Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter XXXVII. The Reaper Whose Name Is Death

           Weresentthethoughtthatanythingcanpleaseuswhensomeoneweloveisnolongerheretosharethepleasurewithus,andwealmostfeelasifwewereunfaithfultooursorrowwhenwefindourinterestinlifereturningtous.”

           “IwasdowntothegraveyardtoplantarosebushonMatthew’sgravethisafternoon,”saidAnnedreamily.“ItookaslipofthelittlewhiteScotchrosebushhismotherbroughtoutfromScotlandlongago;Matthewalwayslikedthoserosesthebest—theyweresosmallandsweetontheirthornystems.ItmademefeelgladthatIcouldplantitbyhisgrave—asifIweredoingsomethingthatmustpleasehimintakingittheretobenearhim.Ihopehehasrosesliketheminheaven.Perhapsthesoulsofallthoselittlewhiterosesthathehaslovedsomanysummerswerealltheretomeethim.Imustgohomenow.Marillaisallaloneandshegetslonelyattwilight.”

           “Shewillbelonelierstill,Ifear,whenyougoawayagaintocollege,”saidMrs.Allan.

           Annedidnotreply;shesaidgoodnightandwentslowlybacktogreenGables.Marillawassittingonthefrontdoor-stepsandAnnesatdownbesideher.Thedoorwasopenbehindthem,heldbackbyabigpinkconchshellwithhintsofseasunsetsinitssmoothinnerconvolutions.

           Annegatheredsomespraysofpale-yellowhoneysuckleandputtheminherhair.Shelikedthedelicioushintoffragrance,assomeaerialbenediction,abovehereverytimeshemoved.

           “DoctorSpencerwasherewhileyouwereaway,”Marillasaid.“HesaysthatthespecialistwillbeintowntomorrowandheinsiststhatImustgoinandhavemyeyesexamined.

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