Mr Stewart yielded, but nervous starts and sudden twitches of the muscles betrayed his uneasiness: it looked as if his body would jump up and run without his mind’s consent.
“Hae ye ony w’y o’ winnin’ oot o’ this, forbye (besides) the mou’ o’ the cave there?” asked Malcolm.
“Nane ’at I ken o’,” answered Phemy. “But there’s heaps o’ hidy holes i’ the inside o’ ’t.”
“That’s a’ verra weel; but gien they keppit the mou’ an’ took their time till ’t, they bude to grip ye.”
“There may be, though,” resumed Phemy. “It gangs back a lang road. I hae never been in sicht o’ the en’ o’ ’t. It comes doon verra laich in some places, and gangs up heich again in ithers, but nae sign o’ an en’ till ’t.”
“Is there ony soon’ o’ watter intill ’t?” asked Malcolm.
“Na, nane at ever I hard. But I’ll tell ye what I hae hard: I hae hard the flails gaein’ thud, thud, abune my heid.”
“Hoot toot, Phemy!” said Malcolm; “we’re a guid mile an’ a half frae the nearest ferm-toon, an’ that I reckon, ’ll be the Hoose-ferm.”
“I canna help that,” persisted Phemy. “Gien ’t wasna the flails, whiles ane, an’ whiles twa, I dinna ken what it cud hae been. Hoo far it was I canna say, for it’s ill measurin’ i’ the dark, or wi’ naething but a bowat (lantern) i’ yer han’; but gien ye ca’d it mair, I wadna won’er.”
“It’s a michty howkin!” said Malcolm; “but for a’ that it wadna haud ye frae the grip o’ thae scoonrels: wharever ye ran they cud rin efter ye.”