Go
to Lord Mar; take this lock of my hair, stained with the blood of my
wife. It is all, most likely, he will ever again see of William
Wallace. Should I fall, tell him to look on that, and in my wrongs
read the future miseries of Scotland; and remember, that God armeth the
patriot!"
Tears dropped so fast from the young lady's eyes, she was obliged to
walk to a window, to restrain a more violent burst of grief.
"O! my uncle," cried the youth, "surely the freedom of Scotland is
possible. I feel in my soul, that the words of the brave Wallace are
prophetic."
The earl held the lock of hair in his hands; he regarded it, lost in
meditation.
"'God armeth the patriot!'" He paused again, his before pallid cheek
taking a thousand animated hues; then raising the sacred present to his
lips, "Yes," cried he, "thy vow shall be performed; and while Donald
Mar has an arm to wield a sword, or a man to follow to the field, thou
shalt command both him and them!"
"But not as you are, my lord!" cried the elder lady; "your wounds are
yet unhealed; your fever is still raging! Would it not be madness to
expose your safety at such a crisis?"
"I shall not take arms myself," answered he, "till I can bear them to
effect; meanwhile all of my clan, and of my friends, that I can raise
to guard the life of my deliverer and to promote the cause, must be
summoned.
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