Her whole effort now was to keep herself
from fainting, and for this end, to abstract her mind from the
terrors of her situation: in this she was aided by a new shock,
which, had her position been a less critical one, would itself have
caused her a deadly dismay. A curious little sound came to her,
apparently from somewhere in the dusky chamber in which her head
lay. She fancied it made by some little animal, and thought of the
wild cats and otters of which Malcolm had spoken as haunting the
caves; but, while the new fear mitigated the former, the greater
fear subdued the less. It came a little louder, then again a little
louder, growing like a hurried whisper, but without seeming to
approach her. Louder still it grew, and yet was but an inarticulate
whispering. Then it began to divide into some resemblance of
articulate sounds. Presently, to her utter astonishment, she heard
herself called by name.
"Lady Florimel! Lady Florimel!" said the sound plainly enough.
"Who's there?" she faltered, with her heart in her throat hardly
knowing whether she spoke or not.
"There's nobody here," answered the voice. "I'm in my own bedroom
at home, where your dog killed mine."
It was the voice of Mrs Catanach, but both words and tone were
almost English.
Anger, and the sense of a human presence, although an evil one,
restored Lady Florimel's speech.
"How dare you talk such nonsense?" she said.
"Don't anger me again," returned the voice.
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