Albany; and beside him rode her captor, Sir Walter Stewart, a man little
above twenty, but with a bronzed, hardened, reckless expression that made
him look much older, and of huge height and giant build. Malcolm knew
him well, and regarded him with unmitigated horror and dread, both from
the knowledge of his ruffianly violence even towards his father, from
fear of his intentions, and from the misery that his brutal jests,
scoffs, and practical jokes had often personally inflicted: and the sight
of his sister in the power of this wicked man was the realization of all
his worst fears. But ere there was time for more than one strong pang of
consternation and constitutional terror, Sir James's shout of 'St. Andrew
for the right!' was ringing out, echoed by all the fifteen in ambush with
him, as simultaneously they leapt forward. Malcolm, among the first,
darting with one spring, as it were, to the horse where his sister was
carried, seized the bridle with his left hand, and flashing his sword
upon the ruffian with the other, shouted, 'Let go, villain; give me my
sister!' Hall's first impulse was to push his horse forward so as to
trample the boy down, but Malcolm's hold rendered this impossible;
besides, there was the shouting, the clang, the confusion of the outburst
of an ambush all around and on every side, and before the man could free
his hand to draw his weapon he necessarily loosed his grasp of Lilias,
who, half springing, half falling, came to the ground, almost
overthrowing her brother in her descent, but just saved by him from
coming down prostrate. The horse, suddenly released, started forward
with its rider and at the same moment Malcolm, recovering himself, stood
with his sword in his hand, his arm round his sister's waist, assuring
her that she was safe, and himself glowing for the first time with manly
exultation. Had he not saved and rescued her himself?

It was as well, however, that the rescue did not depend on his sole
prowess. Indeed, by the time the brother and sister were clinging