initiated into the magic which brought her to the stake.

I scrambled over a low wall with a deep drop, and descended the cliff so
as to get a view of the ancient chateau that faces the setting sun.
Beyond the loch was a muddy field, then rows on rows of ugly
advertisements, then lines of 'smoky dwarf houses,' and, above these,
clear against a sky of March was the leonine profile of Arthur's Seat.
Steam rose and trailed from the shrieking southward trains between the
loch and the mountain, old and new were oddly met, for the chateau was
the home of an ancient race, the Logans of Restalrig, ancestors of that
last Laird with whom our story has to do. Their rich lands stretched far
and wide; their huge dovecot stands, sturdy as a little pyramid, in a
field to the north, towards the firth. They had privileges over Leith
Harbour which must have been very valuable: they were of Royal descent,
through a marriage of a Logan with a daughter of Robert II. But their
glory was in their ancestor, Sir Robert Logan, who fell where the good
Lord James of Douglas died, charging the Saracens on a field of Spain,
and following the heart of Bruce. So Barbour sings, and to be named by
Barbour, for a deed and a death so chivalrous, is honour enough.

[Picture: Restalrig House]

[Picture: Restalrig Village]

The Logans flourished in their eyrie above the Loch of Restalrig, and
intermarried with the best houses, Sinclairs, Ogilvys, Homes, and Ramsays
of Dalhousie. It may be that some of them sleep under the muddy floor of
St. Triduana's Chapel, in the village of Restalrig, at the foot of the
hill on the eastern side of their old chateau. This village, surrounded
by factories, is apparently just what it used to be in the days of James
VI. The low thick-walled houses with fore-stairs, retain their ancient,
high-pitched, red-tiled roofs, with dormer windows, and turn their tall
narrow gables to the irregular street. 'A mile frae Embro town,' you
find yourself going back three hundred years in time. On the right hand
of the road, walking eastward, what looks like a huge green mound is
visible above a high ancient wall. This is all that is left of St.
Triduana's Chapel, and she was a saint who came from Achaia with St.
Regulus, the mythical founder of St. Andrews. She died at Restalrig on
October 8, 510, and may have converted the Celts, who then dwelt in a
crannog in the loch; at all even