oul, whether rising out of sunny sands when
the ebbing waters have retired, or assailed on all sides by ramping
breakers, Scarthey in its isolation, with its well-preserved ruins and
its turret, from which for the last hundred years a light has been
burning to warn the seafarer, has a comfortable look of security and
privacy.

The low thick wall which in warlike times encompassed the bailey (now
surrounding and sheltering a wide paddock and neat kitchen gardens)
almost disappears under a growth of stunted, but sturdy trees; dwarf
alders and squat firs that shake their white-backed leaves, and swing
their needle clusters, merrily if the breeze is mild, obstinately if
the gale is rousing and seem to proclaim: "Here are we, well and
secure. Ruffle and toss, and lash, O winds, the faithless waters, _we_
shall ever cling to this hospitable footing, the only kindly soil
amid this dreariness; here you once wafted our seed; here shall we
live and perpetuate our life."

On the sea front of the bailey walls rise, sheer from the steep rock,
the main body and the keep of the Peel. They are ruinous and shorn of
their whilom great height, humbled more by the wilful destruction of
man than by the decay of time.

But although from a distance the castle on the green island seems
utterly dismantled, it is not, even now, all ruin. And, at the time
when Sir Adrian Landale, of Pulwick, eighth baronet, adopted it as his
residence, it was far from being such.

True, the greater portion of that mediaeval building, half monastic,
half military, exposed even then to the searching winds many bare and
roofless chambers; broken vaults filled with driven sands; more than
one spiral stair with hanging steps leading into space. But the
massive square keep had been substantially restored. Although roofless
its upper platform was as firm as when it was first built; and in a
corner, solidly ensconced, rose the more modern turret that sheltered
the honest warning light.

The wide chambers of the two remaining floors, which in old warlike
days were maintained bare and free, and lighted only by narrow
watching loopholes on all sides, had been, for purposes of peaceful
tenanncy, divided into sundry small apartments. New windows had been
pierced into the enormous thickness of stone and cement; the bare
coldness of walls was also hidden under more home-like panellings.
Close-fitting casements and solid doors insured peace within; the wind
in stormy hour