He flew through the open gates. Wallace perceiving him, rode out from
under the shadow of the trees. The bright light of the moon shone on
his sparkling crest; that was sufficient for Bruce, and Wallace,
falling back again into the shade, was joined the next moment by his
friend. Who this friend was for whom her deliverer had told Helen he
waited, she did not ask; for she dreaded, while so near danger, to
breathe a word; but she guessed that it must either be Murray or Edwin.
De Valence had barbarously told her that not only her father was no
more, but that her uncles, the Lords Bothwell and Ruthven, had both
been killed in the last battle. Hence, with a saddened joy, one of her
two bereaved cousins she now prepared to see; and every filial
recollection pressing on her heart her tears flowed silently and in
abundance. As Bruce approached, his black mantle so wrapped him she
could not distinguish his figure. Wallace stretched forth his hand to
him in silence; he grasped it with the warm but mute congratulation of
friendship, and throwing himself on his horse, triumphantly exclaimed,
"Now for Paris!" Helen recognized none she knew in that voice; and
drawing close to the white courser of Wallace, with something like
disappointment mingling with her happier thoughts, she made her horse
keep pace with the fleetness of her companions.
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