Wallace sunk, with his breathless load, upon the nearest
bench; and, while her head rested on his bosom, ordered surgery to be
brought. Lady Mar gazed on the spectacle with a benumbed dismay. None
present durst ask a question, till a priest drawing near, unwrapped the
arm of Helen, and discovered its deep wound.
"Who has done this?" cried her father, to Wallace, with all the anguish
of a parent in his countenance.
"I know not," replied he; "but I believe, some villain who aimed at my
life."
"Where is Lord de Valence?" exclaimed Mar, suddenly recollecting his
menaces against Wallace.
"I am here," replied he, in a composed voice; "would you have me seek
the assassin?"
"No, no," cried the earl, ashamed of his suspicion; "but here has been
some foul work-and my daughter is slain."
"Oh, not so!" cried Murray, who had hurried toward the dreadful group,
and knelt at her side. "She will not die-so much excellence cannot
die." A stifled groan from Wallace, accompanied by a look, told Murray
that he had known the death of similar excellence. With this
unanswerable appeal, the young chieftain dropped his head on the other
hand of Helen; and, could any one have seen his face buried as it was
in her robes, they would have beheld tears of agony drawn from that
every-gay heart.
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