The din without and above was tremendous. The stroke of sword on
armour, the sharp crack of the pistols, the rattle of musketry,
the shouts of the Imperialists, and the wild defiant cries of the
Highlanders mingled together.
As Malcolm stood panting he recalled the situation, and, remembering
that the syndic's house was in the street behind, he determined to
gain it, feeling sure that his host would shelter him if he could.
Passing through the house he issued into a courtyard, quickly
stripped off his armour and accoutrements, and threw them into an
outhouse. Climbing on the roof of this he got upon the wall, and
ran along it until behind the house of the syndic. He had no fear
of being observed, for the attention of all in the houses in the
street he had left would be directed to the conflict below.
The sound of musketry had already ceased, telling that the work
of slaughter was well nigh over, when Malcolm dropped into the
courtyard of the syndic; the latter and his wife gave a cry of
astonishment as the lad entered the house, breathless and pale as
death.
"Can you shelter me awhile?" he said. "I believe that all my
countrymen are killed."
"We will do our best, my lad," the syndic said at once. "But the
houses will be ransacked presently from top to bottom."
"Let him have one of the servant's disguises," the wife said; "they
can all be trusted.
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