The other man, whose voice had first attracted Wallace, at the instant sunk, covered with blood, on the pavement.
Two of the servants, obeying their master, carried their senseless burden toward the horses; but the third, being hemmed in by the furious soldiers, could not move.

Wallace made a passage to his rescue, and effected it; but one base wretch, while the now wounded Scot was retreating, made a stroke which would have severed his head from his body, had not the trusty claymore of Wallace struck down the pending weapon of the coward, and received his rushing body upon its point.

He fell with bitter imprecations, calling aloud for vengeance.
A dreadful cry was now raised by the whole band of assassins: "Murder!-treason!-Arthur Heselrigge is slain!" The uproar became general.

The windows of the adjoining houses were thrown open; people armed and unarmed issued from their doors and pressed forward to inquire the cause of the alarm.

Wallace was nearly overpowered; a hundred swords flashed in the torchlight; but at the moment he expected they would be sheathed in his heart, the earth gave way under his feet, and he sunk into utter darkness.
He fell upon a quantity of gathered broom; and concluding that the weight of the thronging multitude had burst his way through the arch of a cellar, he sprung to his feet; and though he heard the curses of several wretches, who had fallen with him and fared worse, he made but one step to a half-opened door, pointed out to him by a gleam from an inner passage.