“Luik there, my lord,” cried Malcolm, “--there’s Colonsay Castel, ’at yer lordship gets yer name, I’m thinkin’, an’, ony gait, ane o’ yer teetles frae. It maun be mony a hunner year sin’ ever Colonsay baid intill ’t!” Well might he say so! for they looked but saw nothing--only cliff beyond cliff rising from a white-fringed shore. Not a broken tower, not a ragged battlement invaded the horizon! “There’s nothing of the sort there!” said Lady Florimel. “Ye maunna luik for tooer or pinnacle, my leddy, for nane will ye see: their time’s lang ower. But jist taik the sea-face o’ the scaur (_cliff_) i’ yer ee, an’ traivel alang ’t oontil ye come till a bit ’at luiks like mason-wark. It scarce rises abune the scaur in ony but ae pairt, an’ there it’s but a feow feet o’ a wa’.” Following his direction, Lady Florimel soon found the ruin. The front of a projecting portion of the cliff was faced, from the very water’s edge as it seemed, with mason-work; while on its side, the masonry rested here and there upon jutting masses of the rock, serving as corbels or brackets, the surface of the rock itself completing the wall front. 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 draw-brig. 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. “I wad win at the boddom o’ ’t first.” “What do you mean by that?”