“Nane ’at I ken o’,” answered Phemy. “But there’s heaps o’ hidy holes i’ the inside o’ ’t.” “That’s a’ verra 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 en’ 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 scoonrels: 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 back 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 passed 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 XXXI. WANDERING STARS. He had not been gone many minutes, when the laird passed 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.