Anne of the Island

“I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew—I knew then—and I thought it was too late.”

“But it wasn’t, sweetheart.

loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.”

She loved Gilbert—had always loved him! She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast him out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her.

Say, Anne, did you know that Gilbert Blythe is dying?”

her eyes wandered to another box on her table. It was filled with lilies-of-the-valley, as fresh and fragrant as those which bloomed in the Green Gables yard when June came to Avonlea. Gilbert Blythe’s card lay beside it.

was not pale; there was a flush on his cheek that had burned into it as Anne came along the dim hall towards him

Miss Josephine Barry is dead,

“Never mind Phil and the violets just now, Anne,” said Gilbert quietly, taking her hand in a clasp from which she could not free it. “There is something I want to say to you.”

That good night in the garden was for all time. Anne never saw Ruby in life again.

Gilbert was looking at Anne, as she walked along. In her light dress, with her slender delicacy, she made him think of a white iris.

“I wonder if I can ever make her care for me,” he thought, with a pang of self-distrust.