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
together and turning to look round, the first shock was over, and the
retainers of Albany, probably fancying the attack made by a much larger
troop, were either in full flight, or getting decidedly the worst in
their encounters with their assailants.

Sir James Stewart had at the first onset sprung like a lion upon the
Master of Albany, and without drawing his sword had grappled with him.
'In the name of St. Andrew and the King, yield thy prey, thou dastard,'
were his words as he threw his arms round the body of Sir Walter, and
exerted his full strength to drag him from his horse. The young giant
writhed, struggled, cursed, raged; he had not space to draw sword or even
dagger, but he struck furiously with his gauntleted hand, strove to drive
his horse forward. The struggle like that of Hercules and Antaeus, so
desperate and mighty was the strength put forth on either side, but
nothing could unclasp the iron grip of those sinewy arms, and almost as
soon as Malcolm and Lilias had eyes to see what was passing, Walter
Stewart was being dragged off his horse by that tremendous grapple, and
the next moment his armour rung as he lay prostrate on his back upon the
ground.

His conqueror set his mailed foot upon his neck lightly, but so as to
prevent any attempt to rise, and after one moment's pause to gather
breath, said in a clear deep trumpet voice, 'Walter Stewart of Albany, on
one condition I grant thee thy life. It is that thou take the most
solemn oath on the spot that no spulzie or private brawl shall henceforth
stain that hand of thine w