The house, like all the others, was full of Imperialists, who had thrown themselves into it when the Scots made their charge, and were now keeping up a fire at them from the upper windows.

Closing the door behind him, Malcolm stood for a moment to recover his breath.

He had passed unscathed through the three days' fighting, though his armour and helmet were deeply dinted in many places.
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.