The sound of his voice cheered Florimel a little, as she lay forsaken in her misery. Her whole effort now was to keep herself from fainting, and for this end, to abstract her mind from the terrors of her situation: in this she was aided by a new shock, which, had her position been a less critical one, would itself have caused her a deadly dismay. A curious little sound came to her, apparently from somewhere in the dusky chamber in which her head lay. She fancied it made by some little animal, and thought of the wild cats and otters of which Malcolm had spoken as haunting the caves; but, while the new fear mitigated the former, the greater fear subdued the less. It came a little louder, then again a little louder, growing like a hurried whisper, but without seeming to approach her. Louder still it grew, and yet was but an inarticulate whispering. Then it began to divide into some resemblance of articulate sounds. Presently, to her utter astonishment, she heard herself called by name. “Lady Florimel! Lady Florimel!” said the sound plainly enough. “Who’s there?” she faltered, with her heart in her throat, hardly knowing whether she spoke or not. “There’s nobody here,” answered the voice. “I’m in my own bedroom at home, where your dog killed mine.” It was the voice of Mrs Catanach, but both words and tone were almost English. Anger, and the sense of a human presence, although an evil one, restored Lady Florimel’s speech. “How dare you talk such nonsense?” she said. “Don’t anger me again,” returned the voice. “I tell you the truth. I’m sorry I spoke to your ladyship as I did this morning. It was the sight of my poor dog that drove me mad.” “_I_ couldn’t help it. I tried to keep mine off him, as you know.” “I do know it, my lady, and that’s why I beg your pardon.” “Then there’s nothing more to be said.” “Yes, there is, my lady: I want to make you some amends. I _know_ more than most people, and I know a secret that some would give their ears for. Will you trust me?” “I will hear what you’ve got to say.” “Well, I don’t care whether you believe me or not: I shall tell you nothing but the truth. What do you think of Malcolm MacPhail, my lady?” “What do you mean by asking me such a question?” “Only to tell you that by birth he is a gentleman, and comes of an old family.” “But why do you tell _me_?” said Florimel. “What have _I_ to do with it?” “Nothing, my lady--or himself either. _I_ hold the handle of the business. But you needn’t think it’s from any favour for _him_! I don’t care what comes of him. There’s no love lost between him and me. You heard yourself this very day, how he abused both me and my poor dog who is now lying dead on the bed beside me!” “You don’t expect me to believe such nonsense as that!” said Lady Florimel.