They could see the dim figure of Malcolm, outlined in fits of the approaching light, all but filling the narrow entrance, as he bent forward to listen. Presently he laid himself down, leaning on his left elbow, with his right shoulder only a little above the level of the passage. The light came nearer, and they heard the sound of scrambling on the rock, but no voice; then for one moment the light shone clear upon the roof of the cleft; the next, came the sound of a dull blow, the light vanished, and the noise of a heavy fall came from beneath.
“Ane o’ them, my lord,” said Malcolm, in a sharp whisper, over his shoulder.
A confusion of voices arose.
“You booby!” said one. “You climb like a calf. I’ll go next.”
Evidently they thought he had slipped and fallen, and he was unable to set them right. Malcolm heard them drag him out of the way.
The second ascended more rapidly, and met his fate the sooner. As he delivered the blow, Malcolm recognized one of the laird’s assailants, and was now perfectly at his ease.
“Twa o’ them, my lord,” he said. “Gien we had ane mair doon, we cud manage the lave.”
The second, however, had not lost his speech, and amidst the confused talk that followed, Malcolm heard the words: “Rin doon to the coble for the gun,” and, immediately after, the sound of feet hurrying from the cave. He rose quietly, leaped into the midst of them, came down upon one, and struck out right and left. Two ran, and three lay where they were.
“Gien ane o’ ye muv han’ or fit, I’ll brain him wi’ ’s ain stick,” he cried, as he wrenched a cudgel from the grasp of one of them. Then catching up a lantern, and hurrying behind the projecting rock —“Haste ye, an’ come,” he shouted. “The w’y ’s clear, but only for a meenute.”
Florimel appeared, and Malcolm got her down.