And though Sir William Wallace never saw the infant, ready to bless his arms, yet it perished in the bosom of its mother; and that circumstance must redouble his affliction; horribly does it enhance the cruelty of the deed!" "He has in all things been a direful sacrifice," returned Helen; "and with God alone dwells the power to wipe the tears from his heart." "They flow not from his eyes," answered her aunt; "but deep, deep is the grief that, my Edwin says, is settled there." While Lady Ruthven was uttering these words, shouts in the street made her pause; and soon recognizing the name of Wallace sounding from the lips of the rejoicing multitude, she turned to Helen: "Here comes our deliverer!" cried she, taking her by the hand; "we have not seen him since the first day of our liberty.

It will do you good, as it will me, to look on his beneficent face!" She obeyed the impulse of her aunt's arm, and reached the window just as he passed into the courtyard.

Helen's soul seemed rushing from her eyes.

"Ah! it is indeed he!" thought she; "no dream, no illusion, but his very self." He looked up; but not on her side of the building; it was to the window of Lady Mar; and as he bowed, he smiled.

All the charms of that smile struck upon the soul of Helen; and, hastily retreating, she sunk breathless into a seat.
"O, no! that man cannot be born for the isolated state I have just lamented.