"Didst thou not tell me, when this hand pressed mine and
blessed me, that it was only a translation from grief to joy? And is
it not so, Bruce? Behold how we mourn and he is happy! I will obey
thee, my immortal Wallace!" cried she, casting her arms about him; "I
will obey thee, and weep no more!"
She was silent and calm. And Bruce, kneeling on the opposite side of
his friend, listened, without interrupting him, to the arguments which
Gloucester adduced to persuade him to abstain from discovering himself
to Edward, or even uttering resentment against him till he could do
both as became the man for whom Wallace had sacrificed so much, even
till he was King of Scotland. "To that end," said Gloucester, "did
this gallant chieftain live. For, in restoring you to the people of
Scotland, he believed he was setting a seal to their liberties and
their peace. To that end did he die, and in the direful moment,
uttered prayers for your establishment. Think then of this, and let
him not look down from his heavenly dwelling and see that Bruce
despises the country for which he bled; that the now only hope of
Scotland has sacrificed himself in a moment of inconsiderate revenge to
the cruel hand which broke his dauntless heart!"
Bruce did not oppose this counsel; and as the fumes of passion passed
away, leaving a manly sorrow to steady his determination of revenge, he
listened with approbation, and finally resolved, whatever violence he
might do his nature, not to allow Edward the last triumph of finding
him in his power.
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