"Hae ye ony w'y o' winnin' oot o' this, forbye (besides) the mou'

o' the cave there?" asked Malcolm.

"Nane 'at I ken o'," answered Phemy. "But there's heaps o' hidy holes i' the inside o' 't."

"That's a' very weel; but gien they keppit the mou' an' took their time till 't, they bude to grip ye."

"There may be, though," resumed Phemy. "It gangs back a lang road.

I hae never been in sicht o' the cud o' 't. It comes doon verra laich in some places, and gangs up heich again in ithers, but nae sign o' an en' till 't."

"Is there ony soon' o' watter intill 't?" asked Malcolm.

"Na, nane at ever I hard. But I'll tell ye what I hae hard: I hae hard the flails gaein' thud, thud, abune my heid."

"Hoot toot, Phemy!" said Malcolm; "we're a guid mile an' a half frae the nearest ferm toon, an' that I reckon, 'll be the Hoose ferm."

"I canna help that," persisted Phemy. "Gien 't wasna the flails, whiles ane, an' whiles twa, I dinna ken what it cud hae been. Hoo far it was I canna say, for it's ill measurin' i' the dark, or wi'

naething but a bowat (lantern) i' yer han'; but gien ye ca'd it mair, I wadna won'er."

"It's a michty howkin!" said Malcolm; "but for a' that it wadna haud ye frae the grip o' thae sc.o.o.nrels: wharever ye ran they cud rin efter ye."

"I think we cud sort them," said Phemy. "There's ae place, a guid bit farrer in, whaur the rufe comes doon to the flure, leavin' jist ae sma' hole to creep throu': it wad be fine to hae a gey muckle stane handy, jist to row (roll) athort it, an' gar't luik as gien 't was the en' o' a'thing. But the hole's sae sma' at the laird has ill gettin' his puir hack throu' 't."

"I couldna help won'erin' hoo he wan throu' at the tap there," said Malcolm.

At this the laird laughed almost merrily, and rising, took Malcolm by the hand and led him to the spot, where he made him feel a rough groove in the wall of the rocky strait: into this hollow he laid his hump, and so slid sideways through.

Malcolm squeezed himself through after him, saying,--

"Noo ye're oot, laird, hadna ye better come wi' me hame to Miss Horn's, whaur ye wad be as safe's gien ye war in h'aven itsel'?"

"Na, I canna gang to Miss Horn's," he replied.

"What for no, laird?"

Pulling Malcolm down towards him, the laird whispered in his ear,

"'Cause she's fleyt at my back."

A moment or two pa.s.sed ere Malcolm could think of a reply both true and fitting. When at length he spoke again there was no answer, and he knew that he was alone.

He left the cave and set out for the Seaton; but, unable to feel at peace about his friends, resolved, on the way, to return after seeing his grandfather, and spend the night in the outer cave.

CHAPTER x.x.xI: WANDERING STARS

He had not been gone many minutes, when the laird pa.s.sed once more through the strait, and stood a moment waiting for Phemy; she had persuaded him to go home to her father's for the night.

But the next instant he darted back, with trembling hands, caught hold of Phemy, who was following him with the lantern, and stammered in her ear,--

"There's somebody there! I dinna ken whaur they come frae."

Phemy went to the front of the pa.s.sage and listened, but could hear nothing, and returned.

"Bide ye whaur ye are, laird," she said; "I'll gang doon, an' gien I hear or see naething, I'll come back for ye."

With careful descent, placing her feet on the well known points unerringly, she reached the bottom, and peeped into the outer cave.

The place was quite dark. Through its jaws the sea glimmered faint in the low light that skirted the northern horizon; and the slow pulse of the tide upon the rocks, was the sole sound to be heard.

No: another in the cave close beside her!--one small solitary noise, as of shingle yielding under the pressure of a standing foot! She held her breath and listened, her heart beating so loud that she feared it would deafen her to what would come next. A good many minutes, half an hour it seemed to her, pa.s.sed, during which she heard nothing more; but as she peeped out for the twentieth time, a figure glided into the field of vision bounded by the cave's mouth. It was that of a dumpy woman. She entered the cave, tumbled over one of the forms, and gave a cry coupled with an imprecation.

"The deevil roast them 'at laid me sic a trap!" she said. "I hae broken the shins the auld markis laudit!"

"Hold your wicked tongue!" hissed a voice in return, almost in Phemy's very ear.

"Ow! ye 're there, are ye, mem!" rejoined the other, in a voice that held internal communication with her wounded shins.

"Coupit ye the crans like me?"

The question, Englished, was, "Did you fall heels over head like me?" but was capable of a metaphorical interpretation as well.

"Hold your tongue, I say, woman! Who knows but some of the saints may be at their prayers within hearing?"

"Na, na, mem, there's nae risk o' that; this is no ane o' yer creepy caves whaur otters an wullcats hae their habitations; it's a muckle open mou'd place, like them 'at prays intill 't--as toom an' clear sidit as a tongueless bell. But what for ye wad hae 's come here to oor cracks (conversation), I canna faddom. A body wad think ye had an ill thoucht i' yer heid--eh, mem?"

The suggestion was followed by a low, almost sneering laugh. As she spoke, the sounds of her voice and step had been advancing, with cautious intermittent approach.

"I hae ye noo," she said, as she seated herself at length beside the other. "The gowk, Geordie Bray!" she went on, "--to tak it intill's oogly heid 'at the cratur wad be hurklin' here! It's no the place for ane 'at has to hide 's heid for verra shame o' slippin'

aff the likes o' himsel' upo' sic a braw mither! Could he get nae ither door to win in at, haith!"

"Woman, you 'll drive me mad!" said the other.

"Weel, hinney," returned the former, suddenly changing her tone, "I'm mair an' mair convenced 'at yon's the verra laad for yer purpose.

For ae thing, ye see, naebody kens whaur he cam frae, as the laird, bonny laad, wad say, an' naebody can contrad.i.c.k a word-- the auld man less than onybody, for I can tell him what he kens to be trowth. Only I winna muv till I ken whaur he comes frae."

"Wouldn't you prefer not knowing for certain? You could swear with the better grace."

"Deil a bit! It maitters na to me whilk side o' my teeth I chow wi'.

But I winna sweir till I ken the trowth--'at I may haud off o'

't. He's the man, though, gien we can get a grip o' 'im! He luiks the richt thing, ye see, mem. He has a glisk (slight look) o' the markis tu--divna ye think, mem?"

"Insolent wretch!"

"Caw canny, mem--'thing maun be considered. It wad but gar the thing luik, the mair likly. Fowk gangs the len'th o' sayin' 'at Humpy himsel' 's no the sin (son) o' the auld laird, honest man.

"It's a wicked lie," burst with indignation from the other.