When she was left alone with her little dog, she fell to caressing and fondling her, as with all her heart and soul.
"Oh, Nelly! darling Nelly! what a little heroine you are! But how did you come here, Nelly?" she inquired, holding the little creature's curly head between her hands, and gazing down into its soft brown eyes. "How did you find me, Nelly?"
Nelly lapped her lady's cheek, and then jumped down and ran to the outlet of the cavern, and then ran back and jumped again into her lady's lap.
"Oh, yes, Nelly dear, I understand. You came that way and found me here. But that tells me nothing. How did you know I was here, little doggy?"
Poor little Skye terrier! She knew that a question was asked her, and she tried her best in her eloquent dumb way to answer it. And while she was jumping off and on her mistress' lap, and whining and caressing, the cavern door was darkened once more, and Gentiliska entered.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come! Be quiet, Nelly, darling; that's a girl, you know," exclaimed Sybil, speaking first to her visitor, and then to her little dog, who seemed inclined to make some hostile demonstrations against the supposed enemy.
"Why, what dog is that?" inquired Gentiliska, her mouth and eyes wide open with amazement.
"She is my dog, my dear, darling, devoted, brave little Nelly," replied Sybil, piling on the complimentary adjectives. And I leave it to any reader of mine if Nelly did not deserve them all.
"But—how on the face of the earth did she come here?" gasped Gentiliska.
"She didn't come on the face of the earth, but through the bowels of the earth. So she says, and I never knew her to tell a falsehood."