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, longing for that
baby, and planning for it. Cannot anything be done
nohow, Miss Cuthbert?"
"I'm afraid not, Susan. Gilbert says there is no hope.
He knew from the first the little thing couldn't
live."
"And it is such a sweet baby," sobbed Susan. "I never
saw one so white--they are mostly red or yallow.
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