"Here is a list of the murdered chiefs, and of those who are in the dungeons, expecting the like treatment," continued Graham, holding out a parchment; "it was given to me by my faithful servant." Wallace took it, but seeing his grandfather's name at the top, he could look no further; closing the scroll, "Gallant Graham," said he, "I want no stimulus to urge me to the extirpation I meditate. If the sword of Heaven be with us, not one perpetrator of this horrid massacre shall be alive to-morrow to repeat the deed." "What massacre?" Edwin ventured to inquire. Wallace put the parchment into his hand. "A list of the Scottish chiefs murdered on the 18th of June, 1297, in the Judgment Hall of the English Barons at Ayr," his cheek, paled by the suspense of his mind, now reddened with the hue of indignation; but when the venerated name of his general's grandfather met his sight, his horror struck eye sought the face of Wallace; it was dark as before, and he was now in earnest discourse with Graham. Forbearing to interrupt him, Edwin continued to read over the blood-registered names. In turning the page, his eye glanced to the opposite side; and he saw at the head of "A list of prisoners in the dungeons of Ayr," the name of "Lord Dundaff" and immediately after it, that of "Lord Ruthven!" He uttered a piercing cry; and extending his arms to Wallace, who turned round at so unusual a sound, the terror-struck boy exclaimed, "My father is in their hands! Oh! If you are indeed my brother, fly to Ayr, and save him!" Wallace took up the open list which Edwin had dropped; he saw the name of Lord Ruthven amongst the prisoners; and folding his arms round this affectionate son, "Compose yourself," said he, "it is to Ayr I am going; and if the God of Justice be our speed, your father and Lord Dundaff shall not see another day in prison." Edwin threw himself on the neck of his friend; "My benefactor!" was all he could utter. Wallace pressed him silently to his bosom. "Who is this youth?" inquired Graham; "to which of the noble companions of my captive father is he son?" "To William Ruthven," answered Wallace; "the valiant lord of the Carse of Gowry. And it is a noble scion from that glorious root. He it was that enabled me to win Dumbarton. Look up, my brother!" cried Wallace, trying to regain so tender a mind from the paralyzing terrors which had seized it; "Look up, and hear me recount the first fruits of your maiden arms, to our gallant friend."