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Anne of the Island-Part27_L.Maud Montgomery(1874-1942)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the world and not

leave one person behind you who is sorry you are gone," said Anne, shuddering.



"Nobody except her parents ever loved poor Atossa, that's certain, not even

her husband," averred Mrs. Lynde. "She was his fourth wife. He'd sort of got



into the habit of marrying. He only lived a few years after he married her.

The doctor said he died of dyspepsia, but I shall always maintain that he died



of Atossa's tongue, that's what. Poor soul, she always knew everything about

her neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself. Well,



she's gone anyhow; and I suppose the next excitement will be Diana's wedding."

"It seems funny and horrible to think of Diana's being married,"



sighed Anne, hugging her knees and looking through the gap in the

Haunted Wood to the light that was shining in Diana's room.



"I don't see what's horrible about it, when she's doing so well,"

said Mrs. Lynde emphatically. "Fred Wright has a fine farm and



he is a model young man."

"He certainly isn't the wild, dashing, wicked, young man Diana



once wanted to marry," smiled Anne. "Fred is extremely good."

"That's just what he ought to be. Would you want Diana to marry



a wicked man? Or marry one yourself?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked,



but I think I'd like it if he COULD be wicked and WOULDN'T.

Now, Fred is HOPELESSLY good."



"You'll have more sense some day, I hope," said Marilla.

Marilla spoke rather bitterly. She was grievously disappointed.



She knew Anne had refused Gilbert Blythe. Avonlea gossip buzzed

over the fact, which had leaked out, nobody knew how. Perhaps



Charlie Sloane had guessed and told his guesses for truth.

Perhaps Diana had betrayed it to Fred and Fred had been indiscreet.



At all events it was known; Mrs. Blythe no longer asked Anne,

in public or private, if she had heard lately from Gilbert, but



passed her by with a frosty bow. Anne, who had always liked Gilbert's

merry, young-hearted mother, was grieved in secret over this.



Marilla said nothing; but Mrs. Lynde gave Anne many exasperated

digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady,



through the medium of Moody Spurgeon MacPherson's mother,

that Anne had another "beau" at college, who was rich and



handsome and good all in one. After that Mrs. Rachel held

her tongue, though she still wished in her inmost heart that



Anne had accepted Gilbert. Riches were all very well;

but even Mrs. Rachel, practical soul though she was, did not



consider them the one essential. If Anne "liked" the Handsome

Unknown better than Gilbert there was nothing more to be said;



but Mrs. Rachel was dreadfully afraid that Anne was going to

make the mistake of marrying for money. Marilla knew Anne too



well to fear this; but she felt that something in the universal

scheme of things had gone sadly awry.



"What is to be, will be," said Mrs. Rachel gloomily, "and what isn't

to be happens sometimes. I can't help believing it's going to happen



in Anne's case, if Providence doesn't interfere, that's what."

Mrs. Rachel sighed. She was afraid Providence wouldn't interfere;



and she didn't dare to.

Anne had wandered down to the Dryad's Bubble and was curled up



among the ferns at the root of the big white birch where she and

Gilbert had so often sat in summers gone by. He had gone into



the newspaper office again when college closed, and Avonlea

seemed very dull without him. He never wrote to her, and Anne



missed the letters that never came. To be sure, Roy wrote twice

a week; his letters were exquisite compositions which would have



read beautifully in a memoir or biography. Anne felt herself

more deeply in love with him than ever when she read them; but



her heart never gave the queer, quick, painful bound at sight of

his letters which it had given one day when Mrs. Hiram Sloane



had handed her out an envelope addressed in Gilbert's black,

upright handwriting. Anne had hurried home to the east gable and



opened it eagerly -- to find a typewritten copy of some college

society report -- "only that and nothing more." Anne flung the



harmless screed across her room and sat down to write an

especially nice epistle to Roy.



Diana was to be married in five more days. The gray house at

Orchard Slope was in a turmoil of baking and brewing and boiling



and stewing, for there was to be a big, old-timey wedding. Anne,

of course, was to be bridesmaid, as had been arranged when they



were twelve years old, and Gilbert was coming from Kingsport to

be best man. Anne was enjoying the excitement of the various



preparations, but under it all she carried a little heartache.

She was, in a sense, losing her dear old chum; Diana's new home






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