Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
Anne of Avonlea This is the second book in the Anne of Green Gables series.
I am delighted to present to you Anne as she has now grown up into an elegant teenager.
Come with me as we hear all the trials and tribulations as she continues on her journey to womanhood.
Chapter 30 Continued By one o'clock the guests had come,
Including Mr.
And Mrs.
Allen.
For Mr.
Allen was to perform the ceremony in the absence of the Grafton Minister.
On his vacation,
Miss Lavender came down the stairs to meet her bridegroom at the foot.
And as he took her hand,
She lifted her big brown eyes to his with a look that made Charlotta IV,
Who intercepted it,
Feel queerer than ever.
They went out to the Honeysuckle Harbour where Mr.
Allen was awaiting them.
The guests grouped themselves as they pleased.
Anne and Diana stood by the old stone bench with Charlotta IV between them,
Desperately clutching their hands in her cold,
Tremulous little paws.
Mr.
Allen opened his blue book and the ceremony proceeded.
Just as Miss Lavender and Stephen Irving were pronounced man and wife,
A very beautiful and symbolic thing happened.
The sun suddenly burst through the grey and poured a flood of radiance on the happy bride.
Instantly the garden was alive with dancing shadows and flickering lights.
What a lovely omen,
Thought Anne as she ran to kiss the bride.
Then the three girls left the rest of the guests laughing around the bridal pair while they flew into the house to see,
Always in readiness for the feast.
Thanks be to goodness it's over,
Miss Shirley,
Mum,
Breathed Charlotta IV,
And their marriage safe and sound,
No matter what happens now.
The bags of rice are in the pantry,
Mum,
And the old shoes are behind the door,
And the cream for whippings on the sullied steps.
At half-past two,
Mr.
And Mrs.
Irving left,
And everyone went to Bright River to see them off on the afternoon train.
As Miss Lavender,
I beg her pardon,
Mrs.
Irving,
Stepped from the door of her old home,
Gilbert and the girls threw the rice,
And Charlotta IV hurled an old shoe with such excellent aim that she struck Mr.
Allen squarely on the head.
But it was reserved for Paul to give the prettiest send-off.
He popped out to the porch,
Ringing furiously a huge old brass dinner bell which had adorned the dining room mantle.
Paul's only motive was to make a joyful noise,
But as the clangor died away from Point and Curve and Hill across the river,
Came the chime of fairy wedding bells,
Ringing clearly,
Sweetly,
Fairly,
And more faint,
As if Miss Lavender's beloved echoes were bidding her greeting and farewell.
And so,
Amid this benediction of sweet sounds,
Miss Lavender drove away from the old life of dreams and make-believes,
To a new life of realities in the busy world beyond.
Two hours later,
Anne and Charlotta IV came down the lane again.
Gilbert had gone to West Grafton on an errand,
And Diana had to keep an engagement at home.
Anne and Charlotta had come back to put things in order and lock up the little stone house.
The garden was a pool of late golden sunshine,
With butterflies hovering and bees booming.
But the little house had already that indefinable air of desolation,
Which always follows a festivity.
Oh dear me,
Don't it look lonesome,
Sniffed Charlotta IV,
Who'd been crying all the way home from the station.
A wedding ain't much cheerfuller than a funeral,
After all,
When it's all over,
Miss Shirley-Ma'am.
A busy evening followed.
The decorations had to be removed,
The dishes washed,
The uneaten delicacies packed into a basket for the delectation of Charlotta IV's young brothers at home.
Anne would not rest until everything was in apple pie order.
After Charlotta had gone home with her plunder,
Anne went over the still rooms,
Feeling like one who trod alone some banquet hall deserted,
And closed the blinds.
Then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert,
Feeling very tired,
But still unweariedly thinking long,
Long thoughts.
What are you thinking of,
Anne?
Asked Gilbert,
Coming down the walk.
He'd left his horse and buggy out at the road.
Of Miss Lavender and Mr Irving,
Answered Anne dreamily.
Isn't it beautiful to think how everything's turned out,
How they've come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?
Yes,
It's beautiful,
Said Gilbert,
Looking steadily down into Anne's uplifted face.
But wouldn't it have been more beautiful still,
Anne,
If there'd have been no separation or misunderstanding,
If they'd come hand in hand all the way through life,
With no memories behind them but those which belong to each other?
For a moment,
Anne's heart fluttered queerly,
And for the first time,
Her eyes faltered under Gilbert's glaze,
And a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face.
It was as if a veil that had hung before her in a consciousness had been lifted,
Giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities.
Perhaps,
After all,
Romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare,
Like a gay knight riding down.
Perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways.
Perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages,
Betrayed the rhythm and the music.
Perhaps,
Perhaps,
Love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
Then the veil dropped again,
But the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before.
The page of girlhood had been turned,
As by an unseen finger,
And the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery,
Its pain and gladness.
Gilbert wisely said nothing more,
But in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne's remembered blush.
Four years of earnest happy work,
And then the garden of useful knowledge gained,
And a sweetheart won.
Behind them in the garden,
The little stone house brooded amongst the shadows.
It was lonely but not forsaken.
It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life.
There were to be future summers for the little stone house.
Meanwhile,
It could wait.
And over the river in purple durants,
The echoes bided their time.
