So gentle was his breath,
that he scarcely seemed to breathe; and often, during her sad vigils,
did she stoop her cheek to feel the respiration which might still bear
witness that his outraged spirit was yet fettered to earth. She
tremblingly placed her hand on his heart, and still its warm beats
spake comfort to hers. The soul of Wallace, as well as his beloved
body, was yet clasped in her arms. "The arms of a sister enfold thee,"
murmured she to herself; "they would gladly bear thee up, to lay thee
on the bosom of thy martyred wife; and there, how wouldst thou smile
upon and bless me! And shall we not meet so before the throne of Him
whose name is Truth?"
The first rays of the dawn shone upon his peaceful face just as the
door opened, and a priest appeared. He held in his hands the sacred
host, and the golden dove, for performing the rites of the dying. At
this sight, the harbinger of a fearful doom, the fortitude of Helen
forsook her; and throwing her arms frantically over the sleeping
Wallace, she exclaimed, "He is dead! his sacrament is now with the Lord
of Mercy!" Her voice awakened Wallace; he started from his position;
and Helen seeing, with a wild sort of disappointment that he, whose
gliding to death in his sleep she had even so lately deprecated, now,
indeed, lived to mount the scaffold, in unutterable horror, fell back
with a heavy groan.
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