The monk answered my last question with an exclamation--'You mean Sir William Wallace!' "'Yes!' I replied.

The bier shook more violently at these words, and, with my hair bristling from my head, I saw the pall hastily thrown off, and a beautiful youth, in a shroud, started from it, crying aloud, 'Then is our pilgrimage at an end! Lead us to him!' "The monk perceived my terror, and hastily exclaimed.

'Fear not! he is alive, and seeks Sir William Wallace.

His pretended death was a stratagem to insure our passage through the English army; for we are soldiers like yourself.' As he spoke, he opened his gray habit, and showed me the mailed tartans beneath." "What, then!" interrupted Murray, "these monks were my faithful clansmen ?" "The same," replied Stephen; "I assured them that they might now resume their own character; for all who inhabited the valley we were then in were true, though poor and aged Scots.

The young had long been drafted by Edward's agents, to fight his battles abroad.
"'Ah!' interrupted the shrouded youth, 'are we a people that can die for the honor of this usurper, and are we ignorant how to do it for our country?
Lead us, soldier of Wallace,' cried he, stepping resolutely on the ground, 'lead us to your brave master; and tell him that a few determined men are come to shed their blood for him and Scotland.' "This astonishing youth (for he did not appear to be more than fifteen) stood before me in his robes of death, like the spirit of some bright-haired son of Fingal.