The dying boy pressed his hand to his heart, and
dropped his head upon his bosom--Wallace moved not, spoke not. His
hand was bathed in the blood of his friend, but not a pulse beat
beneath it; no breath warmed the paralyzed chill of his face as it hung
over the motionless lips of Edwin.
The men were more terrified at this unresisting stillness than at the
invincible prowess of his arm, and stood gazing on him in mute wonder.
But Monteith, in whom the fell appetite of avarice had destroyed every
perception of humanity, sent in other ruffians with new orders to bind
Wallace. They approached him with terror; two of the strongest
stealing behind him, and taking advantage of his face being bent upon
that of his murdered Edwin, each in the same moment seized his hands.
As they griped them fast, the others advanced eagerly to fasten the
bands, he looked calmly up, but it was a dreadful calm; it spoke of
despair, of the full completion of all woe. "Bring chains," cried one
of the men, "he will burst these thongs."
"You may bind me with a hair," said he; "I contend no more." The bonds
were fastened on his wrists; and then, turning toward the lifeless body
of Edwin, he raised it gently in his arms.
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