XXVI. Around the Bend

           ThomasLyndefadedoutoflifeasquietlyandunobtrusivelyashehadlivedit.Hiswifewasatender,patient,unweariednurse.SometimesRachelhadbeenalittlehardonherThomasinhealth,whenhisslownessormeeknesshadprovokedher;butwhenhebecameillnovoicecouldbelower,nohandmoregentlyskillful,novigilmoreuncomplaining.

           “You’vebeenagoodwifetome,Rachel,”heoncesaidsimply,whenshewassittingbyhiminthedusk,holdinghisthin,blanchedoldhandinherwork-hardenedone.“Agoodwife.I’msorryIain’tleavingyoubetteroff;butthechildrenwilllookafteryou.They’reallsmart,capablechildren,justliketheirmother.Agoodmother...agoodwoman....”

           Hehadfallenasleepthen,andthenextmorning,justasthewhitedawnwascreepingupoverthepointedfirsinthehollow,MarillawentsoftlyintotheeastgableandwakenedAnne.

           “Anne,ThomasLyndeisgone...theirhiredboyjustbroughttheword.I’mgoingrightdowntoRachel.”

           OnthedayafterThomasLynde’sfuneralMarillawentaboutGreenGableswithastrangelypreoccupiedair.OccasionallyshelookedatAnne,seemedonthepointofsayingsomething,thenshookherheadandbuttoneduphermouth.AfterteashewentdowntoseeMrs.Rachel;andwhenshereturnedshewenttotheeastgable,whereAnnewascorrectingschoolexercises.

           “HowisMrs.Lyndetonight?”askedthelatter.

           “She’sfeelingcalmerandmorecomposed,”answeredMarilla,sittingdownonAnne’sbed...