“Ye’ll see whan ye win in till ’t. There’s a heap o’ voutit places inside yon blin’ face. Du ye see yon wee bit squaur winnock? That lats the licht in till ane o’ them. There may be vouts aneath vouts, for them ’at ye can win intill ’s half fu’ o’ yird an’ stanes. I wad hae a’ that cleart oot, an syne begin frae the verra foondation, diggin’, an’ patchin’, an’ buttressin’, till I got it a’ as soun’ as a whunstane; an’ whan I cam to the tap o’ the rock, there the castel sud tak to growin’ again; an’ grow it sud, till there it stude, as near what it was as the wit an’ the han’ o’ man cud set it.” “That would ruin a tolerably rich man,” said the marquis. “Ony gait it’s no the w’y fowk ruins themsels noo-a-days, my lord. They’ll pu’ doon an auld hoose ony day to save themsels blastin’-poother. There’s that gran’ place they ca’ Huntly Castel!-- a suckin’ bairn to this for age, but wi’ wa’s, they tell me, wad stan’ for thoosan’s o’ years: wad ye believe ’t? there’s a sowlless chiel’ o’ a factor there diggin’ park-wa’s an’ a grainery oot o’ ’t, as gien ’twar a quarry o’ blue stane! An’ what’s ten times mair exterord’nar, there’s the Duke o’ Gordon jist lattin’ the gype tak ’s wull o’ the hoose o’ his grace’s ain forbears! I wad maist as sune lat a man speyk ill o’ my daddy!” “But this is past all rebuilding,” said his lordship. “It would be barely possible to preserve the remains as they are.” “It _wad_ be ill to du, my lord, _ohn_ set it up again. But jist think what a gran’ place it wad be to bide in!” The marquis burst out laughing. “A grand place for gulls and kittiwakes and sea-crows!” he said. “But where is it, pray, that a fisherman like you gets such extravagant notions?--How do you come to think of such things?” “Thoucht’s free, my lord. Gien a thing be guid to think, what for sudna a fisher-lad think it? I hae read a heap aboot auld castels an’ sic like i’ the history o’ Scotlan’, an’ there’s mony an auld tale an’ ballant aboot them.--Jist luik there, my leddy: ye see yon awfu’ hole i’ the wa’, wi’ the verra inside o’ the hill, like, rushin’ oot at it?--I cud tell ye a fearfu’ tale aboot that same.” “Do let us have it,” said Florimel eagerly, setting herself to listen. “Better wait till we land,” said the marquis lazily. “Ay, my lord; we’re ower near the shore to begin a story.--Slack the mainsheet, Peter, an’ stan’ by the jib-doonhaul.--Dinna rise, my leddy; she’ll be o’ the grun’ in anither meenute.” Almost immediately followed a slight grating noise, which grew loud, and before one could say her speed had slackened, the cutter rested on the pebbles, with the small waves of the just-turned tide flowing against her quarter. Malcolm was over-board in a moment. “How the deuce are we to land here?” said the marquis. “Yes!” followed Florimel, half-risen on her elbow, “how the deuce _are_ we to land here?” “Hoot, my leddy!” said Malcolm, “sic words ill become yer bonny mou’.” The marquis laughed.