He set it on
the table near his friend, then went to the great door, which he had
before so carefully closed, tried that the bolts were secure, and
returned, with a still more pallid countenance, toward the table.
Wallace, surprised at so much actions, awaited with wonder the promised
explanation. Monteith sat down with his hand on the box, and fixing
his eyes on it, began:
"I am going to mention a name, which you may hear with patience, since
its power is no more. The successful rival of Bruce, and the enemy of
your family, is now a prisoner in the Tower of London."
"Baliol?"
"Yes," answered Monteith; "and his present sufferings will, perhaps,
avenge to you his vindictive resentment of the injury he received from
Sir Ronald Crawford."
"My grandfather never injured him, nor any man!" interrupted Wallace:
"Sir Ronald Crawford was as incapable of injustice as of flattering the
minions of his country's enemy. But Baliol is fallen, and I forgive
him."
"Did you witness his degradation," returned Monteith, "you would even
pity him."
"I always pity the wicked," continued Wallace; "and as you seem
ignorant of the cause of his enmity against Sir Ronald and myself, in
justice to the character of that most venerable of men, I will explain
it.
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