I found the coastguardsman a most intelligent fellow—well informed on many subjects, and even professing to be something of an art critic. I showed him one or two of my pictures, and he was graciously pleased to approve of them, especially a sketch of the ruined castle from the south, with the Lady Tower in the foreground.
The examination of this picture naturally turned the conversation on to the ruin, and I was delighted to find my companion seemed almost as interested in the subject as I was.
“It’s a strange thing,” said I, “that the one thing wanting seems to be a story.”
“Ah! that was burnt out by the fire, sir.”
I was rude enough to laugh. He fancied I was lamenting the absence of the top storey!
“I don’t mean that,” I said. “What I mean is, no one seems to know anything about the place or its history.”
“Not they! What should they bother their heads about it for?”
“But it must have a history of some sort,” said I.
“Of course it has.”
“Do you know it?”