"Thus we consecrate the day to thee, Power of Heaven!" rejoined Scrymgeour. "And let this standard be thine own; and whithersoever we bear it, may we ever find it as the ark of our God!" Wallace, feeling as if no eye looked on them but that of Heaven, dropped on his knee; and rising again, took Sir Alexander by the hand; "My brave friend," said he, "we have here planted the tree of freedom in Scotland. Should I die in its defense, swear to bury me under its branches; swear that no enslaved grounds shall cover my remains." "I swear," cried Scrymgeour, laying his crossed hands upon the arm of Wallace; "I swear with a double vow; by the blood of my brave ancestors, whose valor gave me the name I bear; by the cross of St. Andrew; and by your valiant self, never to sheath my sword, while I have life in my body, until Scotland be entirely free!" The colors fixed, Wallace and his brave colleague descended the tower; and perceiving the earl and countess, who sat on a stone bench at the end of the platform, approached them. The countess rose as the chiefs drew near. Lord Mar took his friend by the hand, with a gratulation in his eyes that was unutterable; his lady spoke, hardly conscious of what she said; and Wallace, after a few minutes' discourse, proposed to the earl to retire with Lady Mar into the citadel, where she would be more suitably lodged than in their late prison. Lord Mar was obeying this movement, when suddenly stopping, he exclaimed, "but where is that wondrous boy--your pilot over these perilous rocks? let me give him a soldier's thanks?" Happy at so grateful a demand, Wallace beckoned Edwin, who, just relieved from his guard, was standing at some distance. "Here," said he, "is my knight of fifteen! for last night he proved himself more worthy of his spurs than many a man who has received them from a king." "He shall wear those of a king," rejoined the Lord Mar, unbuckling from his feet a pair of golden spurs; "these were fastened on my heels by our great king, Alexander, at the battle of Largs. I had intended them for my only son; but the first knight in the cause of rescued Scotland is the son of my heart and soul!" As he spoke, he would have pressed the young hero to his breast; but Edwin, trembling with emotion, slid down upon his knees, and clasping the earl's hand, said, in a hardly audible voice, "Receive and pardon the truant son of your sister Ruthven!" "What!" exclaimed the veteran, "is it Edwin Ruthven that has brought me this weight of honor? Come to my arms, thou dearest child of my dearest Janet?"