nobility, in whose castles there was often little commodity for religious observances.  Short, however, as was the distance, they had in the midst of it been suddenly assailed by a band of armed men, among whom might easily be recognized the giant form of young Walter Stewart, the Master of Albany, the Regent Duke Murdoch’s eldest son, who was well known for his lawless excesses and violence.  His father’s silky sayings, and his own ruder speeches, had long made it known to the House of Glenuskie that the family policy was to cajole or to drive the sickly heir into a convent, and, rendering Lilias the possessor of the broad lands inherited from both parents, unite her and them to the Albany family.

The almost barbarous fierceness and wild licentiousness of Walter would have made the arrangement abhorrent to Lilias, even had not love passages already passed between her and her cousin, Patrick Drummond, and Sir David had hitherto protected her by keeping Malcolm in the secular life; but Walter, it seemed, had grown impatient, and had made this treacherous attack, evidently hoping to rid himself of the brother, and secure the sister.  No sooner had the Tutor of Glenuskie perceived that his own party were overmatched, than he had bidden his faithful squire to secure the bairns—­if not both, at least the boy; and Halbert, perceiving that Lilias had already been pounced upon by Sir Walter himself and several more, seized the bridle of the bewildered Malcolm, who was still trying to draw his sword, and had absolutely swept him away from the scene of action before he had well realized what was passing; and now that the poor lad understood the whole, his horror, grief, and shame were unspeakable.

Before Sir James had done more than hear the outline of Halbert’s tale, however, the watchers on the mound gave the signal that the reivers were coming that way—­a matter hitherto doubtful, since no one could guess whether Walter Stewart would make for Edinburgh or for Doune.  With the utmost agility Sir James sprang up the side of the mound, reconnoitred, and returned again just as Halbert was trying to stir his master from the ground, and Malcolm answering sullenly that he would not move—­he would be taken and die with the rest.

‘You may save them instead, if you will attend to me,’ said Sir James; and at his words the boy suddenly started up with a look of hope.

‘How many fell upon you?’ demanded Sir James.

‘Full a hundred lances,’ replied Halbert (and a lance meant at least three men).  ’It wad be a fule’s wark to withstand them.  Best bide fast in the covert, for our horses are sair forfaughten.’

‘If there are now more than twenty lances, I am greatly mistaken,’ returned Sir James.  ’They must have broken up after striking their blow, or have sent to secure Glenuskie; and we, falling on them from this thicket—­’

‘I see, I see,’ cried Halbert.  ’Back, ye loons; back among the hazels.  Hold every one his horse ready to mount.’