The men, in obedience to the conscience-stricken orders of their commander, had mounted their horses and were now far out of sight.

Heselrigge's charger was still in the courtyard; he was hurrying toward it, but the soldier, with a prudent suspicion, called out, "Stop, sir! you must walk to Lanark.

The cruel are generally false; I cannot trust your word, should you have the power to break it.

Leave this horse here: to-morrow you may send for it, I shall then be far away." Heselrigge saw that remonstrance would be unavailing; and shaking with impotent rage, he turned into the path which, after five weary miles, would lead him once more to his citadel.
For the moment the soldier's manly spirit had dared to deliver its abhorrence of Lady Wallace's murder, he was aware that his life would no longer be safe within reach of the machinations of Heselrigge; and determined, alike by detestation of him and regard for his own preservation, resolved to take shelter in the mountains, till he could have an opportunity of going beyond sea to join his king's troops in the Guienne wars.
Full of these thoughts he returned into the hall.

As he approached the bleeding form on the floor, he perceived it to move; hoping that perhaps the unhappy lady might not be dead, he drew near; but, alas! as he bent to examine, he touched her hand and found it quite cold.