Jane Porter was born at Durham in 1776, but at the age of four she went to Edinburgh with her family, was brought up in Scotland, and had the privilege of knowing Sir Walter Scott.  Her first romance, “Thaddeus of Warsaw,” was published in 1803, soon after she had removed from Edinburgh to London.  Her next romance, “The Scottish Chiefs,” did not appear until 1810.  It won an immediate popularity, which survived even the formidable rivalry of the “Waverley Novels,” and the book remained a favourite, especially in Scotland, during most of the last century.  The story abounds in historical inaccuracies, and the characters are addicted to conversing in the dialect of melodrama-but these blemishes did not abate the vogue of this exciting and spirited work with the reading public.  Miss Porter remained a prominent figure in London literary society until her death on May 24, 1850.

I.—­The Lady Marion

Sir William Wallace made his way swiftly along the crags and across the river to the cliffs which overlooked the garden of Ellerslie.  As he approached he saw his newly-wedded wife, the Lady Marion, leaning over the couch of a wounded man.  She looked up, and, with a cry of joy, threw herself into his arms.  Blood dropped from his forehead upon her bosom.

“O my Wallace, my Wallace!” cried she in agony.

“Fear not, my love, it is a mere scratch.  How is the wounded stranger?”

It was Wallace who had saved the stranger’s life.  That day he had been summoned to Douglas Castle, where he had received in secret from Sir John Monteith an iron box entrusted to him by Lord Douglas, then imprisoned in England; he had been charged to cherish the box in strictness, and not to suffer it to be opened until Scotland was again free.  Returning with his treasure through Lanark, he had seen a fellow countryman wounded, and in deadly peril at the hands of a party of English.  Telling two of his attendants to carry the injured man to Ellerslie, he had beaten off the English and slain their leader—­Arthur Heselrigge, nephew of the Governor of Lanark.

“Gallant Wallace!” said the stranger, “it is Donald, Earl of Mar, who owes you his life.”

“Then blest be my arm,” exclaimed Wallace, “that has preserved a life so precious to my country!”

“Armed men are approaching!” cried Lady Marion.  “Wallace, you must fly.  But oh! whither?”

“Not far, my love; I must seek the recesses of the Cartlane Crags.  But the Earl of Mar—­we must conceal him.”

They found a hiding-place for the wounded earl, and Wallace went away, promising to be near at hand.  Hardly had he gone when the door was burst open by a band of soldiers, and Lady Wallace was confronted by the governor of Lanark.

“Woman!” cried he, “on your allegiance to King Edward, answer me—­where is Sir William Wallace, the murderer of my nephew?”

She was silent.

“I can reward you richly,” he went on, “if you speak the truth.  Refuse, and you die!”