"Why," resumed Mar, "why did he not rather fly to me? This castle is strong; and while one stone of it remains upon another, not all the hosts of England should take him hence." "It was not your friendship he doubted," returned the old man, "love for his country compels him to reject all comfort in which she does not share. His last words to me were these: 'I have nothing now to do but to assert the liberties of Scotland, and to rid her of her enemies. Go to Lord Mar; take this lock of my hair, stained with the blood of my wife. It is all, most likely, he will ever again see of William Wallace. Should I fall, tell him to look on that, and in my wrongs read the future miseries of Scotland; and remember, that God armeth the patriot!" Tears dropped so fast from the young lady's eyes, she was obliged to walk to a window, to restrain a more violent burst of grief. "O! my uncle," cried the youth, "surely the freedom of Scotland is possible. I feel in my soul, that the words of the brave Wallace are prophetic." The earl held the lock of hair in his hands; he regarded it, lost in meditation. "'God armeth the patriot!'" He paused again, his before pallid cheek taking a thousand animated hues; then raising the sacred present to his lips, "Yes," cried he, "thy vow shall be performed; and while Donald Mar has an arm to wield a sword, or a man to follow to the field, thou shalt command both him and them!" "But not as you are, my lord!" cried the elder lady; "your wounds are yet unhealed; your fever is still raging! Would it not be madness to expose your safety at such a crisis?" "I shall not take arms myself," answered he, "till I can bear them to effect; meanwhile all of my clan, and of my friends, that I can raise to guard the life of my deliverer and to promote the cause, must be summoned. This lock shall be my pennon; and what Scotsman will look on that, and shrink from his colors! Here, Helen, my child," cried he, addressing the young lady, "before to-morrow's dawn, have this hair wrought into my banner. It will be a patriot's standard; and let his own irresistible words be the motto--God armeth me." Helen advanced with awestruck trepidation. Having been told by the earl of the generous valor of Wallace, and of the cruel death of his lady, she had conceived a gratitude and a pity deeper than language could express, for the man who had lost so much by succoring one so dear to hear. She took the lock, waving in yellow light upon her hands, and, trembling with emotion, was leaving the room, when she heard her cousin throw himself on his knees. "I beseech you, my honored uncle," cried he, "if you have love for me, or value for my future fame, allow me to be the bearer of your banner to Sir William Wallace." Helen stopped at the threshold to hear the reply.