Lady Florimel was delighted at the prospect of such an adventure. The evening arrived. An hour before the time appointed for the meeting, the three issued from the tunnel, and passed along the landward side of the dune, towards the promontory. There sat the piper on the swivel, ready to sound a pibroch the moment they should have reached the shelter of the bored craig--his signal being Malcolm’s whistle. The plan answered perfectly. In a few minutes, all the children within hearing were gathered about Duncan--a rarer sight to them than heretofore--and the way was clear to enter unseen. It was already dusk, and the cave was quite dark, but Malcolm lighted a candle, and, with a little difficulty, got them up into the wider part of the cleft, where he had arranged comfortable seats with plaids and cushions. As soon as they were placed, he extinguished the light. “I wish you would tell us another story, Malcolm,” said Lady Florimel. “Do,” said the marquis “the place is not consecrated yet.” “Did ye ever hear the tale o’ the auld warlock, my leddy?” asked Malcolm. “--Only, my lord kens ’t!” he added. “_I_ don’t,” said Lady Florimel. “It’s great nonsense,” said the marquis. “Do let us have it, papa.” “Very well. I don’t mind hearing it again.” He wanted to see how Malcolm would embellish it. “It seems to me,” said Malcolm, “that this ane aboot Lossie Hoose an’ yon ane aboot Colonsay Castel, are verra likly but twa stalks frae the same rute. Ony gate, this ane aboot the warlock maun be the auldest o’ the twa. Ye s’ hae ’t sic ’s I hae ’t mysel’. Mistress Coorthoup taul’ ’t to me.” It was after his own more picturesque fashion, however, that he recounted the tale of Lord Gernon. As the last words left his lips, Lady Florimel gave a startled cry, seized him by the arm, and crept close to him. The marquis jumped to his feet, knocked his head against the rock, uttered an oath, and sat down again. “What ails ye, my leddy!” said Malcolm. “There’s naething here to hurt ye.” “I saw a face,” she said, “--a white face!” “Whaur?” “Beyond you a little way--near the ground,” she answered, in a tremulous whisper. “It’s as dark ’s pick!” said Malcolm, as if thinking it to himself. --He knew well enough that it must be the laird or Phemy, but he was anxious the marquis should not learn the secret of the laird’s refuge. “I saw a face anyhow,” said Florimel. “It gleamed white for one moment, and then vanished.” “I wonner ye didna cry oot waur, my leddy,” said Malcolm, peering into the darkness. “I was too frightened. It looked so ghastly!--not more than a foot from the ground.” “Cud it hae been a flash, like, frae yer ain een?” “No; I am sure it was a face.” “How much is there of this cursed hole?” asked the marquis; rubbing the top of his head. “A heap,” answered Malcolm. “The grun’ gangs doon like a brae ahin’ ’s, intill a----” “You don’t mean right behind us?” cried the marquis.