“You must give me your hand again, Keith,” said she, in a low voice; and when he shifted the candle, and took her hand in his, he found that it was trembling somewhat.

“Will you go any farther?” said he.

“No.”

They stood and looked around.  The darkness seemed without limits; the red light was insufficient to produce anything like an outline of this immense place, even in faint and wandering gleams.

“If anything were to move, Keith,” said she, “I should die.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said he, in a cheerful way; but the hollow echoes of the cavern made his voice sound sepulchral.  “There is no beast at all in here, you may be sure.  And I have often thought of the fright a wild-cat or a beaver may have got when he came in here in the night, and then discovered he had stumbled on a lot of sleeping men—­”

“Of men!”

“They say this was a sanctuary of the Culdees; and I often wonder how the old chaps got their food.  I am afraid they must have often fallen back on the young cormorants:  that is what Major Stuart calls an expeditious way of dining—­for you eat two courses, fish and meat, at the same time.  And if you go further along, Gertrude, you will come to the great altar-stone they used.”

“I would rather not go,” said she.  “I—­I do not like this place.  I think we will go back now, Keith.”

As they cautiously made their way back to the glare of the entrance, she still held his hand tight; and she did not speak at all.  Their footsteps echoed strangely in this hollow space.  And then the air grew suddenly warm; and there was a glow of daylight around; and although her eyes were rather bewildered, she breathed more freely, and there was an air of relief on her face.

“I think I will sit down for a moment, Keith,” said she; and then he noticed, with a sudden alarm, that her cheeks were rather pale.

“Are you ill?” said he, with a quick anxiety in his eyes “Were you frightened?”

“Oh, no!” said she, with a forced cheerfulness, and she sat down for a moment on one of the smooth boulders.  “You must not think I am such a coward as that.  But—­the chilling atmosphere—­the change—­made me a little faint.”

“Shall I run down to the boat for some wine for you?  I know that Janet has brought some claret.”

“Oh, not at all!” said she—­and he saw with a great delight that her color was returning.  “I am quite well now.  But I will rest for a minute, if you are in no hurry, before scrambling down those stones again.”

He was in no hurry; on the contrary, he sat down beside her and took her hand.

“You know, Gerty,” said he, “it will be some time before I can learn all that you like and dislike, and what you can bear, and what pleases you best; it will be some time, no doubt; but then, when I have learned, you will find that no one will look after you so carefully as I will.”

“I know you are very kind to me,” said she, in a low voice.