Chapter XXXVII - Page 2

her bridal days and
for which Matthew had always had a secret, wordless love.
Anne had gathered them and brought them to him, her anguished,
tearless eyes burning in her white face. It was the last thing
she could do for him.

The Barrys and Mrs. Lynde stayed with them that night.
Diana, going to the east gable, where Anne was standing
at her window, said gently:

"Anne dear, would you like to have me sleep with you tonight?"

"Thank you, Diana." Anne looked earnestly into her friend's face.
"I think you won't misunderstand me when I say I want to be alone.
I'm not afraid. I haven't been alone one minute since it happened--
and I want to be. I want to be quite silent and quiet and try to
realize it. I can't realize it. Half the time it seems to me that
Matthew can't be dead; and the other half it seems as if he must
have been dead for a long time and I've had this horrible
dull ache ever since."

Diana did not quite understand. Marilla's impassioned grief,
breaking all the bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habit
in its stormy rush, she could comprehend better than Anne's
tearless agony. But she went away kindly, leaving Anne alone
to keep her first vigil with sorrow.

Anne hoped that the tears would come in solitude. It seemed
to her a terrible thing that she could not shed a tear for
Matthew, whom she had loved so much and who had been
so kind to her, Matthew who had walked with her last
evening at sunset and was now lying in the dim room
below with that awful peace on his brow. But no tears
came at first, even when she knelt by her window in the
darkness and prayed, looking up to the stars beyond the
hills--no tears, only the same horrible dull ache of
misery that kept on aching until she fell asleep,
worn out with the day's pain and excitement.

In the night she awakened, with the stillness and the
darkness about her, and the recollection of the day came
over her like a wave of sorrow. She could see Matthew's
face smiling at her as he had smiled when they parted at
the gate that last evening--she could hear his voice saying,
"My girl--my girl that I'm proud of." Then the tears came
and Anne wept her heart out. Marilla heard her and crept
in to comfort her.

"There--there--don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back.
It--it--isn't right to cry so. I knew that today, but I
couldn't help it then. He'd always been such a good,
kind brother to me--but God knows best."

"Oh, just let me cry, Marilla," sobbed Anne. "The tears
don't hurt me like that ache did. Stay here for a little
while with me and keep your arm round me--so. I couldn't
have Diana stay, she's good and kind and sweet--but it's
not her sorrow--she's outside