I am sure there is a
sad old story about it; and yet it makes one happy in a curious way
to think about it all."
"Yes," said Howard, "'the old, unhappy, far-off things,' that turn
themselves into songs and stories! That is another puzzle; one's
own sorrows and tragedies, would one like to think of them as being
made into songs for other people to enjoy? I suppose we ought to be
glad of it; but there does not seem anything poetical about them at
the time; and yet they end by being sweeter than the old happy
things. The 'Isle of Thorns'! Yes, that IS a beautiful name."
Suddenly there came a faint musical sound on the air, as sweet as
honey. Howard held up his hand. "What on earth or in heaven is
that?" he said.
"Those are the chimes of Sherborne!" said Maud. "One hears them
like that when the wind is in this quarter. I like to hear them--
they have always been to me a sort of omen of something pleasant
about to happen. Perhaps it is in your honour to-day, to welcome
you!"
"Well," said Howard, "they are beautiful enough by themselves; and
if they will bring me greater happiness than I have, I shall not
object to that!"
They smiled at each other, and stood in silence for a little, and
then Maud pointed out some neighbouring villages. "All this," she
said, "is Cousin Anne's--and yours. I think the Isle of Thorns is
yours."
"Then the old chief shall not be disturbed," said Howard.
"How curious it is," said Maud, "to see a place of which one knows
every inch laid out like a map beneath one.
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