forcibly reminded the consul of Miss Elsie's simile of the "burnt-down
factory." The view from the square tower--a mere roost for unclean
sea-fowl, from the sides of which rags of peeling moss and vine hung
like tattered clothing--was equally depressing. The few fishermen's huts
along the shore were built of stones taken from the ruin, and roofed in
with sodden beams and timbers in the last stages of deliquescence. The
thick smoke of smouldering peat-fires came from the low chimneys, and
drifted across the ruins with the odors of drying fish.

"I've just seen a sort of ground-plan of the castle," said Miss Elsie
cheerfully. "It never had a room in it as big as our bedroom in the
hotel, and there weren't windows enough to go round. A slit in the
wall, about two inches wide by two feet long, was considered dazzling
extravagance to Malcolm's ancestors. I don't wonder some of 'em broke
out and swam over to America. That reminds me. Who do you suppose is
here--came over from the hotel in a boat of his own, just to see maw!"

"Not Malcolm, surely."

"Not much," replied Miss Elsie, setting her small lips together. "It's
Mr. Custer. He's talking business with her now down on the beach.
They'll be here when lunch is ready."

The consul remembered the romantic plan which the enthusiastic Custer
had imparted to him in the foggy consulate at St. Kentigern, and then
thought of the matter of fact tourists, the few stolid fishermen, and
the prosaic ruins around them, and smiled. He looked up, and saw that
Miss Elsie was watching him.

"You know Mr. Custer, don't you?"