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Updated: June 13, 2025
He was a reprobate, and known as the Wolf of Badenoch. As you know, many traditions regarding him still survive; but one fact contained in yonder papers is always interesting, for it shows that he was confined in the dungeon of the old keep of Glencardine until Robert III. released him.
Beneath the blazing sun Glencardine lay amid its rose-gardens, its cut beech-hedges, and its bowers of greenery. The palpitating heat was terrible the hottest day that summer.
In Italy we should quickly lay hands on them." "But we have no evidence." "You have no suspicion that any other man may have committed the theft that fellow Flockart, for instance? I don't like him," added the Baron. "He is altogether too friendly with everybody at Glencardine." "I have already made full inquiries. Flockart was in Rome. He only returned to London the day before yesterday. No.
"Father," she said that same evening, when they had settled down to commence work upon those ever-arriving documents from Paris, "what was the cause of Glencardine becoming a ruin?" "Well, the reason of its downfall was Lord Glencardine's change of front," he answered.
Her appearance always boded ill-fortune to the family in residence. Glencardine was scarcely ever without guests. Lady Heyburn, a shallow and vain woman many years younger than her husband, was always surrounded by her own friends. She hated the country, and more especially what she declared to be the "deadly dullness" of her Perthshire home. That moment was no exception.
A thousand times she had regretted the step she had taken in writing that cruel letter before she left Glencardine. But it was all too late. She had tried to retract; but, alas! it was now impossible. Tears welled in her splendid eyes at thought of the man whom she had loved so well. The world had, indeed, been cruel to her.
Why had she, by her own action in writing to her lover, placed herself in that terrible position from which there was no escape save by death? The recollection of the Whispers those fatal Whispers of Glencardine flashed through her distressed mind. Was it actually true, as the countryfolk declared, that death overtook all those who overheard the counsels of the Evil One?
She took up Walter's portrait, and, kissing it, put it away carefully in a drawer. Some of her little treasures she gathered together and placed with it, preparatory to departure, for she would on the morrow leave Glencardine perhaps for ever. The stable-clock had struck ten.
Stewart, the lean, thin-faced head-keeper, who spoke with such a strong accent that guests from the South often failed to understand him, and who never seemed to sleep, so vigilant was he over the Glencardine shootings, had reported the purchase of a couple of new pointers.
A volume, indeed, could be written upon the history, traditions, and superstitions of Glencardine Castle, a subject in which its blind owner took the keenest possible interest. But, tragedy of it all, he had never seen the lovely old domain he had acquired!
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