We must now shift the scene to the ancestral residence of the De Veres. Dun Edin Towers, or as it was called, for brevity's sake, The Towers, stood on a slight eminence at the foot of the Lammermoor Hills. On three sides it was bounded by the densest woods, whilst in front an ample park, dotted over with fine trees, stretched downwards till it ended in a bosky dell, the resort of woodcocks, pheasants, and all kinds of game; at the bottom of this dell a mountain torrent gushed amid the stones, now lost in rocks rough with brachen, now bursting over the sunny shingle, and revealing to the practised eye myriads of trout gaily shooting past. After heavy rains, or when the snows on the hill began to thaw, the bubbling rivulet changed its character, and "tumbling brown the burn came down, and roared frae bank to brae." The castle was itself a large quadrangular pile, with four lofty towers at the four corners: from these towers it took its name, and as they peeped above the woods they served for a landmark to the country for many a league round. The round towers proclaimed its Norman architecture, and the building was now hoary with age, but its masonry seemed solid as when it was first raised, and having outlived its lords for so many ages it seemed as though it would serve not only as the home, but the tomb of its present occupant; for in one tower was the long last dwelling-place of the De Veres. Partly covered over with ivy, its buttresses formed an asylum for owls and bats, which from time immemorial had built their nests there, and they seemed as much the rightful possessors as any of its human masters.