Author's Note: Well, here it is! It's not stunning, but it's a conclusion. Thank you all so much for your feedback! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. (And thanks for bearing with me in my tardiness!) One last time, I must say that I own nothing of the wonderful red-headed miss. She is L.M. Montgomery's creation.

Lilies of the Valley

Chapter 6—New Love

"Ah!" Gilbert's voice came suddenly as he appeared around the porch, startling Anne from the book in her lap. "You've got your color back. It's good to see you out; I was worried that you'd have to spend this fine evening indoors."

"No," Anne laughed merrily. "Marilla has graciously allowed me out of the house."

"Do you think she'd 'graciously allow' you to take a walk with me to Hester Gray's garden?"

Anne nodded, standing. "Of course. Just let me go and get my sweater. She won't let me take a walk without it."

Sweater acquired, the two young people set off down the lane, laughing and chattering as if they were no more than schoolchildren. Anne felt a little twinge of pain over this. She and Gilbert's "comradeship" of old had returned in full force since his illness, but she no longer found it satisfying.

"That was a pretty vicious cold you had, Anne," Gilbert was saying bemusedly. Anne had to jerk her mind back to the conversation. Gilbert continued. "How did you manage to fall in Barry's Pond?"

Anne flushed scarlet and laughed.

"I took the twins out for a row. They were in one dory and I in another. Well, my hat blew off in a gust of wind and was floating on the water in front of me. I leaned over to get it, stretching just as far as I could. I had it, too, the wretched thing—until I toppled in the pond head over heels, just like Josie Pye at that Sunday School picnic years ago."

By the end of the story, Anne's expression had become so comical that Gilbert had to choke back a laugh.

"Sounds even better than the Lily Maid," he teased.

Anne wrinkled her nose. "I feel sure that Tennyson's Elaine never sneezed like I did the three days afterward. Ugh." She waved a hand in exasperation. "It was horrid. At least when we girls chose to act out The Lady of Shallot, it wasn't my fault that I fell in the pond. There is some dignity in sinking with a boat, but there isn't any in falling out of it."

"You're right; especially when there aren't any dashing young men about to perform heroic rescues." Gilbert said wickedly. Anne threw him a pained look, but laughed in spite of herself. They continued on down the lane in companionable silence.

Now and again, Gilbert glanced sideways at Anne. She looked especially beautiful tonight, he thought. The setting sun shone warmly on her glossy auburn hair, bringing out hidden rich tints of gold. She wore a pale green dress which accentuated her creamy white complexion, and her slender curves. She was starry-eyed, and her full lips were turned up at the corners, as if smiling secretly.

Anne was smiling secretly, amused by the recollection of the Lily Maid incident, and her consequent "heroic" rescue. She could remember perfectly the scarlet humiliation that flooded her face when she'd looked up from her precarious perch under the bridge and seen Gilbert Blythe rowing toward her as calmly as if they were in a perfectly normal situation. She remembered the look of laughter in his eyes, and the amusement in his voice. He was unfailingly chivalrous, even though she was abominably rude. They had been children then, and it seemed to have happened just yesterday.

Stealing a glance at Gilbert, Anne realized with a little sigh that they were children no longer. Certainly he wasn't. He looked every bit of a man now, tall and slender, a little paleness from the typhoid fever still lingering. His eyes held an expression of keen intelligence that was apparent to even the most casual observer; Anne was far from being a casual observer. When she peered into the hazel depths, she saw enduring strength and patience; qualities that she knew he'd developed in the tumultuous years he'd spent waiting for her affection.

Anne and Gilbert were in Hester Gray's garden now, sitting together on the little stone bench. A breeze sang through the trees, filling their silence.

"What are you thinking of, Anne?" Gilbert inquired softly after a while. She shifted her position, propping an elbow on her knee, chin in hand.

"You," she murmured. Gilbert's eyebrows rose in surprise at the honesty and simplicity of her answer.

"A subject so dull?" He tried keeping his voice light.

"I rarely waste my time by thinking of dull things," she returned tartly, immediately irritated by his self-depreciation. It was her fault, she knew, that he joked in such a way.

"Gil, I—"

"Anne," he interrupted suddenly. He gazed intently into her eyes. "I need to know. Why did you come to me that night?"

She instantly knew what he was referring to, and she shuddered. No response.

"I'd been sick for weeks, Anne," he prodded her. "Why did you choose then to come? Why did you come at all?" He spoke passionately, truly longing for an answer. Another tremor passed over Anne's frame and she spoke in a rush.

"I was at Echo Lodge when you fell ill, and I never heard about it until I came home. I'd no sooner set foot in the house than Davy told me that you were dying."

Gilbert's expression softened in understanding. Anne grasped his hand.

"Gil," she said chokingly, "I never wanted you to think that I didn't care. I—I—you can't imagine what I felt. I thought that I was too late—"

"Too late?" Gilbert queried, interrupting again. Anne bit her lip, fearing that she'd said too much. Then she caught his eyes. Her heart quickened.

"Yes," she continued unsteadily, "I was terrified that you would… die without knowing that—that I love you. That I… always have loved you; even when I was too blind to see it."

Gilbert, stunned, said nothing. He didn't know what to say. He'd been dreaming of this moment for what seemed like a lifetime, never thinking that it would become a reality.

Poor Anne was terrified by his silence, thinking that she was too late after all. She stood abruptly and turned to leave. Suddenly, she remembered something about a Christine Stuart. Redmond gossip was still far-reaching. If Gil and Christine were engaged…well, Anne didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert," she stammered, gasping. She walked blindly toward the gate, wondering vaguely if this was how he had felt when she'd thwarted his proposal in the orchard at Patty's Place.

"Anne Shirley!" Gil cried from behind. He suddenly understood that she'd misinterpreted his lack of response. He took a few long strides and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around. He wiped away the two tears that gushed from her eyes and held her face between his hands.

"I am not going to watch you walk away from me yet again." He spoke in a deep tone that made a pleasant shiver run up Anne's spine.

"What, then?" She asked breathlessly. Gilbert's eyes held an unfathomable expression.

He dared to slip an arm around her waist, drawing her very, very close. His gaze fell on her full, pink lips, and he bent down and gently claimed them with his own. Anne melted into his embrace as she found herself returning the kiss. It was soft and tender and sweet, full of love and hinting at passion. They parted slowly.

"Anne," Gilbert spoke softly, at length, "I asked you two years ago to be my wife. If I ask you again today, will you give me a different answer?"

Anne smiled and lifted her sparkling eyes to his. There was no need for words. Gilbert led her back to the bench, and he planted a kiss in her hair when she laid her head on his shoulder. She was finally his.

A deep contentment settled over the garden with the final blaze of sunset. Tomorrow Anne and Gilbert would talk about things felt and seen, and things misunderstood. They would face the three years of separation that lay before them; he would go to medical school in Kingsport and she would take the position of principal at Summerside High School. They would tell their friends and family of their happy engagement.

But tonight, they would talk of things far more sacred.

The pale moon rising illuminated the woods as the two young lovers made their way home hand in hand. Shimmering stars began to pepper the changing sky. Anne enumerated them as the hopes and dreams of coming years, and in hushed whispers, she and Gilbert wove together an unbreakable silvery web of love and eternity.