"Rise, Lord de Valence; it is my honor, not my will, that grants your life.

You threw away your arms! I cannot strike even a murderer who bares his breast.

I give you that mercy you denied to nineteen unoffending, defenseless old men, whose hoary heads your ruthless ax brought with blood to the ground.
Let memory be the sword I have withheld!" While he spoke, De Valence had risen, and stood, conscience-stricken, before the majestic mien of Wallace.

There was something in this denunciation that sounded like the irreversible decree of a divinity; and the condemned wretch quaked beneath the threat, while he panted for revenge.
The whole of the survivors in De Valence's train having surrendered themselves when their leader fell, in a few minutes Wallace was surrounded by his chieftains, bringing in the colors, and the swords of their prisoners.
"Sir Alexander Ramsay," said he, to a brave and courteous knight, who with his kinsman, William Blair, had joined him in the Lothians; "I confide Earl de Valence, to your care.

See that he is strongly guarded; and has every respect according to the honor of him to whom I commit this charge." The town was now in possession of the Scots; and Wallace, having sent off the rest of his prisoners to safe quarters, reiterated his persuasions to Edwin, to have the ground, and submit his wounds to the surgeon.