Author's Note: Here it is! (Finally!!) I apologize for the ridiculous wait. In my defense, though, I've been viciously busy, but even worse than that, I had horrible writer's block. This is the fourth version of this chapter, and it's the only one that even remotely made me happy. Originally, it was twice as long, but I decided to divide it. I apologize for the brevity, but I wanted the last chapter to stand on its own. (It will follow swiftly, on my honor!) Anyway, I enjoyed reading all of your reviews! I never anticipated such a response! Well, "don't get your knickers in a knot!" Just read and see what happens. Enjoyyyy…. (Oh, and by the way, I don't own anything.)

Lilies of Valley

Chapter 5—Breaking Dawn

Anne jerked awake violently, stifling a shriek. But as her heart slammed against her ribs, she couldn't stifle her hysteric sobs and gasping breaths. She sat bolt upright, pushing her hair from her face. Her eyes flitted wildly back and forth, but there was nothing to be seen in the pitch-dark room. She twisted her hands anxiously in the folds of her skirt, trying to quell the panic that was rapidly rising in her throat.

Her head turned sharply at the sound of a creaking door. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she could just make out the inky form that slowly came in. Weight shifted on the bed; someone sat down, slipped a warm, comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Anne," a familiar voice whispered gently. Anne let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and sank into a much-needed embrace.

"Marilla," she said brokenly, "I had a horrible nightmare."

"There, there, child," the older woman began comfortingly. She smoothed Anne's hair.

"It was so real!" Anne remonstrated, crying. "I dreamed that I went back to the Blythes'—this very morning!—and when I walked in, I could see in Mrs. Blythe's eyes that Gilbert—that he—he—"

Anne choked on the last few words of her sentence. Marilla hugged her close, rocking gently. "It was just a dream," she spoke around an odd lump in her throat. Anne shook her head.

"Marilla," she said lowly, after a long silence, "I'm afraid… What if he does…and not knowing how I care!"

Anne took a few jerky breaths, trying to fight against another onslaught of emotion. Marilla put her hands on her shoulders, turning her around. Even in the darkness, Marilla could see that Anne's eyes were luminous with tears.

"Anne Shirley," she said gently, lifting the girl's chin, "if Gilbert saw in your eyes tonight what I see now..." Her voice trailed off. "He'd have to be a fool not to know that you love him."

In a rare show of open affection, Marilla reached out to stroke Anne's white cheek. She withdrew slowly, after a long moment.

"Go, now," she said brusquely. "Providence is giving you a second chance, and you'd better take it, Anne."

Impulsively, Anne threw her arms around the woman's neck.

"Thank you, Marilla," she whispered tearfully.

"Mind you take a thick sweater. It's damp tonight." Marilla replied irrelevantly, but not unemotionally.

She left the room quietly as Anne began to prepare for her departure. The anxious girl hurriedly changed clothes and doused her face and neck with cold water, erasing the salty tracks of her tears.

She shivered when she stepped outside; she heard the clock chime four. But as the full moon broke through the clouds and illuminated the path before her, she walked with her head held high.

--

Anne's heart did not quake in fear when she passed a tired-looking Dr. Spencer over the doorstep of the Blythe home. Past him, she saw Mrs. Blythe, who seemed to have aged a decade over the preceding hours, sitting at the kitchen table with an expression of joy and relief on her face.

"Anne!" Mrs. Blythe gasped, jumping up and running to embrace her. "Oh, Anne! You've come just in time."

"What's happened?" She asked weakly. Suppose—suppose—

"The fever's broke," the exultant mother beamed. "About two hours ago. Gil's awake now, asking for you."

A near-hysteric laugh escaped Anne's lips. She felt dizzy as she walked to Gilbert's room and knelt beside his bed once more. She looked into his eyes; they were clear.

"You left," he murmured accusingly. She smiled warmly, sweeping stray curls from his cool forehead.

"I came back, Mr. Blythe."

"Thank you." He whispered softly, his eyes sliding slowly shut. He took care to memorize the soft love light glowing in Anne's eyes, lest he never see it again. Still ill, he was wary of trusting his senses; what if they were playing him false?

But when he woke again hours later, Anne was still kneeling at his side, their fingers entwined. She was asleep. Her head resting on her arm, Gilbert could see her delicate features smoothed peacefully in slumber. He didn't' dare to wake her; she looked so tired. But he couldn't quite resist the urge he felt to reach out and stroke her velvety cheek. His fingers thrilled on her smooth skin.

Her eyes fluttered open. Gilbert didn't withdraw his hand.

"I didn't mean to wake you, Anne." His voice held a note of teasing. "I wanted to see if you'd like to take one of our old-time rambles through the woods."

Anne laughed, sitting up.

"Another time, perhaps. For now, would you settle for some breakfast instead?"

"A glass of water," he assented. Anne rose stiffly, but she smiled. Their eyes met and they gazed at each other a long moment before she finally turned and left the room.

Gilbert lay back and stared out the window. Bright morning light flooded in. His body was still weak, but his mind was well recovered. He laughed to himself; yesterday, he'd been ready to die, and today, he found himself thinking that maybe, maybe, the elusive Anne Shirley would be his after all. He wondered idly how long it would be before Dr. Spencer—and his own mother—would allow him out of the house to visit Green Gables.