Explore "The Light of Scarthey" by Egerton Castle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A prison is a house of care, A place where none can thrive, A Touchstone True to try a friend, A Grave for man alive. Sometimes a place of right, Sometimes a place of wrong, Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, And honest men among. _Old Inscription._
It was soon after sunrise -- at that time of year an hour not exorbitantly early -- when Molly awoke from a tangle of fantastic dreams in which the haunting figure of her waking thoughts, the hermit of Scarthey, appeared to her in varied shapes; as an awe-inspiring, saintly ascetic with long, white hair; as a young, beautiful, imprisoned prince; even as a ragged imbecile staring vacantly at a lantern, somewhere in a dismal sea-cave.