am afraid that the lady was both silly and discontented, and it
seemed to her that it would be a very fine thing indeed to be an English
nobleman's wife, so she blushed and bridled, and looked up and down, and
at last she asked how the thing could be managed.

"Well," said the officer cautiously, "there is only one condition, and
that doth not seem to me to be a very hard one. It hath been told me
that there is a rough and turbulent fellow who visits this house. His
name is William Wallace, and because he is likely to stir up riots among
the common people, it seems good to His Majesty, King Edward, that he
should be taken prisoner. Would it be possible," and here his voice
became very soft and persuasive, "for thee to let us know what night he
intends to visit thee?"

At first the lady started back, and was very indignant with him for
daring to suggest that she should do such a dishonourable thing.

"I am no traitor," she said proudly, "nor am I like Jael of old, who
murdered the man who took shelter in her tent."

But the captain's voice was low and sweet, and the lady's nature was
vain and fickle, and the prospect of marrying an English lord was very
enticing, and so it came about that at last she yielded, and she told
him how she was expecting young Wallace that very night at seven
o'clock, and she promised to put a light in the window when he arrived.

Then the false woman went into her house and shut the door, and the
soldiers set themselves to watch for the coming of their enemy.

How it happened I know not, but Wallace came, and walked boldly into the
house without one of them seeing him, and he ran upstairs and knocked at
the door of his friend's room.

When she opened it, he stood still, and stared at her in astonishment,
for her face was pale and wild, and she looked at him with terror in her
eyes. I warrant she had been wrestling with her conscience ever since
she had spoken with the soldiers, and she had seen what an awful thing
it is to be guilty of the blood of an innocent man.

"What ails thee?" cried Wallace, in his bluff, hearty way. "Thou lookest
all distraught, as if thou hadst seen a ghost."

Then he held out his hand as if to greet her, but she stretched forth
hers and pushed him away.

"Touch me not. I am like Judas,--Judas," she moaned, "who betrayed the
innocent blood, and whose fate is written in the Holy Book for a warning
to all poor recreants like to me."

Sir William Wallace tho