ABSTRACT
No eye closed that night in the monastery of Falkirk. The Earl of Mar, who awaked about the twelfth hour, sent to call Lord Ruthven, Sir William Wallace, and his nephews, to attend him. As they approached, the priests, who had just anointed his dying head with the sacred unction, drew back. The Countess and Lady Ruthven supported his pillow. He smiled as he heard the advancing steps of those so dear to him. 'I send for you,' said he, 'to give you the blessing of a true Scot and a christian! May all who are here in thy blessed presence, Father of Righteousness,' cried he, looking up with a supernatural brightness in his eye; 'die as I do, rather than live to see Scotland enslaved! But rather may they live under that liberty, perpetuated, which Wallace has again given to his country: peaceful will then be their last moments on earth, and full of joy their entrance into heaven!' His eyes closed as the concluding word died upon his tongue. Lady Ruthven looked intently on him: she bent her face to feel if he breathed; and then starting, with a feeble cry, fell back in a swoon.
