"Edwin," returned Wallace, "had not the lord regent power to punish? And if he see right to hold his hand, those who strike for him invade his dignity. I should be unworthy the honor of protecting a brave nation, did I stoop to tread on every reptile that stings me in my path. Leave Lord de Valence to the sentence his commander has pronounced, and as an expiation for your having offended both military and moral law this day, you must remain at Stirling till I return into Scotland." De Valence, hardly awake from the stupor which the blow of the battle-ax had occasioned (for indignation had given to the young warrior the strength of manhood), was raised from the ground; and soon after coming to himself and being made sensible of what had happened, he was taken, foaming with rage and mortification, into the center of the Southron lines. Alarmed at the confusion he saw at a distance, Lord Montgomery ordered his litter round from the rear to the front, and hearing all that had passed, joined with De Warenne in pleading for the abashed Edwin. "His youth and zeal," cried Montgomery, "are sufficient to excuse the intemperance of the deed." "No!" interrupted Edwin; "I have offended and I will explate. Only, my honored lord," said he, approaching Wallace, while he checked the emotion which would have flowed from his eyes, "when I am absent, sometimes remember that it was Edwin's love which hurried him to this disgrace." "My dear Edwin," returned Wallace, "there are many impetuous spirits in Scotland who need the lesson I now enforce upon you; and they will be brought to maintain the law of honor when they see that their regent spares not its slightest violation, even when committed by his best beloved friend. Farewell till we meet again!" Edwin kissed Wallace's hand in silence--it was not wet with his tears--and drawing his bonnet hastily over his eyes, he retired into the rear of Lord Mar's party. That nobleman soon after took leave of the regent, who, placing himself at the head of his legions, the trumpets blew the signal of march. Edwin, at the sound which a few minutes before he would have greeted with so much joy, felt his grief-swollen heart give way; he sobbed aloud, and striking his heel on the side of his horse, galloped to a distance, to bide from all eyes the violence of his regrets. The trampling of the departing troops rolled over the ground like receding thunder. Edwin at last stole a look toward the plain; he beheld a vast cloud of dust, but no more the squadrons of his friend. Chapter XLIV. The Cheviots. As Wallace pursued his march along the once fertile and well-peopled valleys of Clydesdale, their present appearance affected him like the sight of a friend whom he had seen depart in all the graces of youth and prosperity, but met again overcome with disease and wretchedness.