Scotland -- History -- War of Independence, 1285-1371 -- Fiction
On seeing that existence yet struggled in one of these blameless
victims, Grimsby did his utmost to revive the old man. He raised him
from the ground, and poured some strong liquor he had in a flask into a
mouth. Halbert breathed freer; and his kind surgeon, with the
venerable harper's own plaid, bound up the wound in his neck. Halbert
opened his eyes. When he fixed them on the rough features and English
helmet of the soldier, he closed them again with a deep groan.
"My honest Scot," said Grimsby, "trust in me. I am a man like
yourself; and though a Southron, am no enemy to age and helplessness."
The harper took courage at these words; he again looked at the soldier;
but suddenly recollecting what had passed, he turned his eyes toward
the body of his mistress, on which the beams of the now rising sun were
shining. He started up, and staggering toward her, would have fallen,
had not Grimsby supported him. "O what a sight is this!" cried he,
wringing his hands. "My lady! my lovely lady! see how low she lies who
was once the delight of all eyes, the comforter of all hearts." The
old man's sobs suffocated him. The veteran turned away his face, a
tear dropped upon his hand. "Accursed Heselrigge," ejaculated he, "thy
fate must come!"
"If there be a man's heart in all Scotland, it is not far distant!"
cried Halbert. "My master lives, and will avenge this murder. You
weep, soldier; and you will not betray what has now escaped me."
"I have fought in Palestine," returned he, "and a soldier of the cross
betrays none who trust him. Saint Mary preserve your master and
conduct you safely to him. We must both hasten hence. Heselrigge will
surely send in pursuit of me. He is too vile to forgive the truth I
have spoken to him; and should I fall into his power, death is the best
I could expect at his hands. Let me assist you to put this poor lady's
remains into some decent place; and then, my honest Scot, we must
separate."
Halbert, at these words, threw himself upon the bosom of his mistress,
and wept with loud lamentations over her. In vain he attempted to
raise her in his feeble arms. "I have carried thee scores of times in
thy blooming infancy," cried he; "and now must I bear thee to thy
grave? I had hoped that my eyes would have been closed by this dear
hand." As he spoke, he pressed her cold hand to his lips with such
convulsive sobs that the soldier, fearing he would expire in the agony
of his sorrow, took him almost motionless from the dead body, and
exhorted him to suppress such self-destroying grief for the sake of his
master. Halbert gradually revived; and listening to him, cast a
wistful look on the lifeless Marion.
"There sleeps the pride and hope of Ellerslie, the mother with her
child! O my master, my widowed master," cried he, "what will comfort
thee!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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