"
"Edwin!" ejaculated Wallace, in a reproachful, yet tender tone.
"Exhort me not to forgive my country!" returned he; "tell me to take my
deadliest foe to my breast--to pardon the assassin who strikes his
steel into my heart, and I will obey you; but to pardon Scotland for
the injury she has done to you--for the disgrace with which her
self-debasement stains this cheek I never, never can! I abhor these
sons of Lucifer. Think not, noblest of masters, dearest of friends,"
cried he, throwing himself at Wallace's feet, "that I will ever shine
in the light of those envious stars which have displayed the sun! No
tibi soli shall henceforth be the impress on my shield; to thee alone
will I ever turn; and till your beams restore your country and revive
me, the springing laurels of Edwin Ruthven shall whither where they
grew!"
Wallace folded him to his heart; a tear stood in his eyes, while he
said in a low voice:
"If thou art mine, thou art Scotland's. Me, she rejects. Mysterious
Heaven wills that I should quit my post; but for thee, Edwin, as a
relic of the fond love I yet bear this wretched country, abide by her,
bear with her, cherish her, defend her for my sake; and if Bruce lives,
he will be to thee a second Wallace, a friend, a brother!"
Edwin listened, wept, and sobbed, but his heart was fixed; unable to
speak, he broke from his friend's arms, and hurried into an interior
apartment to subdue his emotions by pouring them forth to God.
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