Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast.
That offers you a calm and relaxing transition.
Into a great night's sleep.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Close your eyes.
And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you.
And let all the worries of the day go.
Drift away.
This is your time.
And your space.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
And let it out with a long sigh.
That's it!
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 5 the homecoming.
Dr David Blythe had sent his horse and buggy to meet them,
And the urchin who had brought it slipped away with a sympathetic grin.
Leaving them to the delight of driving alone to their new home through the radiant evening.
And never forgot the loveliness of the view that broke upon them when they'd driven over the hill behind the village.
Her new home could not be seen yet,
But before her lay Four Winds Harbour like a great shining mirror of rose and silver.
Far down she saw its entrance between the bar of sand dunes on one side and a steep high grim red sandstone cliff on the other.
Beyond the bar of a sea,
Carmen Austere dreamed in the afterlight.
The little fishing village nestled in the cove where the sand dunes met the harbour shore looks like a great opal in the haze.
The sky over them was like a jewelled cup from which the dusk was pouring.
The air was crisp with the compelling tang of the sea and the whole landscape was infused with the subtleties of a sea evening.
A few dim sails drifted along the darkening fur-clad harbour shores.
A bell was ringing from the tower of a little white church on the far side.
Mellowly and dreamily sweet.
The chime floated across the water,
Blent with the moan of the sea.
The great revolving light on the cliff at the channel flashed warm and golden against the clear northern sky.
A trembling,
Quivering star of good hope.
Far out along the horizon was the crinkled grey ribbon of a passing steamer's smoke.
Oh,
Beautiful,
Beautiful.
Mama John.
I shall love for Wins Gilbert.
Where is our house?
We can't see it yet.
The belt of birch running up from that little cove hides it.
It's about two miles from Glen St Mary.
And there's another mile between it and the lighthouse.
We won't have many neighbours,
Anne.
There's only one house near us and I don't know who lives in it.
Shall you be lonely when I'm away?
Not with that light and that loveliness for company.
Who lives in that house,
Gilbert?
I don't know.
It doesn't look exactly as if the occupants would be kindred spirits,
Anne,
Does it?
The house was a large substantial affair,
Painted such a vivid green that the landscape seemed quite faded by contrast.
There was an orchard behind it and a nicely kept lawn before it.
But somehow there was a certain bareness about it.
Perhaps its neatness was responsible for this.
The whole establishment,
House,
Barns,
Orchard,
Garden,
Lawn and lane was so starkly neat.
It doesn't seem probable anyone with that taste in paint could be very kindred.
Acknowledged Anne.
Unless it were an accident,
Like our blue hall.
And I feel certain there are no children there,
At least.
It's even neater than the old cob place on the Tory Road and I never expected to see anything neater than that.
They had not met anyone on the moist red road that wound along the harbour shore.
But just before they came to the Belt of Birch which hid their home.
Anne saw a girl who was driving a flock of snow-white geese along the crest of a velvety green hill on the right.
Great scattered furs grew along it.
Between their trunks one saw glimpses of yellow harvest fields,
Gleams of golden sand hills and bits of blue sea.
The girl was tall and wore a dress of pale blue print.
She walked with a certain springiness of step and erectness of bearing.
She and her geese came out of the gate at the foot of the hill as Anne and Gilbert passed.
She stood with her hand on the fastening of the gate and looked steadily at them with an expression that hardly attained to interest.
But did not descend to curiosity.
It seemed to Anne for a fleeting moment there was even a veiled hint of hostility.
But it was the girl's beauty which made Anne give a little gasp.
A beauty so marked it must have attracted attention anywhere.
She was hatless,
But heavy braids of burnished hair,
The hue of ripe wheat were twisted about her head like a coronet.
Her eyes were blue and star-like.
Her figure in its plain print gown was magnificent,
And her lips were as crimson as the bunch of blood-red poppies she wore at her belt.
Gilbert,
Who is that girl we've just passed?
I'll stand in the low voice.
I didn't notice any girl,
" said Gilbert,
Who had eyes only for his bride.
She was standing by that gate.
No,
Don't look back.
She's watching us.
I never saw such a beautiful face.
I don't remember seeing very handsome girls while I was here.
There were some pretty girls up at the Glen,
But I hardly think they could be called beautiful.
This girl is.
.
.
You can't have seen her or you would remember her.
Nobody could forget her.
I never saw such a beautiful face.
I never saw that face except in pictures.
Her hair made me think of Browning's cord of gold and gorgeous snakes.
Probably she's some visitor in four winds,
Likely someone over from that big summer hotel over the harbour,
" said Gilbert.
She wore a white ribbon and she was driving geese.
She might just do that for an amusement.
Now look,
Sir Gilbert,
There is our house.
Anne looked and forgot all about the girl with the splendid resentful eyes.
The first glimpse of her new home was a delight to eye and spirit.
It looks so like a big creamy seashell stranded on the harbour shore.
The rows of tall Lombardy poplars down its lane stood out in stately purple silhouette against the sky.
Behind that,
Sheltering its garden from the too keen breath of sea winds,
Was a cloudy fir wood,
In which the winds might make all kinds of weird and haunting music.
Like all woods,
It seemed to be holding and unfolding secrets in its recesses.
Secrets whose charm is only to be won by entering in and patiently seeking.
Outwardly,
Dark green arms keep them in violence.
From curious or indifferent eyes.
The night winds were beginning their wild dances beyond the bar and the fishing hamlet across the harbour was gemmed with lights as Anne and Gilbert drove up the Poplar Lane.
Then the door of the little house opened and a warm glow of firelight flickered out into the dusk.
Gilbert lifted Anne from the buggy and led her into the garden.
Through the little gate between the ruddy-tipped firs and up the trim red path to the sandstone steps.
Welcome home.
He whispered.
And hand in hand,
They stepped over the threshold.
Of their house.
Of dreams.
