Chapter XL
A Book of Revelation
The Irvings came back to Echo Lodge for the summer, and Anne spenta happy three weeks there in July. Miss Lavendar had not changed;Charlotta the Fourth was a very grown-up young lady now, but stilladored Anne sincerely."When all's said and done, Miss Shirley, ma'am, I haven't seenany one in Boston that's equal to you," she said frankly.
Paul was almost grown up, too. He was sixteen, his chestnutcurls had given place to close-cropped brown locks, and he wasmore interested in football than fairies. But the bond betweenhim and his old teacher still held. Kindred spirits alone do notchange with changing years.
It was a wet, bleak, cruel evening in July when Anne came back toGreen Gables. One of the fierce summer storms which sometimessweep over the gulf was ravaging the sea. As Anne came in thefirst raindrops dashed against the panes.
"Was that Paul who brought you home?" asked Marilla. "Why didn'tyou make him stay all night. It's going to be a wild evening."
"He'll reach Echo Lodge before the rain gets very heavy, I think.Anyway, he wanted to go back tonight. Well, I've had a splendidvisit, but I'm glad to see you dear folks again. `East, west,hame's best.' Davy, have you been growing again lately?"
"I've growed a whole inch since you left," said Davy proudly."I'm as tall as Milty Boulter now. Ain't I glad. He'll have tostop crowing about being bigger. Say, Anne, did you know thatGilbert Blythe is dying?" Anne stood quite silent and motionless,looking at Davy. Her face had gone so white that Marilla thoughtshe was going to faint.
"Davy, hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne,don't look like that -- DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT! We didn't meanto tell you so suddenly."
"Is -- it -- true?" asked Anne in a voice that was not hers.
"Gilbert is very ill," said Mrs. Lynde gravely. "He took downwith typhoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did younever hear of it?"
"No," said that unknown voice.
"It was a very bad case from the start. The doctor said he'dbeen terribly run down. They've a trained nurse and everything'sbeen done. DON'T look like that, Anne. While there's lifethere's hope."
"Mr. Harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope of him,"reiterated Davy.
Marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched Davy grimlyout of the kitchen.
"Oh, DON'T look so, dear," said Mrs. Rachel, putting her kind old armsabout the pallid girl. "I haven't given up hope, indeed I haven't.He's got the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what."
Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindlyacross the kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room.At its window she knelt down, staring out unseeingly. It was very dark.The rain was beating down over the shivering fields. The Haunted Woodswas full of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and theair throbbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore.And Gilbert was dying!
There is a book of Revelation in every one's life, as there is in the Bible.Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigil throughthe hours of storm and darkness. She loved Gilbert -- had always loved him!She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast him out of her lifewithout agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her.And the knowledge had come too late -- too late even for the bitter solaceof being with him at the last. If she had not been so blind -- so foolish-- she would have had the right to go to him now. But he would never knowthat she loved him -- he would go away from this life thinking that shedid not care. Oh, the black years of emptiness stretching before her!She could not live through them -- she could not! She cowered down byher window and wished, for the first time in her gay young life, thatshe could die, too. If Gilbert went away from her, without one word orsign or message, she could not live. Nothing was of any value without him.She belonged to him and he to her. In her hour of supreme agony she hadno doubt of that. He did not love Christine Stuart -- never had lovedChristine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had been not to realize what thebond was that had held her to Gilbert -- to think that the flatteredfancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. And now she must payfor her folly as for a crime.
Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed,shook their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence,and went away. The storm raged all night, but when the dawn cameit was spent. Anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts ofdarkness. Soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim.The clouds rolled themselves away into great, soft, white masseson the horizon; the sky gleamed blue and silvery. A hush fellover the world.
Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness ofthe rain-wind blew against her white face as she went out intothe yard, and cooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollickingwhistle was lilting up the lane. A moment later Pacifique Buotecame in sight.
Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had notclutched at a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifiquewas George Fletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher livednext door to the Blythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt.Pacifique would know if -- if -- Pacifique would know what therewas to be known.
Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. Hedid not see Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him.He was almost past before she succeeded in making her quiveringlips call, "Pacifique!"
Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning.
"Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from GeorgeFletcher's this morning?"
"Sure," said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat myfader, he was seeck. It was so stormy dat I couldn't go den, so Istart vair early dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut."
"Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne'sdesperation drove her to the question. Even the worst would bemore endurable than this hideous suspense.
"He's better," said Pacifique. "He got de turn las' night.De doctor say he'll be all right now dis soon while. Had closeshave, dough! Dat boy, he jus' keel himself at college.Well, I mus' hurry. De old man, he'll be in hurry to see me."
Pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. Anne gazed after himwith eyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night.He was a very lank, very ragged, very homely youth. But in her sighthe was as beautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains.Never, as long as she lived, would Anne see Pacifique's brown, round,black-eyed face without a warm remembrance of the moment when he hadgiven to her the oil of joy for mourning.
Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom ofmusic and then into silence far up under the maples of Lover'sLane Anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetnessof life when some great dread has been removed from it. Themorning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the cornernear her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses.The trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big treeabove her seemed in perfect accord with her mood. A sentencefrom a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to her lips,
"Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning."
Next chapter: Chapter XLI -- Love Takes Up the Glass of Time
