My purpose is to save my countrymen, not to sacrifice them in needless dangers." Halbert, oppressed with sorrow at the images his foreboding heart drew of the direful scenes in which his beloved master had pledged himself to become the leader, bowed his head with submission, and, leaving Wallace to his rest, retired to the mouth of the cavern to weep alone.
It was noon before the chief awoke from the death-like sleep into which kind nature had plunged his long-harassed senses.

He opened his eyes languidly, and when the sight of his rocky apartment forced on him the recollection of all his miseries, he uttered a deep groan.

That sad sound, so different from the jocund voice with which Wallace used to issue from his rest, struck on the heart of Halbert; he drew near his master to receive his last commands for Bothwell.

"On my knees," added he, "will I implore the earl to send you succor." "He needs not prayers for that," returned Wallace; "but depart, dear, worthy Halbert; it will comfort me to know you are in safety; and whithersoever you go, you carry my thanks and blessings with you." Old age opens the fountains of tears; Halbert's flowed profusely, and bathed his master's hand.

Could Wallace have wept, it would have been then; but that gentle emollient of grief was denied to him, and, with a voice of assumed cheerfulness, he renewed his efforts to encourage his desponding servant.