Soon after her arrival at Kildrumy on the River Dee, her
then most favorite residence, she took the Lady Helen, the supplanted
Isabella's first-born daughter, from her grandfather at Thirlestance,
where both children had been left on the departure of their father and
his bride for France. Though hardly past the period of absolute
childhood, the Lord Soulis at this time offered the young heiress of
Mar his hand. The countess had then no interest in wishing the union;
having not yet any children of her own, to make her jealous for their
father's love, she permitted her daughter-in-law to decide as she
pleased. A second time he presented himself, and Lady Mar, still
indifferent, allowed Helen a second time to refuse him. Years flew
over the heads of the ill-joined pair; but while they whitened the
raven locks of the earl, and withered his manly brow, the beauty of his
countess blew into fuller luxuriance.
Yet it was her mirror aloe that told her she was fairer than all the
ladies around, for none durst invade the serene decorum of her manners,
with so light a whisper. Such was her state, when she first heard of
the rise of Sir William Wallace, and when she thought that her husband
might not only lose his life, but risk the forfeiture of his family
honors, by joining him, for her own sake and for her children's (having
recently become the mother of twins), she had then determined, if it
were necessary, to make the outlawed chief a sacrifice.
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