However, I got through at last without a word of compliment, and broke into the pleasant room, the lone retreat of Lorna.
The chamber was of unhewn rock, round, as near as might be, eighteen or twenty feet across, and gay with rich variety of fern and moss and lichen.

The fern was in its winter still, or coiling for the spring-tide; but moss was in abundant life, some feathering, and some gobleted, and some with fringe of red to it.

Overhead there was no ceiling but the sky itself, flaked with little clouds of April whitely wandering over it.

The floor was made of soft low grass, mixed with moss and primroses; and in a niche of shelter moved the delicate wood-sorrel.
Here and there, around the sides, were 'chairs of living stone,' as some Latin writer says, whose name has quite escaped me; and in the midst a tiny spring arose, with crystal beads in it, and a soft voice as of a laughing dream, and dimples like a sleeping babe.

Then, after going round a little, with surprise of daylight, the water overwelled the edge, and softly went through lines of light to shadows and an untold bourne.
While I was gazing at all these things with wonder and some sadness, Lorna turned upon me lightly (as her manner was) and said,-- 'Where are the new-laid eggs, Master Ridd?
Or hath blue hen ceased laying ?' I did not altogether like the way in which she said it with a sort of dialect, as if my speech could be laughed at.
'Here be some,' I answered, speaking as if in spite of her.