Anne of the Island by L.
M.
Montgomery,
Read by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 40 A Book of Revelation The Irvings came back to Echo Lodge for the summer,
And Anne spent a happy three weeks there in July.
Miss Lavender had not changed.
Charlotta IV was a very grown-up young lady now,
But still adored Anne sincerely.
When all's said and done,
Miss Shirley-ma'am,
I haven't seen anyone in Boston as equal to you,
She said frankly.
Paul was almost grown up too.
He was sixteen.
His chestnut curls had given place to close cropped brown locks,
And he was more interested in football than fairies.
But the bond between him and his old teacher still held.
Kindred spirits alone do not change with changing ears.
It was a wet,
Bleak,
Cruel evening in July when Anne came back to Green Gables.
One of the fierce summer storms which sometimes sweep over the Gulf was ravaging the sea.
As Anne came in the first few raindrops dashed against the panes.
It was that Paul that brought you home?
Asked Marilla.
Why didn't you 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 splendid visit,
But I'm glad to see you dear folks again.
East,
West,
Home's best.
Davy,
Have you been growing again lately?
I've grown a whole inch since you left,
Said Davy proudly.
I'm as tall as Miltie Bolter now.
Ain't I glad.
He'll have to stop crowing about being bigger.
Say,
Anne,
Did you know Gilbert Bly's dying?
Anne stood quite silent and motionless,
Looking at Davy.
Her face had gone so white that Marilla thought she 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 mean to tell you so suddenly.
Is it true?
Asked Anne in a voice that was not hers.
Gilbert is very ill,
Said Mrs Lind gravely.
He took down with typhoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge.
Did you ever hear of it?
No,
Said that unknown voice.
It was a very bad case from the start.
The doctor said he'd been terribly run down.
They've a trained nurse and everything's been done.
Don't look like that,
Anne.
Where there's life there's hope.
Mr Harrison was here this evening and he said there's no hope at all,
Reiterated Davy.
Marilla,
Looking old and worn and tired,
Got up and marched Davy grimly out of the kitchen.
Don't look so dear,
Said Mrs Rachel,
Putting her kind old arms around the pallet girl.
I haven't given up hope.
Indeed,
I haven't.
He's got the blithe constitution in his favour,
That's what.
Anne gently put Mrs Lind's arms away from her,
Walked blindly across 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 woods were full of the groans of mighty trees rung in the tempest,
And the air throbbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore.
And Gilbert was dying.
There is a book of revelation in everyone's life,
As there is in the Bible.
Anne read hers that bitter night,
As she kept her agonised vigil through the hours of storm and darkness.
She loved Gilbert.
She had always loved him.
She knew that now.
She knew she could no more cast him out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her.
And the knowledge that had come too late,
Too late even for the bitter solace of 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 now he would never know she loved him.
He would go away from this life thinking that she did not care.
All the black years of emptiness stretching before her.
She could not live through them.
She could not.
She cowered down by the window and wished for the first time in her gay 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 any value without him.
She belonged to him and he to her.
In her hour of supreme agony,
She had no doubt of that.
He did not love Christine Stewart.
Never had loved Christine Stewart.
Oh,
What a fool she'd been not to realise what the bond was that had held her to Gilbert.
To think that the flattered fancy she'd felt for Roy Gardner had been love.
And now she must pay for 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 came,
It was spent.
Anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness.
Soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim.
The clouds rolled themselves away into great soft white masses on the horizon.
The sky gleamed blue and silvery.
A hush fell over the world.
Anne rose from her knees and crept downwards.
The freshness of the rain wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard and cooled her dry burning eyes.
A merry rollicking whistle was lifting up the lane.
A moment later,
Pacific Butte came in sight.
Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her.
If she had not clutched a low willow bough,
She would have fallen.
Pacific was George Fletcher's hired man and George Fletcher lived next door to the Blythes.
Mrs.
Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt.
Pacific would know if he would know what there was to be known.
He strode sturdily along the red lane whistling.
He did not see Anne.
She made three futile attempts to call him.
He was almost past before she succeeded in making her quivering lips work.
He turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning.
Pacific,
Said Anne faintly,
Did you come from George Fletcher's this morning?
Sure,
He said amiably.
I got the word last night my father was sick.
It was so stormy I couldn't go then,
So I asked for early this morning.
I'm going through the woods for the shortcut.
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 Pacific.
He got in turn last night.
The doctor said he might be all right this soon while.
Had close shave though.
That boy just keeled himself at college.
Well,
I must hurry.
The old man be hurried to see me.
He 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,
Ragged,
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 she see his brown round black eyed face without a warm remembrance of the moment when he'd given to her the oil of joy for morning.
Long after his gay whistle faded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up the maples of lovers lane.
Anne stood under the willows,
Tasting the poignant sweetness of life when some great dread has been removed.
The morning was a cup filled with mist and glamour.
In the corner near her was a rich surprise of new blown crystal jewed roses.
The trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big tree above 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.
Thank you for listening.
