As they were crossing a large meadow that sloped away from the sun, along a path embedded with innumerable tiny glittering points, Paul, walking alongside, laced his fingers in the strings of the bag Miriam was carrying, and instantly she felt Annie behind, watchful and jealous.

But the meadow was bathed in a glory of sunshine, and the path was jewelled, and it was seldom that he gave her any sign.

She held her fingers very still among the strings of the bag, his fingers touching; and the place was golden as a vision.
At last they came into the straggling grey village of Crich, that lies high.

Beyond the village was the famous Crich Stand that Paul could see from the garden at home.

The party pushed on.