As he and Edwin reposed in a barn near Newark, a force of savages from the Irish island of Rathlin burst in upon them.  Wallace, with a giant’s strength, dispersed them as they advanced.  But a shout was heard from the door.  Monteith himself appeared, and an arrow pierced Edwin’s heart.  Wallace threw himself on his knees beside the dying boy.  They sprang upon him, and bound him.  Wallace was Edward’s prisoner.

As he lay in the Tower of London awaiting death, a page-boy entered nervously, and turned pale when he cast his eyes upon him.  He started; he recognised the features of her who alone had ever shared his meditations with Marion.

“Lady Helen,” he cried, “has God sent you hither to be His harbinger of consolation?”

“Will you not abhor me for this act of madness?” said Helen, in deep agitation.  “And yet, where should I live or die but at the feet of my benefactor?”

“Oh, Helen,” exclaimed Wallace, “thy soul and Marion’s are indeed one; and as one I love ye!”

At that moment the Earl of Gloucester entered, and to this true friend Wallace expressed his wish that he and Helen should be united by the sacred rites of the church.  Gloucester retired, and returned with a priest; the pair were joined as man and wife.

Two days later Wallace stood on the scaffold.  The executioner approached to throw the rope over the neck of his victim.  Helen, with a cry, rushed to his bosom.  Clasping her to him, he exclaimed in a low voice:  “Helen, we shall next meet to part no more.  May God preserve my country, and—­” He stopped—­he fell.  Gloucester bent to his friend and spoke, but all was silent.  He had died unsullied by the rope of Edward.

“There,” said Gloucester, in deepest grief, “there broke the noblest heart that ever beat in the breast of man.”

* * * * *

It was the evening after Bannockburn.  The English hosts were in panic-stricken flight; Scotland at last was free.  Robert Bruce, king and conquerer, entered the Abbey of Cambuskenneth with his betrothed, Isabella, and stood before the bier of Wallace.

Helen, wan and fragile, was borne on a litter from the adjoining nunnery.  In her presence Bruce and Isabella were wedded; her trembling hands were held over them in blessing; then she threw herself prostrate on the coffin.

At the foot of Wallace’s bier stood the iron box that the dead chieftain had so faithfully cherished.  “Let this mysterious coffer be opened,” said the Abbot of Inchaffray, “to reward the deliverer of Scotland according to its intent” Bruce unclasped the lock, and the regalia of Scotland was discovered!

“And thus Wallace crowns thee!” said the Bishop of Dunkeld, taking the diadem from its coffer and setting it on Brace’s head.

But Helen lay motionless.  They raised her, and looked upon a clay-cold face.  Her soul had fled.

* * * * *