“It was a grand yet fearful sight, those low hanging woods and glens all in one flame; the spring had been particularly dry and windy, and the branches caught almost with a spark, and crackled and sparkled, and blazed, and roared, till for miles round we could see and hear the work of devastation.  Aye, the coward earl little knew what was passing in his territories, while he congratulated himself on his safe flight into England.  It was a just vengeance, a deserved though terrible retaliation, and the king felt it as such, my masters.  He had borne with the villains as long as he could, and would have borne with them still, had he not truly felt nothing would quench their enmity, and in consequence secure Scotland’s peace and safety, but their utter extermination, and all the time he regretted it, I know, for there was a terrible look of sternness and determination about him while the work lasted; he never relaxed into a smile, he never uttered a jovial word, and we followed him, our own wild spirits awed into unwonted silence.  There was not a vestige of natural or human life in the district—­all was one mass of black, discolored ashes, utter ruin and appalling devastation.  Not a tower of Buchan remains.”

“All—­sayest thou all?” said Sir Amiot, suddenly, yet slowly, and with difficulty.  “Left not the Bruce one to bear his standard, and thus mark his power?”

“Has not your worship remarked that such is never the Bruce’s policy?  Three years ago, he had not force enough to fortify the castles he took from the English, and leaving them standing did but offer safe harbors for the foe, so it was ever his custom to dismantle, as utterly to prevent their reestablishment; and if he did this with the castles of his own friends, who all, as the Douglas saith, ’love better to hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak,’ it was not likely he would spare Buchan’s.  But there was one castle, I remember, cost him a bitter struggle to demolish.  It was the central fortress of the district, distinguished, I believe, by the name of ‘the Tower of Buchan,’ and had been the residence of that right noble lady, the Countess Isabella and her children.  Nay, from what I overheard his grace say to Lord Edward, it had formerly given him shelter and right noble hospitality, and a dearer, more precious remembrance still to his noble heart—­it had been for many months the happy home of his brother, Sir Nigel, and we know what magic power all associated with him has upon the king; and had it not been for the expostulations of Lord Edward, his rough yet earnest entreaty, methinks that fortress had been standing yet.  That sternness, terrible to behold, for it ever tells of some mighty inward passions conquered, again gathered on our sovereign’s brow, but he turned his charger’s head, and left to Lord Edward the destruction of the fortress, and he made quick work of it; you will scarce find two stones together of its walls.”