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XXX. A Wedding at the Stone House
ThenshelockedthedoorandsatdownunderthesilverpoplartowaitforGilbert,feelingverytiredbutstillunweariedlythinking“long,longthoughts.”
“Whatareyouthinkingof,Anne?”askedGilbert,comingdownthewalk.Hehadlefthishorseandbuggyoutattheroad.
“OfMissLavendarandMr.Irving,”answeredAnnedreamily.“Isn’titbeautifultothinkhoweverythinghasturnedout...howtheyhavecometogetheragainafteralltheyearsofseparationandmisunderstanding?”
“Yes,it’sbeautiful,”saidGilbert,lookingsteadilydownintoAnne’supliftedface,“butwouldn’tithavebeenmorebeautifulstill,Anne,iftherehadbeenNOseparationormisunderstanding...iftheyhadcomehandinhandallthewaythroughlife,withnomemoriesbehindthembutthosewhichbelongedtoeachother?”
ForamomentAnne’sheartflutteredqueerlyandforthefirsttimehereyesfalteredunderGilbert’sgazeandarosyflushstainedthepalenessofherface.Itwasasifaveilthathadhungbeforeherinnerconsciousnesshadbeenlifted,givingtoherviewarevelationofunsuspectedfeelingsandrealities.Perhaps,afterall,romancedidnotcomeintoone’slifewithpompandblare,likeagayknightridingdown;perhapsitcrepttoone’ssidelikeanoldfriendthroughquietways;perhapsitrevealeditselfinseemingprose,untilsomesuddenshaftofilluminationflungathwartitspagesbetrayedtherhythmandthemusic,perhaps...perhaps...loveunfoldednaturallyoutofabeautifulfriendship,asagolden-heartedroseslippingfromitsgreensheath
