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 passage 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, passed, 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.