efuge in a place thought to be out of the track of the invaders.

Here were the malicious defrauders of the hungry warriors. Down upon
them flew the angry foragers. Soon the pretty tranquil scene was ringing
with the oaths of the plundering and the cries of the plundered; the
cattle were being driven off, the houses and farm-yards rifled, blood was
flowing, and what could not be carried off was burning. The search for
the Armagnac prisoner had, however, relaxed after the first inquiry, and
Malcolm, surprised that this had been forgotten, suddenly bethought him
of the distinction he should secure by sending a valuable prize to
Esclairmonde's feet. He seized on an old man who had not been able to
fly, and stood trembling and panting in a corner, and demanded where the
sick man was. The old man pointed to a farm-house, round which clouds of
smoke were rolling, and Malcolm hurried into it, shouting, 'Dog of an
Armagnac, come out! Yield, ere thou be burnt!'

No answer; and he dashed forward. In the lower room was a sight that
opened his eyes with horror--no other than the shield of Drummond, with
the three wavy lines; ay, and with it the helmet and suit of armour,
whereof he knew each buckle and brace!

'Patie! Patrick! Patrick Drummond!' he wildly shouted, 'are you there?'

No answer; and seeing through the smoke a stair, he rushed up. There, in
an upper room, on a bed, lay a senseless form, suffocated perhaps by the
smoke, but unmistakably his cousin! He called to him, seized him, shook
him, dragged him out of bed, all in vain; there was no sign of animation.
The fire was gaining on the house; Malcolm's own breath was failing, and
his frenzied efforts to carry Patrick's almost giant form to the stairs
were quite unavailing. Wild with horror, he flew shouting down-stairs to
call Halbert, whom he had left with his horse, but neither Halbert nor
horse was in sight, nor indeed any of the party. Not a man was in sight,
except a few hurrying far out of reach, as if something had alarmed them.
He wrung his hands in anguish, and was about to make another attempt to
drag Patrick down from the already burning house, when suddenly a troop
of horse was among the scene of desolation, and at their head King James
himself. Malcolm flew to the King, cutting short his angry exclamation
with the cry, 'Help! help! he will burn! Patrick! Patie Drummond!
There!'

James had scarce gathered the sense of the words, ere, leaping