Anne of the Island
Page 20
Chapter XX
Gilbert Speaks
"This has been a dull, prosy day," yawned Phil, stretching herself idlyon the sofa, having previously dispossessed two exceedingly indignantcats.
Anne looked up from Pickwick Papers. Now that spring examinations wereover she was treating herself to Dickens.
"It has been a prosy day for us," she said thoughtfully, "but to somepeople it has been a wonderful day. Some one has been rapturously happyin it. Perhaps a great deed has been done somewhere today--or a greatpoem written--or a great man born. And some heart has been broken,Phil."
"Why did you spoil your pretty thought by tagging that last sentenceon, honey?" grumbled Phil. "I don't like to think of broken hearts--oranything unpleasant."
"Do you think you'll be able to shirk unpleasant things all your life,Phil?"
"Dear me, no. Am I not up against them now? You don't call Alec andAlonzo pleasant things, do you, when they simply plague my life out?"
"You never take anything seriously, Phil."
"Why should I? There are enough folks who do. The world needs peoplelike me, Anne, just to amuse it. It would be a terrible place ifEVERYBODY were intellectual and serious and in deep, deadly earnest. MYmission is, as Josiah Allen says, 'to charm and allure.' Confess now.Hasn't life at Patty's Place been really much brighter and pleasanterthis past winter because I've been here to leaven you?"
"Yes, it has," owned Anne.
"And you all love me--even Aunt Jamesina, who thinks I'm stark mad. Sowhy should I try to be different? Oh, dear, I'm so sleepy. I was awakeuntil one last night, reading a harrowing ghost story. I read it in bed,and after I had finished it do you suppose I could get out of bed to putthe light out? No! And if Stella had not fortunately come in late thatlamp would have burned good and bright till morning. When I heard StellaI called her in, explained my predicament, and got her to put out thelight. If I had got out myself to do it I knew something would grabme by the feet when I was getting in again. By the way, Anne, has AuntJamesina decided what to do this summer?"
"Yes, she's going to stay here. I know she's doing it for the sake ofthose blessed cats, although she says it's too much trouble to open herown house, and she hates visiting."
"What are you reading?"
"Pickwick."
"That's a book that always makes me hungry," said Phil. "There's so muchgood eating in it. The characters seem always to be reveling on ham andeggs and milk punch. I generally go on a cupboard rummage after readingPickwick. The mere thought reminds me that I'm starving. Is there anytidbit in the pantry, Queen Anne?"
"I made a lemon pie this morning. You may have a piece of it."
Phil dashed out to the pantry and Anne betook herself to the orchard incompany with Rusty. It was a moist, pleasantly-odorous night in earlyspring. The snow was not quite all gone from the park; a little dingybank of it yet lay under the pines of the harbor road, screened from theinfluence of April suns. It kept the harbor road muddy, and chilled theevening air. But grass was growing green in sheltered spots and Gilberthad found some pale, sweet arbutus in a hidden corner. He came up fromthe park, his hands full of it.
Anne was sitting on the big gray boulder in the orchard looking at thepoem of a bare, birchen bough hanging against the pale red sunsetwith the very perfection of grace. She was building a castle in air--awondrous mansion whose sunlit courts and stately halls were steeped inAraby's perfume, and where she reigned queen and chatelaine. She frownedas she saw Gilbert coming through the orchard. Of late she had managednot to be left alone with Gilbert. But he had caught her fairly now; andeven Rusty had deserted her.
Gilbert sat down beside her on the boulder and held out his Mayflowers.
"Don't these remind you of home and our old schoolday picnics, Anne?"
Anne took them and buried her face in them.
"I'm in Mr. Silas Sloane's barrens this very minute," she saidrapturously.
"I suppose you will be there in reality in a few days?"
"No, not for a fortnight. I'm going to visit with Phil in Bolingbrokebefore I go home. You'll be in Avonlea before I will."
"No, I shall not be in Avonlea at all this summer, Anne. I've beenoffered a job in the Daily News office and I'm going to take it."
"Oh," said Anne vaguely. She wondered what a whole Avonlea summer wouldbe like without Gilbert. Somehow she did not like the prospect. "Well,"she concluded flatly, "it is a good thing for you, of course."
"Yes, I've been hoping I would get it. It will help me out next year."
"You mustn't work too HARD," said Anne, without any very clear idea ofwhat she was saying. She wished desperately that Phil would come out."You've studied very constantly this winter. Isn't this a delightfulevening? Do you know, I found a cluster of white violets under thatold twisted tree over there today? I felt as if I had discovered a goldmine."
"You are always discovering gold mines," said Gilbert--also absently.
"Let us go and see if we can find some more," suggested Anne eagerly."I'll call Phil and--"
"Never mind Phil and the violets just now, Anne," said Gilbert quietly,taking her hand in a clasp from which she could not free it. "There issomething I want to say to you."
"Oh, don't say it," cried Anne, pleadingly. "Don't--PLEASE, Gilbert."
"I must. Things can't go on like this any longer. Anne, I love you. Youknow I do. I--I can't tell you how much. Will you promise me that someday you'll be my wife?"
"I--I can't," said Anne miserably. "Oh, Gilbert--you--you've spoiledeverything."
"Don't you care for me at all?" Gilbert asked after a very dreadfulpause, during which Anne had not dared to look up.
"Not--not in that way. I do care a great deal for you as a friend. But Idon't love you, Gilbert."
"But can't you give me some hope that you will--yet?"
"No, I can't," exclaimed Anne desperately. "I never, never can loveyou--in that way--Gilbert. You must never speak of this to me again."
There was another pause--so long and so dreadful that Anne was driven atlast to look up. Gilbert's face was white to the lips. And his eyes--butAnne shuddered and looked away. There was nothing romantic about this.Must proposals be either grotesque or--horrible? Could she ever forgetGilbert's face?
"Is there anybody else?" he asked at last in a low voice.
"No--no," said Anne eagerly. "I don't care for any one like THAT--and ILIKE you better than anybody else in the world, Gilbert. And we must--wemust go on being friends, Gilbert."
Gilbert gave a bitter little laugh.
"Friends! Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne. I want your love--andyou tell me I can never have that."
"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Gilbert," was all Anne could say. Where,oh, where were all the gracious and graceful speeches wherewith, inimagination, she had been wont to dismiss rejected suitors?
Gilbert released her hand gently.
"There isn't anything to forgive. There have been times when I thoughtyou did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Goodbye, Anne."
Anne got herself to her room, sat down on her window seat behindthe pines, and cried bitterly. She felt as if something incalculablyprecious had gone out of her life. It was Gilbert's friendship, ofcourse. Oh, why must she lose it after this fashion?
"What is the matter, honey?" asked Phil, coming in through the moonlitgloom.
Anne did not answer. At that moment she wished Phil were a thousandmiles away.
"I suppose you've gone and refused Gilbert Blythe. You are an idiot,Anne Shirley!"
"Do you call it idiotic to refuse to marry a man I don't love?" saidAnne coldly, goaded to reply.
"You don't know love when you see it. You've tricked something out withyour imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing tolook like that. There, that's the first sensible thing I've ever said inmy life. I wonder how I managed it?"
"Phil," pleaded Anne, "please go away and leave me alone for a littlewhile. My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to
reconstruct it."
"Without any Gilbert in it?" said Phil, going.
A world without any Gilbert in it! Anne repeated the words drearily.Would it not be a very lonely, forlorn place? Well, it was all Gilbert'sfault. He had spoiled their beautiful comradeship. She must just learnto live without it.