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."

"He counselled right," echoed many voices, the eagerness with which they
had listened, and now spoke, effectually turning their attention from
their mysterious leader, who at old Murdoch's last words had with
difficulty prevented the utterance of a deep groan, and then, as if
startled at his own emotion, sprung up from his reclining posture, and
joined his voice to those of his men. "He counselled, and did rightly,"
they repeated; "it would have been an ill deed to spare a traitor's den
for such softening thoughts. Could we but free the Countess Isabella,
she would not want a home in Buchan--nay, the further from her cruel
husband's territories the better and for her children--the one, poor
innocent, is cared for, and the other--"

"Aye, my masters, and trust me, that other was in our sovereign's heart
as forcibly as the memories he spoke. That which we know now concerning
him was then undreamed of; it was only faintly rumored that Lord Douglas
had been deceived, and Alan of Buchan had not fallen by a father's hand,
or at least by his orders; that he was in life, in close confinement; my
old ears did catch something of this import from the king, as he spoke
with his brother."

"What import?" asked Sir Amiot, hoarsely.

"Only, your worship, that, for the sake of the young heir of Buchan, he
wished that such total devastation could have been spared; if he were