Phemy was one of those rare and blessed natures which have endless courage because they have no distrust, and she ran straight into the cave after him, without even first stopping to look in. It was not a very interesting cave to look into. The strata of which it was composed, upheaved almost to the perpendicular, shaped an opening like the half of a Gothic arch divided vertically and leaning over a little to one side, which opening rose to the full height of the cave, and seemed to lay bare every corner of it to a single glance. In length it was only about four or five times its width. The floor was smooth and dry, consisting of hard rock. The walls and roof were jagged with projections and shadowed with recesses, but there was little to rouse any frightful fancies. When Phemy entered, the laird was nowhere to be seen. But she went straight to the back of the cave, to its farthest visible point. There she rounded a projection and began an ascent which only familiarity with rocky ways could have enabled such a child to accomplish. At the top she passed through another opening, and by a longer and more gently sloping descent reached the floor of a second cave, as level and nearly as smooth as a table. On her left hand, what light managed to creep through the tortuous entrance was caught and reflected in a dull glimmer from the undefined surface of a well of fresh water which lay in a sort of basin in the rock: on a bedded stone beside it sat the laird, with his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and his hump upheaved above his head, like Mount Sinai over the head of Christian in the Pilgrim’s Progress. As his hands were still pressed on his ears, he heard nothing of Phemy’s approach, and she stood for a while staring at him in the vague glimmer, apparently with no anxiety as to what was to come next. Weary at length--for the forlorn man continued movelessly sunk in his own thoughts, or what he had for such--the eyes of the child began to wander about the darkness, to which they had already got so far accustomed as to make the most of the scanty light. Presently she fancied she saw something glitter, away in the darkness--two things: they must be eyes!--the eyes of an otter or of a pole-cat, in which creatures the caves along the shore abounded. Seized with sudden fright, she ran to the laird and laid her hand on his shoulder, crying, “Leuk, laird, leuk!” He started to his feet and gazed bewildered at the child, rubbing his eyes once and again. She stood between the well and the entrance, so that all the light there was, gathered upon her pale face. “Whaur do ye come frae?” he cried. “I cam frae the auld boat,” she answered. “What do ye want wi’ me?” “Naething, sir; I only cam to see hoo ye was gettin’ on. I wadna hae disturbit ye, sir, but I saw the twa een o’ a wullcat, or sic like, glowerin’ awa yonner i’ the mirk, an’ they fleyt me ’at I grippit ye.”