Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter XXXVII. The Reaper Whose Name Is Death

           

           “There—there—don’tcryso,dearie.Itcan’tbringhimback.It—it—isn’trighttocryso.Iknewthattoday,butIcouldn’thelpitthen.He’dalwaysbeensuchagood,kindbrothertome—butGodknowsbest.”

           “Oh,justletmecry,Marilla,”sobbedAnne.“Thetearsdon’thurtmelikethatachedid.Stayhereforalittlewhilewithmeandkeepyourarmroundme—so.Icouldn’thaveDianastay,she’sgoodandkindandsweet—butit’snothersorrow—she’soutsideofitandshecouldn’tcomecloseenoughtomyhearttohelpme.It’soursorrow—yoursandmine.Oh,Marilla,whatwillwedowithouthim?”

           “We’vegoteachother,Anne.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddoifyouweren’there—ifyou’dnevercome.Oh,Anne,IknowI’vebeenkindofstrictandharshwithyoumaybe—butyoumustn’tthinkIdidn’tloveyouaswellasMatthewdid,forallthat.IwanttotellyounowwhenIcan.It’sneverbeeneasyformetosaythingsoutofmyheart,butattimeslikethisit’seasier.Iloveyouasdearasifyouweremyownfleshandbloodandyou’vebeenmyjoyandcomforteversinceyoucametoGreenGables.”

           TwodaysafterwardstheycarriedMatthewCuthbertoverhishomesteadthresholdandawayfromthefieldshehadtilledandtheorchardshehadlovedandthetreeshehadplanted;andthenAvonleasettledbacktoitsusualplacidityandevenatGreenGablesaffairsslippedintotheiroldgrooveandworkwasdoneanddutiesfulfilledwithregularityasbefore,althoughalwayswiththeachingsenseof“lossinallfamiliarthings.

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