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Anne's House of Dreams

8. Miss Cornelia Bryant Comes To Call
That September was a month of golden mists and purple hazes at Four Winds Harbor--
a month of sun-steeped days and of nights that were swimming in moonlight, or
pulsating with stars. No storm marred it, no rough wind blew. Anne and Gilbert put their
nest in order, rambled on the shores, sailed on the harbor, drove about Four Winds and
the Glen, or through the ferny, sequestered roads of the woods around the harbor head;
in short, had such a honeymoon as any lovers in the world might have envied them.
"If life were to stop short just now it would still have been richly worth while, just for the
sake of these past four weeks, wouldn't it?" said Anne. "I don't suppose we will ever
have four such perfect weeks again--but we've HAD them. Everything--wind, weather,
folks, house of dreams--has conspired to make our honeymoon delightful. There hasn't
even been a rainy day since we came here."
"And we haven't quarrelled once," teased Gilbert.
"Well, `that's a pleasure all the greater for being deferred,'" quoted Anne. "I'm so glad
we decided to spend our honeymoon here. Our memories of it will always belong here,
in our house of dreams, instead of being scattered about in strange places."
There was a certain tang of romance and adventure in the atmosphere of their new
home which Anne had never found in Avonlea. There, although she had lived in sight of
the sea, it had not entered intimately into her life. In Four Winds it surrounded her and
called to her constantly. From every window of her new home she saw some varying
aspect of it. Its haunting murmur was ever in her ears. Vessels sailed up the harbor
every day to the wharf at the Glen, or sailed out again through the sunset, bound for
ports that might be half way round the globe. Fishing boats went white-winged down the
channel in the mornings, and returned laden in the evenings. Sailors and fisher-folk
travelled the red, winding harbor roads, light-hearted and content. There was always a
certain sense of things going to happen--of adventures and farings-forth. The ways of
Four Winds were less staid and settled and grooved than those of Avonlea; winds of
change blew over them; the sea called ever to the dwellers on shore, and even those
who might not answer its call felt the thrill and unrest and mystery and possibilities of it.
"I understand now why some men must go to sea," said Anne. "That desire which
comes to us all at times--`to sail beyond the bourne of sunset'--must be very imperious
when it is born in you. I don't wonder Captain Jim ran away because of it. I never see a
ship sailing out of the channel, or a gull soaring over the sand-bar, without wishing I
were on board the ship or had wings, not like a dove `to fly away and be at rest,' but like
a gull, to sweep out into the very heart of a storm."
"You'll stay right here with me, Anne-girl," said Gilbert lazily. "I won't have you flying
away from me into the hearts of storms."
 
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