Weary at length—for the forlorn man continued
movelessly sunk in his own thoughts, or what he had
for such—the eyes of the child began to
wander about the darkness, to which they had already
got so far accustomed as to make the most of the scanty
light. Presently she fancied she saw something
glitter, away in the darkness—two things:
they must be eyes!—the eyes of an otter
or of a polecat, in which creatures the caves along
the shore abounded. Seized with sudden fright,
she ran to the laird and laid her hand on his shoulder,
crying,
“Leuk, laird, leuk!”
He started to his feet and gazed bewildered at the
child, rubbing his eyes once and again. She stood
between the well and the entrance, so that all the
light there was, gathered upon her pale face.
“Whaur do ye come frae?” he cried.
“I cam frae the auld boat,” she answered.
“What do ye want wi’ me?”
“Naething, sir; I only cam to see hoo ye was
gettin’ on. I wadna hae disturbit ye, sir,
but I saw the twa een o’ a wullcat, or sic like,
glowerin’ awa yonner i’ the mirk, an’
they fleyt me ’at I grippit ye.”
“Weel, weel; sit ye doon, bairnie,” said
the mad laird in a soothing voice; “the wullcat
sanna touch ye. Ye’re no fleyt at me, are
ye?”
“Na!” answered the child. “What
for sud I be fleyt at you, sir? I’m Phemy
Mair.”
“Eh, bairnie! it’s you, is’t?”
he returned in tones of satisfaction, for he had not
hitherto recognised her. “Sit ye doon, sit
ye doon, an’ we’ll see about it a’.”
Phemy obeyed, and seated herself on the nearest projection.
The laird placed himself beside her, and once more
buried his face, but not his ears, in his hands.
Nothing entered them, however, but the sound of the
rising tide, for Phemy sat by him in the faintly glimmering
dusk, as without fear felt, so without word spoken.
The evening crept on, and the night came down, but
all the effect of the growing darkness was that the
child drew gradually nearer to her uncouth companion,
until at length her hand stole into his, her head
sank upon his shoulder, his arm went round her to hold
her safe, and thus she fell fast asleep. After
a while, the laird gently roused her and took her
home, on their way warning her, in strange yet to
her comprehensible utterance, to say nothing of where
she had found him, for if she exposed his place of
refuge, wicked people would take him, and he should
never see her again.
All the coast to the east of the little harbour was
rock, bold and high, of a grey and brown hard stone,
which after a mighty sweep, shot out northward, and
closed in the bay on that side with a second great
promontory. The long curved strip of sand on the
west, reaching to the promontory of Scaurnose, was
the only open portion of the coast for miles.
Here the coasting vessel gliding past gained a pleasant
peep of open fields, belts of wood and farm houses,
with now and then a glimpse of a great house amidst
its trees. In the distance one or two bare solitary
hills, imposing in aspect only from their desolation,
for their form gave no effect to their altitude, rose
to the height of over a thousand feet.
