Light foot to press the stirrup,
In fearlessness and glee,
Or dance till finches chirrup,
And stars sink in the sea.
cory johnstone.
ONE day you might have seen Clare sitting with Miss Hippesley in the drawing-room.
The dusk was falling, and the great limbs of the elms in St. James’ Park stood leafless and black against the sombre twilight. Flocks of white seagulls circled among them. It was a world of black, and white, and grey.
Only within doors was comfort. The lamps had not yet been lit, but the fire, burning those rainbow logs of old ships’ wood, filled the room with chequered light and dancing shadows.
“Will you tell me about Lady Crosbie?” said Clare. “I know she is a friend of yours.”