"Poor Dovie hasn't a very nice day for her wedding," thought Anne.
"
Suppose . . . suppose . . ." she quaked and shivered . . .
"
suppose it doesn't turn out well, after all. It will be my fault.
Dovie would never have agreed to it if I hadn't advised her to.
And suppose Franklin Westcott never forgives her. Anne Shirley,
stop this! The weather is all that's the matter with you."
By night the rain had ceased but the air was cold and raw and the
sky lowering. Anne was in her tower room, correcting school
papers, with Dusty Miller coiled up under her stove. There came a
thunderous knock at the front door.
Anne ran down. Rebecca Dew poked an alarmed head out of her
bedroom door. Anne motioned her back.
"It's some one at the front door!" said Rebecca hollowly.
"It's all right, Rebecca dear. At least, I'm afraid it's all wrong
. . . but, anyway, it's only Jarvis Morrow. I saw him from the
side tower window and I know he wants to see me."
"Jarvis Morrow!" Rebecca went back and shut her door. "This
is
the last straw."
"Jarvis, whatever is the matter?"
"Dovie hasn't come," said Jarvis wildly. "We've waited hours .
. .
the minister's there . . . and my friends . . . and Julia has
supper ready . . . and Dovie hasn't come. I waited for her at the
end of the lane till I was half crazy. I didn't dare go down to
the house because I didn't know what had happened. That old brute
of a Franklin Westcott may have come back. Aunt Maggie may have
locked her up. But I've got to know. Anne, you must go to
Elmcroft and find out why she hasn't come."
"Me?" said Anne incredulously and ungrammatically.
"Yes, you. There's no one else I can trust . . . no one else who
knows. Oh, Anne, don't fail me now. You've backed us up right
along. Dovie says you are the only real friend she has. It isn't
late . . . only nine. Do go."
"And be chewed up by the bulldog?" said Anne sarcastically.
"That old dog!" said Jarvis contemptuously. "He wouldn't say
boo
to a tramp. You don't suppose I was afraid of the dog, do you?
Besides, he's always shut up at night. I simply don't want to make
any trouble for Dovie at home if they've found out. Anne, please!"
"I suppose I'm in for it," said Anne with a shrug of despair.
Jarvis drove her to the long lane of Elmcroft, but she would not
let him come further.
"As you say, it might complicate matters for Dovie in case her
father has come home."
Anne hurried down the long, tree-bordered lane. The moon
occasionally broke through the windy clouds, but for the most part
it was gruesomely dark and she was not a little dubious about the
dog.
There seemed to be only one light in Elmcroft . . . shining from
the kitchen window. Aunt Maggie herself opened the side door to
Anne. Aunt Maggie was a very old sister of Franklin Westcott's, a
little bent, wrinkled woman who had never been considered very
bright mentally, though she was an excellent housekeeper.
"Aunt Maggie, is Dovie home?"
"Dovie's in bed," said Aunt Maggie stolidly.
"In bed? Is she sick?"
"Not as I knows on. She seemed to be in a dither all day. After
supper she says she was tired and ups and goes to bed."
"I must see her for a moment, Aunt Maggie. I . . . I just want a
little important information."
"Better go up to her room then. It's the one on the right side as
you go up."
Aunt Maggie gestured to the stairs and waddled out to the kitchen.
Dovie sat up as Anne walked in, rather unceremoniously, after a
hurried rap. As could be seen by the light of a tiny candle, Dovie
was in tears, but her tears only exasperated Anne.
"Dovie Westcott, did you forget that you promised to marry Jarvis
Morrow tonight . . . tonight?"
"No . . . no . . ." whimpered Dovie. "Oh, Anne, I'm so unhappy
. . . I've put in such a dreadful day. You can never, never know
what I've gone through."
"I know what poor Jarvis has gone through, waiting for two hours at
that lane in the cold and drizzle," said Anne mercilessly.
"Is he . . . is he very angry, Anne?"
"Just what you could notice" . . . bitingly.
"Oh, Anne, I just got frightened. I never slept one wink last
night. I couldn't go through with it . . . I couldn't. I . . .
there's really something disgraceful about eloping, Anne. And I
wouldn't get any nice presents . . . well, not many, anyhow. I've
always wanted to be m . . . m . . . arried in church . . . with
lovely decorations . . . and a white veil and dress . . . and
s . . . s . . . ilver slippers!"
"Dovie Westcott, get right out of that bed . . . at once . .
. and
get dressed . . . and come with me."
"Anne . . . it's too late now."
"It isn't too late. And it's now or never . . . you must know
that, Dovie, if you've a grain of sense. You must know Jarvis
Morrow will never speak to you again if you make a fool of him like
this."
"Oh, Anne, he'll forgive me when he knows . . ."
"He won't. I know Jarvis Morrow. He isn't going to let you play
indefinitely with his life. Dovie, do you want me to drag you
bodily out of bed?"
Dovie shuddered and sighed.
"I haven't any suitable dress . . ."
"You've half-a-dozen pretty dresses. Put on your rose taffeta."
"And I haven't any trousseau. The Morrows will always cast that
up
to me. . . ."
"You can get one afterwards. Dovie, didn't you weigh all these
things in the balance before?"
"No . . . no . . . that's just the trouble. I only began to think
of them last night. And Father . . . you don't know Father,
Anne. . . ."
"Dovie. I'll give you just ten minutes to get dressed!"
Dovie was dressed in the specified time.
"This dress is g . . . g . . . getting too tight for me," she
sobbed as Anne hooked her up. "If I get much fatter I don't
suppose Jarvis will l . . . l . . . love me. I wish I was tall and
slim and pale, like you, Anne. Oh, Anne, what if Aunt Maggie hears
us!"
"She won't. She's shut in the kitchen and you know she's a little
deaf. Here's your hat and coat and I've tumbled a few things into
this bag."
"Oh, my heart is fluttering so. Do I look terrible, Anne?"
"You look lovely," said Anne sincerely. Dovie's satin skin was
rose and cream and all her tears hadn't spoiled her eyes. But
Jarvis couldn't see her eyes in the dark and he was just a little
annoyed with his adored fair one and rather cool during the drive
to town.
"For Heaven's sake, Dovie, don't look so scared over having to
marry me," he said impatiently as she came down the stairs of the
Stevens house. "And don't cry . . . it will make your nose swell.
It's nearly ten o'clock and we've got to catch the eleven o'clock
train."
Dovie was quite all right as soon as she found herself irrevocably
married to Jarvis. What Anne rather cattishly described in a
letter to Gilbert as "the honeymoon look" was already on her face.
"Anne, darling, we owe it all to you. We'll never forget it, will
we, Jarvis? And, oh, Anne darling, will you do just one more thing
for me? Please break the news to Father. He'll be home early
tomorrow evening . . . and somebody has got to tell him. You can
smooth him over if anybody can. Please do your best to get him to
forgive me."
Anne felt she rather needed some smoothing-over herself just then;
but she also felt rather uneasily responsible for the outcome of
the affair, so she gave the required promise.
"Of course he'll be terrible . . . simply terrible, Anne . . . but
he can't kill you," said Dovie comfortingly. "Oh, Anne, you don't
know . . .you can't realize . . . how safe I feel with Jarvis."
When Anne got home Rebecca Dew had reached the point where she had
to satisfy her curiosity or go mad. She followed Anne to the tower
room in her night-dress, with a square of flannel wrapped round her
head, and heard the whole story.
"Well, I suppose this is what you might call 'life,'" she said
sarcastically. "But I'm real glad Franklin Westcott has got his
come-uppance at last, and so will Mrs. Captain MacComber be. But I
don't envy you the job of breaking the news to him. He'll rage and
utter vain things. If I was in your shoes, Miss Shirley, I
wouldn't sleep one blessed wink tonight."
"I feel that it won't be a very pleasant experience," agreed Anne
ruefully.