had
loved so much and who had been so kind to her, Matthew who had walked
with her last evening at sunset and was now lying in the dim room below
with that awful peace on his brow. But no tears came at first, even when
she knelt by her window in the darkness and prayed, looking up to the
stars beyond the hills--no tears, only the same horrible dull ache of
misery that kept on aching until she fell asleep, worn out with the
day's pain and excitement.

In the night she awakened, with the stillness and the darkness about
her, and the recollection of the day came over her like a wave of
sorrow. She could see Matthew's face smiling at her as he had smiled
when they parted at the gate that last evening--she could hear his voice
saying, "My girl--my girl that I'm proud of." Then the tears came and
Anne wept her heart out. Marilla heard her and crept in to comfort her.

"There--there--don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back.
It--it--isn't right to cry so. I knew that today, but I couldn't help
it then. He'd always been such a good, kind brother to me--but God knows
best."

"Oh, just let me cry, Marilla," sobbed Anne. "The tears don't hurt me
like that ache did. Stay here for a little while with me and keep your
arm round me--so. I couldn't have Diana stay, she's good and kind and
sweet--but it's not her sorrow--she's outside of it and she couldn't
come close enough to my heart to help me. It's our sorrow--yours and
mine. Oh, Marilla, what will we do without him?"

"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't
here--if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, I know I've been kind of strict and
harsh with you maybe--but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as
Matthew did, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It's never
been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but at times like this
it's easier. I love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and blood
and you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to Green Gables."

Two days afterwards they carried Matthew Cuthbert over his homestead
threshold and away from the fields he had tilled and the orchards he had
loved and the trees he had planted; and then Avonlea settled back to its
usual placidity and even at Green Gables affairs slipped into their old
groove and work was done and duties fulfilled with regularity as before,
although always with the aching sense of "loss in all familiar things."
Anne, new to grief, thought it almo