Mr Randolph’s bridle had already been seized, and the valise torn from his saddle by the tall man who seemed to command the party. Both Maxwell and the ambassador were now surrounded and nearly overpowered, when two more horseman, followed by a numerous troop of cavalry, came galloping up from the rear, and charged into the _mêlée_, with a violence that made a clean breach through the outlaws. One of them, a gigantic borderer, with a broad, good-humoured face, rolled Maxwell’s antagonist, horse and man, to the ground, knocking the rider down again with the butt end of his lance, when he strove to rise; whilst the other, a tall cavalier magnificently accoutred, turned Mr Randolph’s horse courteously out of the press, dealing one of his assailants a buffet, that must have cut him in two, had it not been mercifully delivered with the flat of the sword, and rebuking the others in a voice of authority that all seemed to recognise. Indeed, a cry of ‘the Warden! the Warden!’ was by this time passed from lip to lip amongst the outlaws, and horses’ heads were already turned, and spurs plied to seek safety in flight. For the third time, too, to-night, Maxwell heard the name spoken which kindled so many recollections in his breast. Disembarrassed of his enemies by the rescue that arrived so opportunely, he noticed the Warden ride rapidly up to the leader of the band, and say in a low voice, ‘_You_ here, Carmichael! for shame!’ after which, the other turned rein, and galloped off at the utmost speed, accompanied by all his followers save two, one of whom was dead, and the other disabled. It struck him also that the pursuit was not nearly so vigorous as might have been expected from the rescue, and that the Warden appeared far more anxious to pay every attention to Mr Randolph than to take vengeance on those who had attacked him. The latter had never lost his _sang froid_ during the encounter, and was, if possible, more self-possessed than usual at its termination. ‘Your Scottish welcomes, my Lord Earl,’ said he, ‘are hearty, though rough. I never was more glad to see your lordship. It is fortunate for us all, except this gentleman, whose acquaintance I regret to have made so inopportunely, that you came to-night somewhat further than the drawbridge to meet your guests.’ As he spoke he pointed to the dead body of ‘Rough Rob,’ which was lying at his horse’s feet. ‘Who is it?’ asked Bothwell of his henchman anxiously, ere he replied to the courtier; and the gigantic horseman who had rescued Maxwell, dismounting, turned the dead man’s face to the moonlight. ‘It is but “Rough Rob,”’ replied he, carelessly, after a brief examination of the corpse. ‘A likely lad too, though he was a kinsman of my ain. Ay, Rob, thou’rt out of the saddle at last, man; but I would like weel to ken wha’s gotten the gude gray mare.’