“I ask you how we are to get ashore?” said Florimel with grave dignity, though an imp was laughing in the shadows of her eyes. “I’ll sune lat ye see that, my leddy,” answered Malcolm; and leaning over the low bulwark he had her in his arms almost before she could utter an objection. Carrying her ashore like a child-- indeed, to steady herself, she had to put an arm round his shoulders --he set her down on the shingle, and turning in the act, left her as if she had been a burden of nets, and waded back to the boat. “And how, pray, am I to go?” asked the marquis. “Do you fancy you can carry me in that style?” “Ow na, my lord! that wadna be dignifeed for a man. Jist loup upo’ my back.” As he spoke he turned his broad shoulders, stooping. The marquis accepted the invitation, and rode ashore like a schoolboy, laughing merrily. They were in a little valley, open only to the sea, one boundary of which was the small promontory whereon the castle stood. The side of it next them, of stone and live rock combined, rose perpendicular from the beach to a great height; whence, to gain the summit, they had to go a little way back, and ascend by a winding path till they reached the approach to the castle from the landward side. “Noo, _wad_ na this be a gran’ place to bide at, my lord?” said Malcolm, as they reached the summit--the marquis breathless, Florimel fresh as a lark. “Jist see sic an outluik! The verra place for pirates like the auld Danes! Naething cud escape the sicht o’ them here. Yon’s the hills o’ Sutherlan’. Ye see yon ane like a cairn? that’s a great freen’ to the fisher-fowk to tell them whaur they are. Yon’s the laich co’st o’ Caithness. An’ yonner’s the north pole, only ye canna see sae far. Jist think, my lord, hoo gran’ wad be the blusterin’ blap o’ the win’ aboot the turrets, as ye stude at yer window on a winter’s day, luikin oot ower the gurly twist o’ the watters, the air fu’ o’ flichterin snaw, the cloods a mile thick abune yer heid, an’ no a leevin cratur but yer ain fowk nearer nor the fairm-toon ower the broo yonner!” “I don’t see anything very attractive in your description,” said his lordship. “And where,” he added, looking around him, “would be the garden?” “What cud ye want wi’ a gairden, an’ the sea oot afore ye there? The sea’s bonnier than ony gairden. A gairden’s maist aye the same, or it changes sae slow, wi’ the ae flooer gaein’ in, an’ the ither flooer comin’ oot, ’at ye maist dinna nottice the odds. But the sea’s never twa days the same. Even lauchin’ she never lauchs twise wi’ the same face, an’ whan she sulks, she has a hunner w’ys o’ sulkin’.” “And how would you get a carriage up here?” said the marquis.