While the sacred rite
proceeded, it seemed the indissoluble union of Helen's spirit with that
of Wallace: "My life will expire with his!" was her secret response to
the venerable man's exhortation to the anticipated passing soul; and
when he sealed Wallace with the holy cross, under the last unction, as
one who believed herself standing on the brink of eternity, she longed
to share also that mark of death. At that moment the dismal toll of a
bell sounded from the top of the Tower. The heart of Helen paused.
The warden and his train entered. "I will follow him," cried she,
starting from her knees, "into the grave itself!"
What was said, what was done, she knew not, till she found herself on
the scaffold, upheld by the arm of Gloucester. Wallace stood before
her, with his hands bound across and his noble head uncovered. His
eyes were turned upward, with a martyr's confidence in the Power he
served. A silence, as of some desert waste, reigned throughout the
thousands who stood below. The executioner approached to throw the
rope over the neck of his victim. At this sight, Helen, with a cry
that was reechoed by the compassionate spectators, rushed to his bosom.
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