Let, oh Power above!" exclaimed he, in
the fervor of enthusiasm, "let the victorious field for Scotland be
Donald Mar's grave, rather than doom him to live a witness of her
miseries!"
"I cannot stay to hear you!" answered the countess; "I must invoke the
Virgin to give me courage to be a patriot's wife; at present, your
words are daggers to me."
In uttering this she hastily withdrew, and left the earl to muse on the
past-to concert plans for the portentous future.
Chapter VII.
Bothwell Castle.
Meanwhile the Lady Helen had retired to her own apartments. Lord Mar's
banner being brought to her from the armory, she sat down to weave into
its silken texture the amber locks of the Scottish chief. Admiring
their softness and beauty, while her needle flew, she pictured to
herself the fine countenance they had once adorned.
The duller extremities of the hair, which a sadder liquid than that
which now dropped from her eyes and rendered stiff and difficult to
entwine with the warp of the silk, seemed to adhere to her fingers.
Helen almost shrunk from the touch. "Unhappy lady!" she sighed to
herself; "what a pang must have rent her heart, when the stroke of so
cruel a death tore her from such a husband! and how must he have loved
her, when for her sake he thus forswears all future joys but those
which camps and victories may yield! Ah! what would I give to be my
cousin Murray, to bear this pennon at his side! What would I give to
reconcile so admirable a being to happiness again-to weep his griefs,
or smile him into comfort! To be that man's friend, would be a higher
honor than to be Edward's queen.
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