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 seen any onein Boston that's equal to you," she said frankly.
Paul was almost grown up, too. He was sixteen, his chestnut curls hadgiven place to close-cropped brown locks, and he was more interestedin football than fairies. But the bond between him and his old teacherstill held. Kindred spirits alone do not change with changing years.
It was a wet, bleak, cruel evening in July when Anne came back to GreenGables. One of the fierce summer storms which sometimes sweep over thegulf was ravaging the sea. As Anne came in the first raindrops dashedagainst the panes.
"Was that Paul who brought you home?" asked Marilla. "Why didn't youmake 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 splendid visit,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 astall as Milty Boulter now. Ain't I glad. He'll have to stop crowingabout being bigger. Say, Anne, did you know that Gilbert Blythe isdying?" Anne stood quite silent and motionless, looking at Davy. Herface had gone so white that Marilla thought she was going to faint.
"Davy, hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne, don'tlook like that--DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT! We didn't mean to tell you sosuddenly."
"Is--it--true?" asked Anne in a voice that was not hers.
"Gilbert is very ill," said Mrs. Lynde gravely. "He took down withtyphoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did you never hear ofit?"
"No," said that unknown voice.
"It was a very bad case from the start. The doctor said he'd beenterribly run down. They've a trained nurse and everything's been done.DON'T look like that, Anne. While there's life there's hope."
"Mr. Harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope ofhim," 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'sgot the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what."
Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly acrossthe kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room. At itswindow she knelt down, staring out unseeingly. It was very dark. Therain was beating down over the shivering fields. The Haunted Woods wasfull of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the airthrobbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore. AndGilbert was dying!
There is a book of Revelation in every one's life, as there is in theBible. Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigilthrough the hours of storm and darkness. She loved Gilbert--had alwaysloved him! She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast himout of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right handand cast it from her. And the knowledge had come too late--too late evenfor the bitter solace of being with him at the last. If she had not beenso blind--so foolish--she would have had the right to go to him now. Buthe would never know that she loved him--he would go away from thislife thinking that she did not care. Oh, the black years of emptinessstretching before her! She could not live through them--she could not!She cowered down by her window and wished, for the first time in hergay young life, that she could die, too. If Gilbert went away from her,without one word or sign or message, she could not live. Nothing was ofany value without him. She belonged to him and he to her. In her hourof supreme agony she had no doubt of that. He did not love ChristineStuart--never had loved Christine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had beennot to realize what the bond was that had held her to Gilbert--to thinkthat the flattered fancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. Andnow she must pay for her folly as for a crime.
Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, shooktheir heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, and went away.The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent. Annesaw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness. Soon the easternhilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim. The clouds rolled themselves awayinto great, soft, white masses on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue andsilvery. A hush fell over the world.
Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness of therain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard, andcooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollicking whistle was lilting upthe lane. A moment later Pacifique Buote came in sight.
Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had not clutchedat a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifique was GeorgeFletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher lived next door to theBlythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt. Pacifique would knowif--if--Pacifique would know what there was to be known.
Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. He did notsee Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him. He was almost pastbefore she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "Pacifique!"
Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning.
"Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher'sthis morning?"
"Sure," said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat my fader,he was seeck. It was so stormy dat I couldn't go den, so I start vairearly dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut."
"Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne's desperationdrove her to the question. Even the worst would be more endurable thanthis hideous suspense.
"He's better," said Pacifique. "He got de turn las' night. De doctor sayhe'll be all right now dis soon while. Had close shave, dough! Dat boy,he jus' keel himself at college. Well, I mus' hurry. De old man, he'llbe in hurry to see me."
Pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. Anne gazed after him witheyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night. He wasa very lank, very ragged, very homely youth. But in her sight he was asbeautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains. Never, aslong as she lived, would Anne see Pacifique's brown, round, black-eyedface without a warm remembrance of the moment when he had given to herthe oil of joy for mourning.
Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of musicand then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's Lane Anne stoodunder the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when somegreat dread has been removed from it. The morning was a cup filledwith mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise ofnew-blown, crystal-dewed roses. The trills and trickles of song from thebirds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood.A sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to herlips,
"Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning."