque, and forming the scarf she meantshould adorn her present. Thus time flew, till the sand-glass told herit was the eighth hour. But ere she had finished her task, she wasroused from the profound stillness in which that part of the castlelay, by the doleful lament of the troop returning from Ellerslie.

  She dropped the half-formed scarf from her hand; and listened, withoutdaring to draw her breath, to the deep-toned lamentations. She thoughtthat she had never before heard the dirge of her country so piercing,so thrillingly awful. Her head fell on the armor and scarf. "Sweetlady," sighed she to herself, "who is it that dares thus invade thyduties? But my gratitude--gratitude to the once-loved lord, will notoffend thy pure spirit!" Again the mournful wailings rose on the air;and with a convulsion of feelings she could not restrain, she threwherself on her knees, and leaning her head on the newly-adorned helmet,wept profusely.

  Murray entered the room unobserved. "Helen! my dear cousin!" cried he.She started, and rising, apologized for her tears by owning the truth.He now told her, that the body of the deceased lady was deposited inthe chapel of the castle; and that the priests from the adjacent prioryonly awaited her presence to consign it, with the church's rites, toits tomb.

  Helen retired for a few minutes to recover herself; and thenre-entering, covered with a black veil, was led by her cousin to theawful scene.

  The bier lay before the altar. The prior of St. Fillan, in his holyvestments, stood at its head; a band of monks were ranged on each side.The maids of Lady Helen, in mourning garments, met their mistress atthe portal. They had wrapped the beautiful corpse in the shroudprepared for it; and now having laid it, strewed with flowers, upon thebier, they advanced to their trembling lady, expecting her to approvetheir services. Helen drew near--she bowed to the priests. One of thewomen put her hand on the pall, to uncover the once lovely face of themurdered Marion. Lady Helen hastily resisted the woman's motion, bylaying her hand also upon the pall. The chill of death struck throughthe velvet to her touch. She turned pale; and waving her hand to theprior to begin, the bier was lowered by the priests into the tombbeneath. As it descended, Helen sunk upon her knees, and the anthemfor departed souls was raised. The pealing notes, as they rose andswelled, seemed to bear up the spirit of the sainted Marion to itsnative heaven; and the tears which now flowed from the eyes of Helen,as they mingled with her pious aspirations, seemed the balm of paradisedescending upon her soul.

  When all was over, the venerable Halbert, who had concealed hisoverwhelming sorrow behind a pillar, threw himself on the cold stonewhich now closed the last chamber of his mistress. With faint cries,he gave way to the woe that shook his aged bosom, and called on deathto lay him low with her. The women of Lady Helen again chanted forththeir melancholy wailings for the dead; and unable longer to bear thescene, she grasped the arm of her cousin, and with difficulty walkedfrom the chapel.