Grimsby, attended by a youth,
stood before him. The veteran expressed amazement at meeting his
master alone at this hour, unhelmeted and unarmed, and in so dangerous
a direction. "The road," said he, "between this and Stirling is beset
with your enemies." Instead of noticing this information, Wallace
inquired what news he brought from Huntingtower. "The worst," said he.
"By this time the royal Bruce is no more!" Wallace gasped
convulsively, and fell against a tree. Grimsby paused. In a few
minutes the heart-struck chief was able to speak. "Listen not to my
groans for unhappy Scotland!" cried he; "show me all that is in this
last vial of wrath."
Grimsby informed him that Bruce being so far recovered as to have left
his sick chamber for the family apartment, while he was sitting with
the ladies, a letter was brought to Lady Helen. She opened it, read a
few lines, and fell senseless into the arms of her sister. Bruce
snatched the packet, but not a word did he speak till he had perused it
to the end. It was from the Countess Strathearn, written in the
triumph of revenge, cruelly exulting in what she termed the
demonstration of Wallace's guilt; congratulating herself on having been
the primary means of discovering it, and boasting that his once adored
Scotland now held him in such detestation as to have doomed him to die.
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