Yes, he would go back, in a little while, as soon as those sounds had died away from his ears.

What was the song she sung there?
"'Tis long and long I have loved thee! I'll ne'er forget thee more." She would forget it, though, surely, surely, when it was gone, breathed out in flame and ashes: when he could say to her, "There is no more any such thing in my house and yours, Mary, Mary." How tenderly he would tell her, though! It would hurt, yes! but not so much as her look would hurt him when he told her.

Ah, she loved the wooden thing best! He was dumb, and it spoke to her in a thousand tones! Even he had understood some of them.

There was one note that was like his mother's voice when she lifted it up in the hymn she loved best,--his gentle mother, dead so long, so long ago.

She--why, she loved music; he had forgotten that.