At that moment the sound of a Christmas carol came faintly on his ear. It was one of those tunes which, when the village choir were the only musicians he knew, he had thought, unrivalled; and now, even to his tutored, delicate ear, softened as it was by distance, and endeared by association, it was full of refreshing, soothing harmony. He undrew the curtain, opened the shutter, and looked into the court, where he saw some figures standing. As soon as the light shone from the window, the carol was resumed, and the familiar tones were louder and harsher, but he loved them, with all their rudeness and dissonance, and throwing up the window, called the singers by name, asking why they stood out in the snow, instead of coming into the hall, as usual.
The oldest of the set came to the window to answer,--so old a man that his voice was cracked, and his performance did more harm than good in the psalms at church.
'You see, Sir Guy,' said he, 'there was some of us thought you might not like to have us coming and singing like old times, 'cause 'tis not all as it used to be here with you. Yet we didn't like not to come at all, when you had been away so long, so we settled just to begin, and see whether you took any notice.'
'Thank you. It was a very kind thought, James,' said Guy, touched by the rough delicacy of feeling manifested by these poor men; 'I had rather hear the carols than anything. Come to the front door; I'll let you in.'
'Thank you, sir,' with a most grateful touch of the hat; and Guy hastened to set things in order, preferring the carols to everything at that moment, even though disabused of his pristine admiration for James Robinson's fiddle, and for Harry Ray's grand shake. A long space was spent in listening, and a still longer in the endeavour to show what Mr. Ashford meant by suggesting some improvements which they were regarding with dislike and suspicion, till they found Sir Guy was of the same mind. In fact, when he had sung a verse or two to illustrate his meaning, the opinion of the choir was, that, with equal advantages, Sir Guy might sing quite as well as Harry Ray.
It was the first time he had heard his own voice, except at church, since the earlier days of St. Mildred's, but as he went up the long stairs and galleries to bed, he found himself still singing. It was, Who lives forlorn, On God's own word doth rest, His path is bright With heavenly light, His lot among the blest.