Walter hid his weeping face in the folds of his master's mantle, which
had fallen from his shoulders to the ground. Lost in grief, no thought
seemed to exist in the young man's heart but the resolution to live
only for his persecuted benefactor; and to express this vow with all
the energy of determined devotedness, he looked up to seek the face of
Wallace--but Wallace had disappeared; and all that remained, to the
breaking hearts of his faithful servants, was the tartan plaid which
they had clasped in their arms.
Chapter LXXIX.
Lumloch.
Wallace, having turned abruptly away from his lamenting servants,
struck into the deep defiles of the Pentland Hills. They pointed to
different tracks. Aware that the determined affection of some of his
friends might urge them to dare the perils attendant on his fellowship,
he hesitated a moment which path to take. Certainly not toward
Huntingtower, to bring immediate destruction on its royal inhabitant.
Nor to any chieftain of the Highlands, to give rise to a spirit of
civil warfare. Neither would he pursue the eastern track; for in that
direction, as pointing to France, his friends would most likely seek
him.
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