The Sapphire Cross

“Oh, how sweet the pines smell, Marion! I declare it’s quite bliss to get down here in these wilds, with the free wind blowing the London smoke out of your back hair, and no one to criticize and make remarks. I won’t go to the sea-side any more ... Read more

“Oh, how sweet the pines smell, Marion! I declare it’s quite bliss to get down here in these wilds, with the free wind blowing the London smoke out of your back hair, and no one to criticize and make remarks. I won’t go to the sea-side any more: pier and band, and esplanade and promenade; in pink to-day and in blue to-morrow, and the next day in green; and then a bow here and a ‘de-do’ there; and ‘how’s mamma?’ and ‘nice day;’ and all the same sickening stuff over again. There! I won’t hear fault found with the Fen-land ever anymore. I don’t wonder at that dear old Hereward the Wake loving it. Why it’s beautiful! and I feel free—as free as the air itself, and could set off and run and jump and shout like a child?” “Dangerous work, running and jumping here,” said a tall, pale girl, the speaker’s companion, as she picked her way from tuft to tuft of heath and rushes, now plucking a spray of white or creamy-pink moss, now some silky rush, and at last bending long over a cluster of forget-me-nots, peering up from the bright green water plants, like turquoise set in enamelled gold. Less