"Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher's this 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 Istart vair early dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut.""Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne's desperation drove her to the question. Even the worst would be more 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 close shave, 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 him with 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 sight he 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 had given to her the oil of joy for mourning.
Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's Lane Anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when some great dread has been removed from it. The morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses.
The trills and trickles of song from the birds 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 her lips,"Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning."XLI
Love Takes Up the Glass of Time "I've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles through September woods and `over hills where spices grow,' this afternoon," said Gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner.
"Suppose we visit Hester Gray's garden."
Anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff, looked up rather blankly.
"Oh, I wish I could," she said slowly, "but I really can't, Gilbert. I'm going to Alice Penhallow's wedding this evening, you know. I've got to do something to this dress, and by the time it's finished I'll have to get ready. I'm so sorry.
I'd love to go."
"Well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?" asked Gilbert, apparently not much disappointed.
"Yes, I think so."
"In that case I shall hie me home at once to do something Ishould otherwise have to do tomorrow. So Alice Penhallow is to be married tonight. Three weddings for you in one summer, Anne -- Phil's, Alice's, and Jane's. I'll never forgive Jane for not inviting me to her wedding.""You really can't blame her when you think of the tremendous Andrews connection who had to be invited. The house could hardly hold them all. I was only bidden by grace of being Jane's old chum -- at least on Jane's part. I think Mrs. Harmon's motive for inviting me was to let me see Jane's surpassing gorgeousness.""Is it true that she wore so many diamonds that you couldn't tell where the diamonds left off and Jane began?"Anne laughed.
"She certainly wore a good many. What with all the diamonds and white satin and tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, prim little Jane was almost lost to sight. But she was VERYhappy, and so was Mr. Inglis -- and so was Mrs. Harmon.""Is that the dress you're going to wear tonight?" asked Gilbert, looking down at the fluffs and frills.
"Yes. Isn't it pretty? And I shall wear starflowers in my hair.
The Haunted Wood is full of them this summer."Gilbert had a sudden vision of Anne, arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slipping out of it, and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair.
The vision made him catch his breath. But he turned lightly away.
"Well, I'll be up tomorrow. Hope you'll have a nice time tonight."Anne looked after him as he strode away, and sighed. Gilbert was friendly -- very friendly -- far too friendly. He had come quite often to Green Gables after his recovery, and something of their old comradeship had returned. But Anne no longer found it satisfying.
The rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast. And Anne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt anything for her but friendship. In the common light of common day her radiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded. She was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified.
It was quite likely that it was Christine whom Gilbert loved after all.
Perhaps he was even engaged to her. Anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart, and reconcile herself to a future where work and ambition must take the place of love. She could do good, if not noble, work as a teacher; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams. But -- but -- Anne picked up her green dress and sighed again.
