章节正文
"No, he isn't," said Marilla in a troubled tone. "He's
had some real bad spells with his heart this spring and he
won't spare himself a mite. I've been real worried about
him, but he's some better this while back and we've got a
good hired man, so I'm hoping he'll kind of rest and pick up.
Maybe he will now you're home. You always cheer him up."
Anne leaned across the table and took Marilla's face in
her hands.
"You are not looking as well yourself as I'd like to see
you, Marilla. You look tired. I'm afraid you've been
working too hard. You must take a rest, now that I'm home.
I'm just going to take this one day off to visit all the dear
old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will be
your turn to be lazy while I do the work."
Marilla smiled affectionately at her girl.
"It's not the work--it's my head. I've got a pain so often
now--behind my eyes. Doctor Spencer's been fussing with
glasses, but they don't do me any good. There is a distin-
guished oculist coming to the Island the last of June and
the doctor says I must see him. I guess I'll have to.
I can't read or sew with any comfort now. Well, Anne, you've
done real well at Queen's I must say. To take First Class
License in one year and win the Avery scholarship--well,
well, Mrs. Lynde says pride goes before a fall and she
doesn't believe in the higher education of women at all;
she says it unfits them for woman's true sphere. I don't
believe a word of it. Speaking of Rachel reminds me--did
you hear anything about the Abbey Bank lately, Anne?"
"I heard it was shaky," answered Anne. "Why?"
"That is what Rachel said. She was up here one day last
week and said there was some talk about it. Matthew felt
real worried. All we have saved is in that bank--every
penny. I wanted Matthew to put it in the Savings Bank in
the first place, but old Mr. Abbey was a great friend of
father's and he'd always banked with him. Matthew said any
bank with him at the head of it was good enough for anybody."
"I think he has only been its nominal head for many
years," said Anne. "He is a very old man; his nephews
are really at the head of the institution."
"Well, when Rachel told us that, I wanted Matthew to draw
our money right out and he said he'd think of it. But
Mr. Russell told him yesterday that the bank was all right."
Anne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world.
She never forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair,
so free from shadow and so lavish of blossom. Anne spent some
of its rich hours in the orchard; she went to the Dryad's Bubble
and Willowmere and Violet Vale; she called at the manse and had
a satisfying talk with Mrs. Allan; and finally in the evening
she went with Matthew for the cows, through Lovers' Lane to the
back pasture. The woods were all gloried through with sunset
and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gaps
in the west. Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, tall
and erect, suited her springing step to his.
"You've been working too hard today, Matthew," she said
reproachfully. "Why won't you take things easier?"
"Well now, I can't seem to," said Matthew, as he opened
the yard gate to let the cows through. "It's only that I'm
getting old, Anne, and keep forgetting it. Well, well, I've
always worked pretty hard and I'd rather drop in harness."
"If I had been the boy you sent for," said Anne wistfully,
"I'd be able to help you so much now and spare you in a
hundred ways. I could find it in my heart to wish I had
been, just for that."
"Well now, I'd rather have you than a dozen boys, Anne,"
said Matthew patting her hand. "Just mind you that--
rather than a dozen boys. Well now, I guess it wasn't
a boy that took the Avery scholarship, was it? It was
a girl--my girl--my girl that I'm proud of."
He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard.
Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her
room that night and sat for a long while at her open window,
thinking of the past and dreaming of the future.
Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine;
the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope.
Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and
fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before
sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same
again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.
CHAPTER XXXVII
The Reaper Whose Name Is Death
"Matthew--Matthew--what is the matter? Matthew, are you sick?"
It was Marilla who spoke, alarm in every jerky word. Anne
came through the hall, her hands full of white narcissus,--it
was long before Anne could love the sight or odor of white
narcissus again,--in time to hear her and to see Matthew
standing in the porch doorway, a folded paper in his hand,
and his face strangely drawn and gray. Anne dropped her flowers
and sprang across the kitchen to him at the same moment as
Marilla. They were both too late; before they could reach him
Matthew had fallen across the threshold.
"He's fainted," gasped Marilla. "Anne, run for Martin--
quick, quick! He's at the barn."
Martin, the hired man, who had just driven home from
the post office, started at once for the doctor, calling at
Orchard Slope on his way to send Mr. and Mrs. Barry over.
Mrs. Lynde, who was there on an errand, came too. They
found Anne and Marilla distractedly trying to restore
Matthew to consciousness.
Mrs. Lynde pushed them gently aside, tried his pulse,
and then laid her ear over his heart. She looked at their
anxious faces sorrowfully and the tears came into her eyes.
"Oh, Marilla," she said gravely. "I don't think--we can do
anything for him."
"Mrs. Lynde, you don't think--you can't think Matthew is-- is--"
Anne could not say the dreadful word; she turned sick and pallid.
"Child, yes, I'm afraid of it. Look at his face. When you've
seen that look as often as I have you'll know what it means."
Anne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal of
the Great Presence.
When the doctor came he said that death had been instantaneous
and probably painless, caused in all likelihood by some sudden shock.
The secret of the shock was discovered to be in the paper Matthew
had held and which Martin had brought from the office that morning.
It contained an account of the failure of the Abbey Bank.
The news spread quickly through Avonlea, and all day
friends and neighbors thronged Green Gables and came
and went on errands of kindness for the dead and living.
For the first time shy, quiet Matthew Cuthbert was a
person of central importance; the white majesty of death
had fallen on him and set him apart as one crowned.
When the calm night came softly down over Green Gables
the old house was hushed and tranquil. In the parlor lay
Matthew Cuthbert in his coffin, his long gray hair framing
his placid face on which there was a little kindly smile
as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams. There were
flowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother
had planted in the homestead garden in 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 of it and she couldn't come
close enough to my heart to help me. It's our sorrow--
yours and mine. Oh, Marilla, what will we do without him?"
"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd do
if you weren't here--if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, I
know I've been kind of strict and harsh with you maybe--
but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as Matthew
did, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It's
never been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but
at times like this it's easier. I love you as dear as if
you were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy and
comfort ever since you came to Green Gables."
Two days afterwards they carried Matthew Cuthbert
over his homesteadthreshold and away from the fields he
had tilled and the orchards he had loved and the trees he
had planted; and then Avonlea settled back to its usual
placidity and even at Green Gables affairs slipped into
their old groove and work was done and duties fulfilled
with regularity as before, although always with the aching
sense of "loss in all familiar things." Anne, new to grief,
thought it almost sad that it could be so--that they COULD
go on in the old way without Matthew. She felt something
like shame and remorse when she discovered that the
sunrises behind the firs and the pale pink buds opening in
the garden gave her the old inrush of gladness when she
saw them--that Diana's visits were pleasant to her and
had some real bad spells with his heart this spring and he
won't spare himself a mite. I've been real worried about
him, but he's some better this while back and we've got a
good hired man, so I'm hoping he'll kind of rest and pick up.
Maybe he will now you're home. You always cheer him up."
Anne leaned across the table and took Marilla's face in
her hands.
"You are not looking as well yourself as I'd like to see
you, Marilla. You look tired. I'm afraid you've been
working too hard. You must take a rest, now that I'm home.
I'm just going to take this one day off to visit all the dear
old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will be
your turn to be lazy while I do the work."
Marilla smiled affectionately at her girl.
"It's not the work--it's my head. I've got a pain so often
now--behind my eyes. Doctor Spencer's been fussing with
glasses, but they don't do me any good. There is a distin-
guished oculist coming to the Island the last of June and
the doctor says I must see him. I guess I'll have to.
I can't read or sew with any comfort now. Well, Anne, you've
done real well at Queen's I must say. To take First Class
License in one year and win the Avery scholarship--well,
well, Mrs. Lynde says pride goes before a fall and she
doesn't believe in the higher education of women at all;
she says it unfits them for woman's true sphere. I don't
believe a word of it. Speaking of Rachel reminds me--did
you hear anything about the Abbey Bank lately, Anne?"
"I heard it was shaky," answered Anne. "Why?"
"That is what Rachel said. She was up here one day last
week and said there was some talk about it. Matthew felt
real worried. All we have saved is in that bank--every
penny. I wanted Matthew to put it in the Savings Bank in
the first place, but old Mr. Abbey was a great friend of
father's and he'd always banked with him. Matthew said any
bank with him at the head of it was good enough for anybody."
"I think he has only been its nominal head for many
years," said Anne. "He is a very old man; his nephews
are really at the head of the institution."
"Well, when Rachel told us that, I wanted Matthew to draw
our money right out and he said he'd think of it. But
Mr. Russell told him yesterday that the bank was all right."
Anne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world.
She never forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair,
so free from shadow and so lavish of blossom. Anne spent some
of its rich hours in the orchard; she went to the Dryad's Bubble
and Willowmere and Violet Vale; she called at the manse and had
a satisfying talk with Mrs. Allan; and finally in the evening
she went with Matthew for the cows, through Lovers' Lane to the
back pasture. The woods were all gloried through with sunset
and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gaps
in the west. Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, tall
and erect, suited her springing step to his.
"You've been working too hard today, Matthew," she said
reproachfully. "Why won't you take things easier?"
"Well now, I can't seem to," said Matthew, as he opened
the yard gate to let the cows through. "It's only that I'm
getting old, Anne, and keep forgetting it. Well, well, I've
always worked pretty hard and I'd rather drop in harness."
"If I had been the boy you sent for," said Anne wistfully,
"I'd be able to help you so much now and spare you in a
hundred ways. I could find it in my heart to wish I had
been, just for that."
"Well now, I'd rather have you than a dozen boys, Anne,"
said Matthew patting her hand. "Just mind you that--
rather than a dozen boys. Well now, I guess it wasn't
a boy that took the Avery scholarship, was it? It was
a girl--my girl--my girl that I'm proud of."
He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard.
Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her
room that night and sat for a long while at her open window,
thinking of the past and dreaming of the future.
Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine;
the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope.
Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and
fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before
sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same
again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.
CHAPTER XXXVII
The Reaper Whose Name Is Death
"Matthew--Matthew--what is the matter? Matthew, are you sick?"
It was Marilla who spoke, alarm in every jerky word. Anne
came through the hall, her hands full of white narcissus,--it
was long before Anne could love the sight or odor of white
narcissus again,--in time to hear her and to see Matthew
standing in the porch doorway, a folded paper in his hand,
and his face strangely drawn and gray. Anne dropped her flowers
and sprang across the kitchen to him at the same moment as
Marilla. They were both too late; before they could reach him
Matthew had fallen across the threshold.
"He's fainted," gasped Marilla. "Anne, run for Martin--
quick, quick! He's at the barn."
Martin, the hired man, who had just driven home from
the post office, started at once for the doctor, calling at
Orchard Slope on his way to send Mr. and Mrs. Barry over.
Mrs. Lynde, who was there on an errand, came too. They
found Anne and Marilla distractedly trying to restore
Matthew to consciousness.
Mrs. Lynde pushed them gently aside, tried his pulse,
and then laid her ear over his heart. She looked at their
anxious faces sorrowfully and the tears came into her eyes.
"Oh, Marilla," she said gravely. "I don't think--we can do
anything for him."
"Mrs. Lynde, you don't think--you can't think Matthew is-- is--"
Anne could not say the dreadful word; she turned sick and pallid.
"Child, yes, I'm afraid of it. Look at his face. When you've
seen that look as often as I have you'll know what it means."
Anne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal of
the Great Presence.
When the doctor came he said that death had been instantaneous
and probably painless, caused in all likelihood by some sudden shock.
The secret of the shock was discovered to be in the paper Matthew
had held and which Martin had brought from the office that morning.
It contained an account of the failure of the Abbey Bank.
The news spread quickly through Avonlea, and all day
friends and neighbors thronged Green Gables and came
and went on errands of kindness for the dead and living.
For the first time shy, quiet Matthew Cuthbert was a
person of central importance; the white majesty of death
had fallen on him and set him apart as one crowned.
When the calm night came softly down over Green Gables
the old house was hushed and tranquil. In the parlor lay
Matthew Cuthbert in his coffin, his long gray hair framing
his placid face on which there was a little kindly smile
as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams. There were
flowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother
had planted in the homestead garden in 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 of it and she couldn't come
close enough to my heart to help me. It's our sorrow--
yours and mine. Oh, Marilla, what will we do without him?"
"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd do
if you weren't here--if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, I
know I've been kind of strict and harsh with you maybe--
but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as Matthew
did, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It's
never been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but
at times like this it's easier. I love you as dear as if
you were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy and
comfort ever since you came to Green Gables."
Two days afterwards they carried Matthew Cuthbert
over his homesteadthreshold and away from the fields he
had tilled and the orchards he had loved and the trees he
had planted; and then Avonlea settled back to its usual
placidity and even at Green Gables affairs slipped into
their old groove and work was done and duties fulfilled
with regularity as before, although always with the aching
sense of "loss in all familiar things." Anne, new to grief,
thought it almost sad that it could be so--that they COULD
go on in the old way without Matthew. She felt something
like shame and remorse when she discovered that the
sunrises behind the firs and the pale pink buds opening in
the garden gave her the old inrush of gladness when she
saw them--that Diana's visits were pleasant to her and
- lately [´leitli]
ad.近来，不久前 (初中英语单词) - yesterday [´jestədi] n.&ad.昨天；前不久 (初中英语单词)
- blossom [´blɔsəm] n.花；开花期 vi.开花 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- violet [´vaiələt] n.&a.紫罗兰(的)；紫色 (初中英语单词)
- pasture [´pɑ:stʃə] n.牧场；放牧 v.吃(草) (初中英语单词)
- splendor [´splendə] n.壮丽 =splendour (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- doorway [´dɔ:wei] n.门口 (初中英语单词)
- strangely [´streindʒli] ad.奇怪地；陌生地 (初中英语单词)
- sprang [spræŋ] spring 的过去式 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- errand [´erənd] n.差使，使命 (初中英语单词)
- gently [´dʒentli] ad.温和地；静静地 (初中英语单词)
- gravely [´greivli] ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- beheld [bi´held] behold的过去式(分词) (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- failure [´feiljə] n.失败；衰竭；破产 (初中英语单词)
- majesty [´mædʒisti] n.壮丽；崇高；尊严 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- parlor [´pɑ:lə] n.客厅；起居室 (初中英语单词)
- old-fashioned [´əuld´feʃənd] a.老式的；过时的 (初中英语单词)
- sunset [´sʌnset] n.日落；晚霞 (初中英语单词)
- horrible [´hɔrəbəl] a.可怕的；恐怖的 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- sphere [sfiə] n.圆体；天体；范围 (高中英语单词)
- companionship [kəm´pæniənʃip] n.伴侣关系；友谊 (高中英语单词)
- reaper [´ri:pə] n.收割者；收割机 (高中英语单词)
- coffin [´kɔfin] n.棺材，柩 (高中英语单词)
- earnestly [´ə:nistli] ad.认真地；急切地 (高中英语单词)
- comprehend [,kɔmpri´hend] vt.了解；领会；包含 (高中英语单词)
- solitude [´sɔlitju:d] n.孤独；寂寞；荒凉 (高中英语单词)
- stillness [´stilnis] n.不动；无声，寂静 (高中英语单词)
- recollection [,rekə´lekʃən] n.回忆；追想；记忆力 (高中英语单词)
- strict [strikt] a.严厉的；精确的 (高中英语单词)
- threshold [´θreʃhəuld] n.门槛；入门；开端 (高中英语单词)
- lavish [´læviʃ] a.慷慨的；浪费的 (英语四级单词)
- scholarship [´skɔləʃip, ´skɑlər-] n.学术成就；学问 (英语四级单词)
- silvery [´silvəri] a.银一般的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- placid [´plæsid] a.平静的；温和的 (英语四级单词)
- homestead [´həumsted] n.家宅，宅基 (英语四级单词)
- bridal [´braidl] a.&n.婚礼(的) (英语四级单词)
- groove [gru:v] n.槽 vt.在...作槽 (英语四级单词)
- remorse [ri´mɔ:s] n.懊悔；自责；同情 (英语四级单词)
- gladness [´glædnis] n.愉快，高兴，喜悦 (英语四级单词)
- affectionately [ə´fekʃnitli] ad.热情地；体贴地 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- likelihood [´laiklihud] n.可能，相似性 (英语六级单词)
- tranquil [´træŋkwil] a.平静的，稳定的 (英语六级单词)
- misunderstand [,misʌndə´stænd] vt.误会 (英语六级单词)
- lifelong [´laiflɔŋ] a.终生的 (英语六级单词)
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