These opponents being slain by the first
sweep of the Scottish swords, Wallace hastened onward, winged with
twofold retribution. The noise of battle was behind him; for the
shouts of his men had aroused the garrison and drawn its soldiers,
half-naked, to the spot. He reached the door of the governor. The
sentinel who stood there flew before the terrible warrior that
presented himself. All the mighty vengeance of Wallace blazed in his
face and seemed to surround his figure with a terrible splendor. With
one stroke of his foot he drove the door from its hinges, and rushed
into the room.
What a sight for the now awakened and guilty Heselrigge! It was the
husband of the defenseless woman he had murdered come in the power of
justice, with uplifted arm and vengeance in his eyes? With a terrific
scream of despair, and an outcry for the mercy he dared not expect, he
fell back into the bed and sought an unavailing shield beneath its
folds.
"Marion! Marion!" cried Wallace, as he threw himself toward the bed and
buried the sword, yet red with her blood, through the coverlid, deep
into the heart of her murderer. A fiend-like yell from the slain
Heselrigge told him his work was done; and drawing out the sword he
took the streaming blade in his hand.
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