Blood trickling from his
face fell on the hands of the ruthless wretches, who, with horrid
yells, were threatening him with instant death.
The prior, raising the cross, rushed in among them, and, in the name of
the blessed Son who died on that tree, bade them stand! The soldiers
trembled before the holy majesty of his figure, and at his awful
adjuration. The prior looked on the prisoner, but he did not see the
dark locks of the Englishman; it was the yellow hair of Scotland that
mingled with the blood on his forehead.
"Whither do you hurry that wounded man?"
"To his death," answered a surly fellow.
"What is his offense?"
"He is a traitor."
"How has he proved it?"
"He is a Scot, and he belongs to the disloyal Lord of Mar. This bugle,
with its crowned falcon, proves it," added the Southron, holding up the
very bugle which the earl had sent by Halbert to Wallace, and which was
ornamented with the crest of Mar wrought in gold.
"That this has been Lord Mar's," replied the prior, "there is no doubt;
but may not this man have found it? Or may it not have been given to
him by the earl, before that chief incurred the displeasure of King
Edward? Which of you would think it just to be made to die because
your friend was condemned to the scaffold? Unless you substantiate
your charge against this man, by a better proof than this bugle, his
death would be a murder, which the Lord of life will requite in the
perdition of your souls.
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