English
“Matthew—Matthew—whatisthematter?Matthew,areyousick?”
ItwasMarillawhospoke,alarmineveryjerkyword.
Annecamethroughthehall,herhandsfullofwhitenarcissus,—itwaslongbeforeAnnecouldlovethesightorodorofwhitenarcissusagain,—intimetohearherandtoseeMatthewstandingintheporchdoorway,afoldedpaperinhishand,andhisfacestrangelydrawnandgray.
AnnedroppedherflowersandsprangacrossthekitchentohimatthesamemomentasMarilla.
Theywerebothtoolate;beforetheycouldreachhimMatthewhadfallenacrossthethreshold.
“He’sfainted,”gaspedMarilla.“Anne,runforMartin—quick,quick!He’satthebarn.”
Martin,thehiredman,whohadjustdrivenhomefromthepostoffice,startedatonceforthedoctor,callingatOrchardSlopeonhiswaytosendMr.andMrs.Barryover.
Mrs.Lynde,whowasthereonanerrand,cametoo.
TheyfoundAnneandMarilladistractedlytryingtorestoreMatthewtoconsciousness.
Mrs.Lyndepushedthemgentlyaside,triedhispulse,andthenlaidherearoverhisheart.Shelookedattheiranxiousfacessorrowfullyandthetearscameintohereyes.
“Oh,Marilla,”shesaidgravely.“Idon’tthink—wecandoanythingforhim.”
“Mrs.Lynde,youdon’tthink—youcan’tthinkMatthewis—is—”Annecouldnotsaythedreadfulword;sheturnedsickandpallid.
“Child,yes,I’mafraidofit.Lookathisface.Whenyou’veseenthatlookasoftenasIhaveyou’llknowwhatitmeans.”
AnnelookedatthestillfaceandtherebeheldthesealoftheGreatPresence.
Whenthedoctorcamehesaidthatdeathhadbeeninstantaneousandprobablypainless,causedinalllikelihoodbysomesuddenshock.
ThesecretoftheshockwasdiscoveredtobeinthepaperMatthewhadheldandwhichMartinhadbroughtfromtheofficethatmorning.
ItcontainedanaccountofthefailureoftheAbbeyBank.
ThenewsspreadquicklythroughAvonlea,andalldayfriendsandneighborsthrongedGreenGablesandcameandwentonerrandsofkindnessforthedeadandliving.
Forthefirsttimeshy,quietMatthewCuthbertwasapersonofcentralimportance;thewhitemajestyofdeathhadfallenonhimandsethimapartasonecrowned.
WhenthecalmnightcamesoftlydownoverGreenGablestheoldhousewashushedandtranquil.
IntheparlorlayMatthewCuthbertinhiscoffin,hislonggrayhairframinghisplacidfaceonwhichtherewasalittlekindlysmileasifhebutslept,dreamingpleasantdreams.
Therewereflowersabouthim—sweetold-fashionedflowerswhichhismotherhadplantedinthehomesteadgardeninherbridaldaysandforwhichMatthewhadalwayshadasecret,wordlesslove.
Annehadgatheredthemandbroughtthemtohim,heranguished,tearlesseyesburninginherwhiteface.
Itwasthelastthingshecoulddoforhim.
TheBarrysandMrs.Lyndestayedwiththemthatnight.Diana,goingtotheeastgable,whereAnnewasstandingatherwindow,saidgently:
“Annedear,wouldyouliketohavemesleepwithyoutonight?”
“Thankyou,Diana.”Annelookedearnestlyintoherfriend’sface.
“Ithinkyouwon’tmisunderstandmewhenIsayIwanttobealone.I’mnotafraid.
Ihaven’tbeenaloneoneminutesinceithappened—andIwanttobe.
Iwanttobequitesilentandquietandtrytorealizeit.Ican’trealizeit.
HalfthetimeitseemstomethatMatthewcan’tbedead;andtheotherhalfitseemsasifhemusthavebeendeadforalongtimeandI’vehadthishorribledullacheeversince.”
Dianadidnotquiteunderstand.Marilla’simpassionedgrief,breakingalltheboundsofnaturalreserveandlifelonghabitinitsstormyrush,shecouldcomprehendbetterthanAnne’stearlessagony.
Butshewentawaykindly,leavingAnnealonetokeepherfirstvigilwithsorrow.
Annehopedthatthetearswouldcomeinsolitude.
ItseemedtoheraterriblethingthatshecouldnotshedatearforMatthew,whomshehadlovedsomuchandwhohadbeensokindtoher,Matthewwhohadwalkedwithherlasteveningatsunsetandwasnowlyinginthedimroombelowwiththatawfulpeaceonhisbrow.
Butnotearscameatfirst,evenwhenshekneltbyherwindowinthedarknessandprayed,lookinguptothestarsbeyondthehills—notears,onlythesamehorribledullacheofmiserythatkeptonachinguntilshefellasleep,wornoutwiththeday’spainandexcitement.
Inthenightsheawakened,withthestillnessandthedarknessabouther,andtherecollectionofthedaycameoverherlikeawaveofsorrow.
ShecouldseeMatthew’sfacesmilingatherashehadsmiledwhentheypartedatthegatethatlastevening—shecouldhearhisvoicesaying,“Mygirl—mygirlthatI’mproudof.”
ThenthetearscameandAnneweptherheartout.
Marillaheardherandcreptintocomforther.
“There—there—don’tcryso,dearie.Itcan’tbringhimback.It—it—isn’trighttocryso.
Iknewthattoday,butIcouldn’thelpitthen.
He’dalwaysbeensuchagood,kindbrothertome—butGodknowsbest.”
“Oh,justletmecry,Marilla,”sobbedAnne.
“Thetearsdon’thurtmelikethatachedid.
Stayhereforalittlewhilewithmeandkeepyourarmroundme—so.
Icouldn’thaveDianastay,she’sgoodandkindandsweet—butit’snothersorrow—she’soutsideofitandshecouldn’tcomecloseenoughtomyhearttohelpme.It’soursorrow—yoursandmine.
Oh,Marilla,whatwillwedowithouthim?”
“We’vegoteachother,Anne.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddoifyouweren’there—ifyou’dnevercome.
Oh,Anne,IknowI’vebeenkindofstrictandharshwithyoumaybe—butyoumustn’tthinkIdidn’tloveyouaswellasMatthewdid,forallthat.IwanttotellyounowwhenIcan.
It’sneverbeeneasyformetosaythingsoutofmyheart,butattimeslikethisit’seasier.
Iloveyouasdearasifyouweremyownfleshandbloodandyou’vebeenmyjoyandcomforteversinceyoucametoGreenGables.”
TwodaysafterwardstheycarriedMatthewCuthbertoverhishomesteadthresholdandawayfromthefieldshehadtilledandtheorchardshehadlovedandthetreeshehadplanted;andthenAvonleasettledbacktoitsusualplacidityandevenatGreenGablesaffairsslippedintotheiroldgrooveandworkwasdoneanddutiesfulfilledwithregularityasbefore,althoughalwayswiththeachingsenseof“lossinallfamiliarthings.”
Anne,newtogrief,thoughtitalmostsadthatitcouldbeso—thattheyCOULDgoonintheoldwaywithoutMatthew.
Shefeltsomethinglikeshameandremorsewhenshediscoveredthatthesunrisesbehindthefirsandthepalepinkbudsopeninginthegardengavehertheoldinrushofgladnesswhenshesawthem—thatDiana’svisitswerepleasanttoherandthatDiana’smerrywordsandwaysmovedhertolaughterandsmiles—that,inbrief,thebeautifulworldofblossomandloveandfriendshiphadlostnoneofitspowertopleaseherfancyandthrillherheart,thatlifestillcalledtoherwithmanyinsistentvoices.
“ItseemslikedisloyaltytoMatthew,somehow,tofindpleasureinthesethingsnowthathehasgone,”shesaidwistfullytoMrs.Allanoneeveningwhentheyweretogetherinthemansegarden.
“Imisshimsomuch—allthetime—andyet,Mrs.Allan,theworldandlifeseemverybeautifulandinterestingtomeforall.
TodayDianasaidsomethingfunnyandIfoundmyselflaughing.
IthoughtwhenithappenedIcouldneverlaughagain.
AnditsomehowseemsasifIoughtn’tto.”
“WhenMatthewwasherehelikedtohearyoulaughandhelikedtoknowthatyoufoundpleasureinthepleasantthingsaroundyou,”saidMrs.Allangently.
“Heisjustawaynow;andhelikestoknowitjustthesame.
Iamsureweshouldnotshutourheartsagainstthehealinginfluencesthatnatureoffersus.ButIcanunderstandyourfeeling.
Ithinkweallexperiencethesamething.
Weresentthethoughtthatanythingcanpleaseuswhensomeoneweloveisnolongerheretosharethepleasurewithus,andwealmostfeelasifwewereunfaithfultooursorrowwhenwefindourinterestinlifereturningtous.”
“IwasdowntothegraveyardtoplantarosebushonMatthew’sgravethisafternoon,”saidAnnedreamily.
“ItookaslipofthelittlewhiteScotchrosebushhismotherbroughtoutfromScotlandlongago;Matthewalwayslikedthoserosesthebest—theyweresosmallandsweetontheirthornystems.
ItmademefeelgladthatIcouldplantitbyhisgrave—asifIweredoingsomethingthatmustpleasehimintakingittheretobenearhim.
Ihopehehasrosesliketheminheaven.
Perhapsthesoulsofallthoselittlewhiterosesthathehaslovedsomanysummerswerealltheretomeethim.Imustgohomenow.
Marillaisallaloneandshegetslonelyattwilight.”
“Shewillbelonelierstill,Ifear,whenyougoawayagaintocollege,”saidMrs.Allan.
Annedidnotreply;shesaidgoodnightandwentslowlybacktogreenGables.
Marillawassittingonthefrontdoor-stepsandAnnesatdownbesideher.
Thedoorwasopenbehindthem,heldbackbyabigpinkconchshellwithhintsofseasunsetsinitssmoothinnerconvolutions.
Annegatheredsomespraysofpale-yellowhoneysuckleandputtheminherhair.Shelikedthedelicioushintoffragrance,assomeaerialbenediction,abovehereverytimeshemoved.
“DoctorSpencerwasherewhileyouwereaway,”Marillasaid.
“HesaysthatthespecialistwillbeintowntomorrowandheinsiststhatImustgoinandhavemyeyesexamined.
IsupposeI’dbettergoandhaveitover.
I’llbemorethanthankfulifthemancangivemetherightkindofglassestosuitmyeyes.
Youwon’tmindstayingherealonewhileI’maway,willyou?
Martinwillhavetodrivemeinandthere’sironingandbakingtodo.”
“Ishallbeallright.Dianawillcomeoverforcompanyforme.
Ishallattendtotheironingandbakingbeautifully—youneedn’tfearthatI’llstarchthehandkerchiefsorflavorthecakewithliniment.”
Marillalaughed.
“Whatagirlyouwereformakingmistakesinthemdays,Anne.Youwerealwaysgettingintoscrapes.Ididusetothinkyouwerepossessed.Doyoumindthetimeyoudyedyourhair?”
“Yes,indeed.Ishallneverforgetit,”smiledAnne,touchingtheheavybraidofhairthatwaswoundabouthershapelyhead.
“IlaughalittlenowsometimeswhenIthinkwhataworrymyhairusedtobetome—butIdon’tlaughMUCH,becauseitwasaveryrealtroublethen.
Ididsufferterriblyovermyhairandmyfreckles.
Myfrecklesarereallygone;andpeopleareniceenoughtotellmemyhairisauburnnow—allbutJosiePye.
Sheinformedmeyesterdaythatshereallythoughtitwasredderthanever,oratleastmyblackdressmadeitlookredder,andsheaskedmeifpeoplewhohadredhairevergotusedtohavingit.
Marilla,I’vealmostdecidedtogiveuptryingtolikeJosiePye.
I’vemadewhatIwouldoncehavecalledaheroicefforttolikeher,butJosiePyewon’tBEliked.”
“JosieisaPye,”saidMarillasharply,“soshecan’thelpbeingdisagreeable.
Isupposepeopleofthatkindservesomeusefulpurposeinsociety,butImustsayIdon’tknowwhatitisanymorethanIknowtheuseofthistles.IsJosiegoingtoteach?”
“No,sheisgoingbacktoQueen’snextyear.
SoareMoodySpurgeonandCharlieSloane.
JaneandRubyaregoingtoteachandtheyhavebothgotschools—JaneatNewbridgeandRubyatsomeplaceupwest.”
“GilbertBlytheisgoingtoteachtoo,isn’the?”
“Yes”—briefly.
“Whatanice-lookingfellowheis,”saidMarillaabsently.
“IsawhiminchurchlastSundayandheseemedsotallandmanly.
Helooksalotlikehisfatherdidatthesameage.JohnBlythewasaniceboy.
Weusedtoberealgoodfriends,heandI.Peoplecalledhimmybeau.”
Annelookedupwithswiftinterest.
“Oh,Marilla—andwhathappened?—whydidn’tyou—”
“Wehadaquarrel.Iwouldn’tforgivehimwhenheaskedmeto.
Imeantto,afterawhile—butIwassulkyandangryandIwantedtopunishhimfirst.
Henevercameback—theBlytheswereallmightyindependent.ButIalwaysfelt—rathersorry.
I’vealwayskindofwishedI’dforgivenhimwhenIhadthechance.”
“Soyou’vehadabitofromanceinyourlife,too,”saidAnnesoftly.
“Yes,Isupposeyoumightcallitthat.Youwouldn’tthinksotolookatme,wouldyou?
Butyounevercantellaboutpeoplefromtheiroutsides.EverybodyhasforgotaboutmeandJohn.I’dforgottenmyself.
ButitallcamebacktomewhenIsawGilbertlastSunday.”
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