," said Marilla hoarsely.

But at dawn, when the rising sun rent apart the mists hanging over the
sandbar, and made rainbows of them, joy came to the little house. Anne
was safe, and a wee, white lady, with her mother's big eyes, was lying
beside her. Gilbert, his face gray and haggard from his night's agony,
came down to tell Marilla and Susan.

"Thank God," shuddered Marilla.

Susan got up and took the cotton wool out of her ears.

"Now for breakfast," she said briskly. "I am of the opinion that we
will all be glad of a bite and sup. You tell young Mrs. Doctor not to
worry about a single thing--Susan is at the helm. You tell her just to
think of her baby."

Gilbert smiled rather sadly as he went away. Anne, her pale face
blanched with its baptism of pain, her eyes aglow with the holy passion
of motherhood, did not need to be told to think of her baby. She
thought of nothing else. For a few hours she tasted of happiness so
rare and exquisite that she wondered if the angels in heaven did not
envy her.

"Little Joyce," she murmured, when Marilla came in to see the baby.
"We planned to call her that if she were a girlie. There were so many
we would have liked to name her for; we couldn't choose between them,
so we decided on Joyce--we can call her Joy for short--Joy--it suits so
well. Oh, Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I
just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. THIS is the reality."

"You mustn't talk, Anne--wait till you're stronger," said Marilla
warningly.

"You know how hard it is for me NOT to talk," smiled Anne.

At first she was too weak and too happy to notice that Gilbert and the
nurse looked grave and Marilla sorrowful. Then, as subtly, and coldly,
and remorselessly as a sea-fog stealing landward, fear crept into her
heart. Why was not Gilbert gladder? Why would he not talk about the
baby? Why would they not let her have it with her after that first
heavenly--happy hour? Was--was there anything wrong?

"Gilbert," whispered Anne imploringly, "the baby--is all right--isn't
she? Tell me--tell me."

Gilbert was a long while in turning round; then he bent over Anne and
looked in her eyes. Marilla, listening fearfully outside the door,
heard a pitiful, heartbroken moan, and fled to the kitchen where Susan
was weeping.

"Oh, the poor lamb--the poor lamb! How can she bear it, Miss Cuthbert?
I am afraid it will kill her. She has been that built up and happy,