With these intentions, she and her sister were chanting over him the sad dirge of their country, when Sir Roger Kirkpatrick burst open the door.

"Ah!" cried she, as she closed the dismal narrative; "though two lonely women were all they had left of the lately thronged household of Sir Ronald Crawford, to raise the last lament over his revered body, yet in that and midnight hour, our earthly voices were not alone; the wakeful spirits of his daughters, hovered in the air, and joined the deep coronach!" Wallace sighed heavily as he looked on the animated face of the aged mourner.

Attachment to the venerable dead seemed to have inspired her with thoughts beyond her station; but the heart is an able teacher, and he saw that true affection speaks but one language.
As her ardent eyes withdrew from their heavenward gaze, they fell upon the shrouded face of her master.

A napkin concealed the wound of decapitation.

"Chiefs," cried she, in a burst of recollection, "ye have not seen all the cruelty of these murderers!" At these words she suddenly withdrew the linen, and lifting up the pale head, held it wofully toward Wallace.