But her spirit was not so quiescent. At
night when she went to her cell, her ever wakeful fancy aroused a
thousand images of alarm. She remembered the vow that Wallace had made
to seek Helen. He had already given up the regency--an office which
might have detained him from such a pursuit; and might not a passion
softer than indignation against the ungrateful chieftains have dictated
this act? "Should he love Helen, what is there not to fear?" cried
she; "and should he meet her, I am undone?" Racked by jealousy, and
goaded by contradicting expectations, she rose from her bed and paced
the room in wild disorder. One moment she strained her mind to
recollect every gracious look or word from him, and then her
imagination glowed with anticipated delight. Again she thought of his
address to Helen, of his vow in her favor, and she was driven to
despair. All Edwin's kind admonitions were forgotten; passion alone
was awake; and forgetful of her rank and sex, and of her situation, she
determined to see Wallace, and appeal to his heart for the last time.
She knew that he slept in an apartment at the other end of the
monastery; and that she might pass thither unobserved, she glided into
an opposite cell belonging to a sick monk, and stealing away his cloak,
threw it over her, and hurried along the cloisters.
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