“Na, my lord; ye dinna understan’ the lie o’ the stanes eneuch to haud oot o’ sicht.” “How long do you mean to keep us here?” asked the marquis impatiently. “Till it’s safe to gang, my lord. For onything I ken, they may be efter comin’ up here. They may be used to the place--though I dinna think it.” “In that case we must go down at once. We must _not_ let them find us here.” “They wad tak ’s ane by ane as we gaed doon, my lord, an’ we wadna hae a chance. Think o’ my leddy there!” Florimel heard all, but with the courage of her race. “This is a fine position you have brought us into, MacPhail!” said his master, now thoroughly uneasy for his daughter’s sake. “Nae waur nor I’ll tak ye oot o’, gien ye lippen to me, my lord, an’ no speyk a word.” “If you tell them who papa is,” said Florimel, “they won’t do us any harm, surely!” “I’m nane sae sure o’ that. They micht want to ripe ’s pooches (_search his pockets_), an’ my lord wad ill stan’ that, I’m thinkin’! Na, na. Jist stan’ ye back, my lord an’ my leddy, an’ dinna speyk a word. I s’ sattle them. They’re sic villains, there’s nae terms to be hauden wi’ them.” His lordship was far from satisfied; but a light shining up into the crevice at the moment, gave powerful support to Malcolm’s authority: he took Florimel’s hand and drew her a little farther from the mouth of the cave. “Don’t you wish we had Demon with us?” whispered the girl. “I was thinking how I never went without a dagger in Venice,” said the marquis, “and never once had occasion to use it. Now I haven’t even a penknife about me! It looks very awkward.” “Please don’t talk like that,” said Florimel. “Can’t you trust Malcolm, papa?” “Oh, yes; perfectly!” he answered; but the tone was hardly up to the words. They could see the dim figure of Malcolm, outlined in fits of the approaching light, all but filling the narrow entrance, as he bent forward to listen. Presently he laid himself down, leaning on his left elbow, with his right shoulder only a little above the level of the passage. The light came nearer, and they heard the sound of scrambling on the rock, but no voice; then for one moment the light shone clear upon the roof of the cleft; the next, came the sound of a dull blow, the light vanished, and the noise of a heavy fall came from beneath. “Ane o’ them, my lord,” said Malcolm, in a sharp whisper, over his shoulder. A confusion of voices arose. “You booby!” said one. “You climb like a calf. I’ll go next.” Evidently they thought he had slipped and fallen, and he was unable to set them right. Malcolm heard them drag him out of the way. The second ascended more rapidly, and met his fate the sooner. As he delivered the blow, Malcolm recognized one of the laird’s assailants, and was now perfectly at his ease. “Twa o’ them, my lord,” he said. “Gien we had ane mair doon, we cud manage the lave.”