Above, grass grown heaps and mounds,
and one isolated bit of wall pierced with a little window, like an
empty eyesocket with no skull behind it, was all that was visible
from the sea of the structure which had once risen lordly on the
crest of the cliff.
"It is poor for a ruin even!" said Lord Lossie.
"But jist consider hoo auld the place is, my lord!--as auld as the
time o' the sea rovin' Danes, they say. Maybe it's aulder nor King
Alfred! Ye maun regaird it only as a foondation; there's stanes eneuch
lyin' aboot to shaw 'at there maun hae been a gran' supperstructur
on 't ance. I some think it has been ance disconneckit frae the
lan', an' jined on by a drawbrig. Mony a lump o' rock an' castel
thegither has rowed doon the brae upon a' sides, an' the ruins may
weel hae filled up the gully at last. It's a wonnerfu' auld place,
my lord."
"What would you do with it if it were yours, Malcolm?" asked Lady
Florimel.
"I wad spen' a my spare time patchin' 't up to gar 't stan' oot
agane the wither. It's crum'let awa' a heap sin' I min'."
"What would be the good of that? A rickle of old stones!" said the
marquis.
"It's a growth 'at there winna be mony mair like," returned Malcolm.
"I wonner 'at yer lordship!"
He was now steering for the foot of the cliff. As they approached,
the ruin expanded and separated, grew more massy, and yet more
detailed. Still it was a mere root clinging to the soil.
"Suppose you were Lord Lossie, Malcolm, what would you do with it?"
asked Florimel, seriously, but with fun in her eyes.
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