Chapter XXIX. An Epoch in Anne’s Life

           

           AnnewasbringingthecowshomefromthebackpasturebywayofLover’sLane.ItwasaSeptembereveningandallthegapsandclearingsinthewoodswerebrimmedupwithrubysunsetlight.Hereandtherethelanewassplashedwithit,butforthemostpartitwasalreadyquiteshadowybeneaththemaples,andthespacesunderthefirswerefilledwithaclearvioletdusklikeairywine.Thewindswereoutintheirtops,andthereisnosweetermusiconearththanthatwhichthewindmakesinthefirtreesatevening.

           Thecowsswungplacidlydownthelane,andAnnefollowedthemdreamily,repeatingaloudthebattlecantofromMarmion—whichhadalsobeenpartoftheirEnglishcoursetheprecedingwinterandwhichMissStacyhadmadethemlearnoffbyheart—andexultinginitsrushinglinesandtheclashofspearsinitsimagery.Whenshecametothelines

           Thestubbornspearsmenstillmadegood

           Theirdarkimpenetrablewood,

           shestoppedinecstasytoshuthereyesthatshemightthebetterfancyherselfoneofthatheroicring.WhensheopenedthemagainitwastobeholdDianacomingthroughthegatethatledintotheBarryfieldandlookingsoimportantthatAnneinstantlydivinedtherewasnewstobetold.Butbetraytooeagercuriosityshewouldnot.

           “Isn’tthiseveningjustlikeapurpledream,Diana?Itmakesmesogladtobealive.InthemorningsIalwaysthinkthemorningsarebest;butwheneveningcomesIthinkit’slovelierstill.”

           “It’saveryfineevening,”saidDiana,“butoh,Ihavesuchnews,Anne.Guess.Youcanhavethreeguesses.

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