She had explored and knew every nook and cranny in those extensive ruins.

With Walter's assistance, she had once made a perilous ascent to the top of the highest of the two square towers, and had often clambered along the broken walls of the keep or descended into those strange little subterranean chambers, now half-choked with earth and rubbish, which tradition declared were the dungeons in which prisoners in the old days had been put to the rack, seared with red-hot irons, or submitted to other horrible tortures.
Her feet falling noiselessly, she entered the grass-grown courtyard, where stood the ancient spreading yew, the "dule-tree," under which the Glencardine charters had been signed and justice administered.

Other big trees had sprung from seedlings since the place had fallen into ruin; and, having entered, she paused amidst its weird, impressive silence.
Those high, ponderous walls about her spoke mutely of strength and impregnability.

Those grass-grown mounds hid ruined walls and broken foundations.

What tales of wild lawlessness and reckless bloodshed they all could tell! Many of the strange stories she had heard concerning the old place--stories told by the people in the neighbourhood--were recalled as she stood there gazing wonderingly about her.