He lifted the latch of the door and opened it a little.

All was still.

With his drawn sword he entered.

The room was empty; a fire burned on the hearth, and on the table were some loaves which had evidently been just baked.

Malcolm fell upon one of them and speedily devoured it, and, taking a long draught of rough country wine from a skin hanging against the wall, he felt another man.
He broke another loaf in two and thrust the pieces into his doublet, and then sallied out from the cottage again.