Yet I know that there are reasons of state why he should not; and
therefore, though I am nothing less than infinitely desolate without
him, and hate to look at anything new unless he is looking too, I
cannot complain. But is it not wonderful that I am here in this
remote and interesting and storied spot?--the last retreat of the
little people called fairies, the lurking-place of giants and
enchanters. . . . At Stonehenge we found a few rude stones for a temple.
I could not gather into a small enough focus the wide glances of
Julian's great brown, searching eyes to make him see even what there
was; and when finally he comprehended that the circle of stones once
marked out a temple, and that the Druids really once stood there, he
curled his lip, scornfully exclaiming, "Is that all?" and bounded off
to pluck flowers. I think that, having heard of Stonehenge and a Druid
temple which was built of stones so large that it was considered
almost miraculous that they were moved to their places, he expected to
see a temple touching the sky, perhaps. . . . Mr. Hawthorne came back
the next Friday, much to our joy, and on Saturday afternoon we walked
to the Nunnery with him, which was founded by St. Bridget. A few ruins
remain, overgrown with old ivy vines of such enormous size that I
think they probably hold the walls together. . . . Julian and Una were
enchanted with the clear stream, and Julian was wild for turtles; but
there are no reptiles in the Isle of Man.
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