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. “Mind that fellow,” cried the marquis from above. Malcolm turned quickly, and saw the gleam of a knife in the grasp of his old enemy, who had risen, and crept behind him to the recess. He flung the lantern in his face, following it with a blow in which were concentrated all the weight and energy of his frame. The man went down again heavily, and Malcolm instantly trampled all their lanterns to pieces. “Noo,” he said to himself, “they winna ken but it’s the laird an’ Phemy wi’ me!” Then turning, and taking Florimel by the arm, he hurried her out of the cave, followed by the marquis. They emerged in the liquid darkness of a starry night. Lady Florimel clung to both her father and Malcolm. It was a rough way for some little distance, but at length they reached the hard wet sand, and the marquis would have stopped to take breath; but Malcolm was uneasy, and hurried them on. “What are you frightened at now?” asked his lordship. “Naething,” answered Malcolm, adding to himself however, “I’m fleyt _at_ naethin’--I’m fleyt _for_ the laird.” As they approached the tunnel, he fell behind. “Why don’t you come on?” said his lordship. “I’m gaein’ back, noo ’at ye’re safe,” said Malcolm. “Going back! What for?” asked the marquis. “I maun see what thae villains are up till,” answered Malcolm. “Not alone, surely!” exclaimed the marquis. “At least get some of your people to go with you.” “There’s nae time, my lord. Dinna be fleyt for me: I s’ tak care o’ mysel’.” He was already yards away, running at full speed. The marquis shouted after him, but Malcolm would not hear. When he reached the Baillies’ Barn once more, all was still. He groped his way in and found his own lantern where they had been sitting, and having lighted it, descended and followed the windings of the cavern a long way, but saw nothing of the laird or Phemy. Coming at length to a spot where he heard the rushing of a stream, he found he could go no farther: the roof of the cave had fallen, and blocked up the way with huge masses of stone and earth. He had come a good distance certainly, but by no means so far as Phemy’s imagination had represented the reach of the cavern. He might however have missed a turn, he thought.