not been
so blind--so foolish--she would have had the right to go to him now. But
he would never know that she loved him--he would go away from this
life thinking that she did not care. Oh, the black years of emptiness
stretching before her! She could not live through them--she could not!
She cowered down by her window and wished, for the first time in her
gay young life, that she could die, too. If Gilbert went away from her,
without one word or sign or message, she could not live. Nothing was of
any value without him. She belonged to him and he to her. In her hour
of supreme agony she had no doubt of that. He did not love Christine
Stuart--never had loved Christine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had been
not to realize what the bond was that had held her to Gilbert--to think
that the flattered fancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. And
now she must pay for her folly as for a crime.

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, shook
their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, and went away.
The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent. Anne
saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness. Soon the eastern
hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim. The clouds rolled themselves away
into great, soft, white masses on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue and
silvery. A hush fell over the world.

Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness of the
rain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard, and
cooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollicking whistle was lilting up
the lane. A moment later Pacifique Buote came in sight.

Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had not clutched
at a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifique was George
Fletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher lived next door to the
Blythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt. Pacifique would know
if--if--Pacifique would know what there was to be known.

Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. He did not
see Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him. He was almost past
before she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "Pacifique!"

Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning.

"Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher's
this morning?"

"Sure," said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat my fader,
he was seeck. It was so stormy dat I couldn't go den, so I start