The purring quite number of cats echoed softly in the comfortable drawing room of ildewind Farm. Outside enchanting moonlight cast its shimmering, evasive light on the carefully tended garden whose apples were famous throughout Avonlea.

John Blythe glanced cautiously at Gilbert. He had entered quietly still dressed in his well pressed suit, wedding finery. Gilbert's open, handsome face was in shadow, and the frankness and mischievousness which had been in it only a few hours before in the drawing-room at Orchad Slope, when he had given his speech, had been wiped away. With a delicate grip, Gilbert removed the cufflinks, with his initials on them they clattered onto the table. John Blythe, gave his son a steady look and said curtly, "Your mother will be sad if you have to go back to the Daily News office soon."

Something like pent-up pain flickered in Gilbert's hazel eyes, the same eyes he had inherited from Mrs. Blythe, as he said plainly and sincerely, "I came here to do my duty. Now that it's done, I'll be leaving Avonlea in a couple of days. You've set your own example that duty giving ones word is one of the highest goals a man can have, that's one reason what being a Blythe is."

"Dear lad o mine," said John a little gruffly, "You've already climbed higher than I could ever imagine. You have a will of steel, and tenacity, and a work ethic, to back it up. Previous generations of our family battled elements. You will forge new paths in academia, and even further. I think you'll achieve your goals. But there's more to life."

Gilbert waved his hand, the gesture slightly irritated, as he said, flatly, "Charlie Sloane has had his say again, I see. Rumors really do travel fast in Avonlea. It's been a long evening. Now I'm going to my room, good night." Grabbing a thick book from the small coffee table, Gilbert's firm footsteps soon echoed on the wide staircase.

John Blythe, walked in his house, every creak as familiar to him as his wife's delighted smile, in the mornings over a pot of porridge. With certain movements he went into the yard and sat down on the chopping block and lit his pipe. Shadows and dim light shone from the windows, as John Blythe, remembered that moment when Gilbert had stood beside Marilla Cuthbert's adopted daughter, and there had been a look in his eyes that John had, like a flash, a recognized, shattered, repressed flash. Suddenly, it was as if the years had rolled back and he had been standing next to Marilla Cuthbert, as Rachel Lynde and Thomas Lynde had been married, and slowly Marilla had turned and looked at him in that appraising way that had raised John's heart rate, before Matthew's modest and unassuming a figure dressed in Sunday clothes in the corner of the room caught Marilla's attention, as always.

A blithe voice inquired, "John, remember only one pipe, I would have thought you would have smoked that one earlier today." John, smilingly looked at his wife, who had two cats at her feet, as she usually did when Mrs. Blythe was in the yard, lightly, she remarked, "Did you notice those cufflinks, they seem to be solid gold. Perhaps some girl has captured our boy's heart as one can always hope?"

John Blythe knocked his pipe empty against a plank, and offered his arm to his wife, saying, "Gilbert is so very ambitious." , Mrs. Blythe reached up on her toes and put John's collar straight, as she remarked, "Weddings always bring to mind all other weddings, and wedding nights."

With a rougish grin, John Blythe grabbed his wife by the waist and said, "Yes, it does and I can say that you have been the center of my heart all these years, and always will be."

Two days later, Mrs. John Blythe resolutely waved her hand-stitched lace-trimmed handkerchief as her beloved son nodded to her, from the train window. Gilbert had been surprisingly quiet since Fred and Diana's wedding. He had sat in his room reading thick tomes, and written a few letters, and walked the borders of Idlewind Farm with John. A cheerful, blithe wind had waved the leaves of the trees in the garden, Gilbert had been on a long walk, and when he had returned his trouser legs had been dotted with a peculiar assortment of flower petals. Gilbert had swept the abundant, unruly hair from his forehead with a strong stroke, and said, "There is no need to look so worried, Ma."

Mrs. Blythe had wanted, oh how much, to bring up the cufflinks, but Gilbert, in his efficient way, had hurriedly gone to the shed where John was already waiting, so the opportunity had slipped, sinuously past.

Mrs. Harmon Andrews pointedly remarked, "Gilbert is looking quite peaky. None of my children made that choice, Queens was enough. It must be said that Jane has been writing quite charming letters ever since she did go West. And, I know she doesn't mind if I say this, a very prominent person is courting her."

Resolutely, Gilbert leaned against the worn bench. It had been of the utmost importance that he would be out of Avonlea before she traveled to Valley Road. The walk after the wedding had been torture, as had been Josie Pye's remarks, they had stung, for in that enchanted moment it had seemed for a few moments as if nothing had happened. For the thousandth time Gilbert cursed his impatience which had brought him to this present situation a year ago. Anne's expression shimmered in the bright garden of Patty Place, and her tone had been pained, when she had refused to give any hope. How many weeks had Gilbert been staring sleeplessly at the ceiling as his thoughts circled like an endless circle.

At last, standing on the ship's deck, with the salty wind humming, a small microscopic change came over Gilbert's expression, as he remembered Christine's recent letter, which had been elegant and light, yet humorous, as was custom with her.

Dear Gil!

I can happily inform you that I have not yet suffocated my cousin Eugene with a pillow, with Silken corded tassels, although his opinions on music are quite not au courant. I find myself missing your sharp observations, and your enthusiasm when I have to pour tea from my grandmothers heirloom teapot, every afternoon, I have to smile politely as they once again question the reason why I am studying music in Redmond. I've been thinking of bringing up the delightful Philippa Gordon as an example, as she slays even you in mathematics, and almost in Greek too, if dear Claire's information is up to date, which it often is. She sends her greetings.

Promise me you'll try to walk the parks in Kingsport when you can, even though I'm not here to entertain you, or bore you, depending on your mood. You are sometimes too polite, although relatively often I can read you. Do you remember when we looked at the heavenly starry sky in September, together, and experienced a shooting star?

It's no use if you're already worn out, with the smell of ink and the rush of the newspaper office when the last term starts in September, for I know that the coming year will be a trial for you, at the end of which oh, so elusive Cooper, is like the golden gate to the Alhambra. I don't suppose you can be my cavalier very often, but I ask that you leave room for a few suitable occasions that will be arranged, or so I hear. What would you think of a Spanish theme in my costume, any opinions? What did you think of the cufflinks? I told Andrew that they might be too much, but he loves lavish, almost baroque gestures, sorry that birthday present of yours came a little late, it's a sincere, if a little pompous, gesture from him.

As ever, I remain cordially your sometimes correspondant, companion of philomene society of two questing seekers of spheres.

CAS

Then, almost unexpectedly, it was autumn again. The wild vines surrounding the walls of the Redmond Campus were rampant in various shades of flaming burgundy, and the whole world seemed to be glowing with autumn's golden hues as motivated co-eds conquered the lecture halls, dormitories, rented rooms and libraries.

One afternoon, with a balmy Indian summer still in the air, Anne was engrossed in the contents of the shelves of a sweet bookstore. The walls were decorated with romantic prints, and the space had an exhilarating sense of possibilities. The tall, narrow shelves smelled faintly of dust, and the peeling, leather-backed, cloth-covered, and marbled volumes were all like old friends. A pile of art books was in a carefree pile near the sales counter, which was decorated with a vase of dried roses whose petals were blackened. On a diagonally slanted small occasion table, there was a sophisticated rosary on top of a prayer book, an antique large mirror reflected flickering light into the dim space where a long-haired blue-eyed cat was prancing.

Idly Anne browsed collection of Tennysons letters, as she found herself addressed, "Miss Shirley, what a delightful surprise this was. I have heard nothing but good things about your academic triumph in lecture halls, and debating sessions. Your style is unforgettably luminous, as well as airy, with a gilt edge, or so Claire Hallet coined it. She is dreadfully sore over her English marks, because you beat her every time, but I've told her that sometimes losing builds character."

Anne turned to meet Christine Stuart's neutral but somehow mildly amused violet gaze, her thick, attention-grabbing eyelashes swept over her, as Christine said sonorously, " What a delightful book, Tennyson does write well. If you'll allow a small confession. I never really liked romantic poets though, they're too, fuzzy sometimes. And if I've understood correctly Roy Gardner is your beaux? Will you tell him, greetings from me, when will you see him next? Our families are close, so there is nothing inappropriate in these greetings, I hope."

Anne found herself, once again, smiling stiffly, as Christine nodded gracefully, as she slipped out, fashionable silmfitted draped skirts swinging.

A little later, that evening coziness of Patty's Place amid tea and alluring scent of Stellas baking Aunt Jimsie's remarks, Stella, Pris and Phil's joyous laughter, and even Rusty's purring didn't lift her mood, nor did Roy's flower delivery. Carelessly as was her habit, Phil wrapped her arms softly around Anne's shoulders as she declared, "We've got to hang on, because we're going to get our reward soon, in a few months. Sometimes I think maybe I should have stayed in Mount Holly and gotten married after all, but if I had I never would have met you my dears. I might have met Jo at any rate, but there is no certainty either. His letters are so full of conviction, and gentleness, that sometimes I feel like a fly under a magnifying glass, and I fear that I shall never be worthy of him, the kind of woman he really would deserve."

Anne, brushing aside her conflicting thoughts, rallied to offer comfort to Phil, as she remarked lightly. "Dearest, just remember your letter to me from the other summer, if you have moments of doubt. I have none. You are made for each other, you balance each other. Your vivacity and kindness of heart enchant, all that meet you, even momentarily, that's a gift."

Aunt Jimsie knitted few rows of lace, as she said, " To do Gods work, is a calling. Although Reverend Jonas is a little more hilarious and ready to laugh and have fun, than men of cloth were in my time, I feel that's only a good thing, for no one who is too serious can build a life with you Philippa. Please, next time when you try to make gingerbread, ask Anne or Stella for help."

Phil leaned over and stroked precious Sarah-cat behind her regal ears as she said, "I can easily promise that!"

Stella said in a mischievous tone, "Auntie, have you heard anything about your admirers lately?" Aunt Jimsie, glancing over her spectacles mirthfully in Stella's direction, said, in her familiar hearty tone, " Stella, dear, prying is not ladylake, but I can say my daughter Elizabeth in India inquires the same, though I don't see why I should marry again at my age. Couring walks after Services on the occasional Sunday suit me fine."

The happy bustle of Anne's 10 dollar payment from Youth Friend magazine was still ongoing, her mind was bright and fresh full of literary dreams, the path seemed to open before her, as her eyes twinkled like stars. Royal Gardner casted a velvety cloying looks, at Anne's profile, at Jennie Coopers walking party was ordered exclusively to one of the most beautiful corners of Kingsport. A large and well-maintained shrub-like evergreen labyrinth glided by. The paths were lined with colorful old-fashioned lanterns. Couples laughter rang out in the clear, crisp evening.

Anne however, noticed that only a few steps ahead of them were Gilbert and Christine. Roy and Christine had greeted each other at the meeting place earlier, like old friends, gently teasing each other.

Christine had remarked, "Roy, do tell Aline, to come to my rooms, for an afternoon. For it has been too long since we have spent time together, although of course she wrote from Paris, in her signature style."

Roy had answered, not at all remotely romantic as usual, but focused, "Aline has missed you, she will not admit to such a not refined feeling, but I can tell. I think she has some elaborate gift for you."

At those words a smile had lit up Christine's face, and it had brightened, her pearly white teeth, didn't look as sharp as usual. Gilbert had observed exchange with a small frown on his forehead attentively, with a keen gleam in his eyes.

Anne felt herself falling, for his expression was similar to that of the enchanting summer ramble slightly vague. Then he turned sharply to Christine, as he said something in a low voice. Christine's dark soft laughter echoed through the evening as her attention was completely on Gilbert, at the same moment walking party began.

In the center of the labyrinth was a small stage, and benches, shimmering music sparkled. Anne noticed once more that Christine's graceful walk was not so graceful, it was rather quite, decidedly ungraceful. The walk had brought a slight blush to Christine's cheeks. Gilbert walked along with purposeful steps, as was his way.

Mildly Anne mused to herself that the heroine of her next story would not be a dark-haired, violet-eyed gothic beauty caught in dramatic situations, as that would be too reminiscent of the Rollings Reliable Baking Powder Fiasco, even if the plot structure were to be completely different. Perhaps her future's style would be plotless fragments that would give her readers faith in a fairy tale world. Fairies dancing on dewy grass, miracles, and golden treasures waiting at the end of rainbows.

Then Roy said in a low voice, "My mother, both of my sisters want to come on call, at Pattys Place, Sunday afternoon?" Anne, without noticing slowed her step as she said quietly, "Yes, I will be in that case. I'll tell the girls." And at the same time as those words slipped from her lips, a stealthy shiver shook her shoulders, like a cold wind, even though the evening was completely still. As if from a distance Anne realized that this was possibly Rubicon, but whether she was met with laurels or cool disapproval remained to be seen. Shuddering Anne thought about the pressure and subtle persuasion Roy had had to use to get his family to agree. It was a declaration, sophisticated and subtle.

Gilbert's soft baritone sounded clear, gentle as he said with interest, "Say, Christine is this music perhaps something French?" The intoxicatingly romantic notes of a small orchestra of violins and flutes and cellos swayed, as Roy chuckled and whispered, "Barcarolle. How apropos, Anne shall we dance. I know it's a little awkward in outerwear. Others are doing it, so why not us?"

Gilbert purposefully turned his attention away from the small, somewhat humorous outdoor dance floor, Anne's sweetly curvaceous body bent in a waltz position towards Royal was suddenly unbearable, as it ever was. Politely Gilbert held out his arm to Christine and said suddenly, with a sleekly gruff way, "Would you perhaps like to dance, if not shall we go back to Redmond?"

Christine's features were shadowed as she murmured, "Shall we go eat dinner. There's a great little hole in the wall nearby with student-friendly prices?" There was an impish cast to Christine's eyes, and noticing it, Gilbert remarked, " Well, as another member of the philomena-society, I can agree to the request, I have done so before. Our autumn adventure to that certain Sunday service you lured me to. The gospel music was excellent there, as was the congregation."

Christine smiled lightly, softly as she, stretching her pronunciation, remarked, "Gil, have I ever by chance led you in a merry dance. To put your mind at rest, I can quote, Vitellia as she declares, or rather sings to Sesto, " Deh se piacer mi vuoi. Lascia i sospetti tuoi."

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in a small bistro, gilded by golden candlelight. There was a scent of delicious local food, which, however, did not beat the delicacies of Avonlea. Gilbert found himself eagerly describing his advancing plans to claim Cooper.

Idly Christine pointed out, "If you ever happen to need social assistance, such as distracting your competitors, all you have to do is say so." Gilbert smiled with amusement, but at the same time he clearly felt his brows furrow slightly, barely perceptibly, the kind of underhanded tactics that Christine so lightly alluded to was not his style at all. Gilbert straightened his posture and said decisively, "There is no need."

And as always when the manipulative calculating side of Christine's multi-faceted nature came out, Gilbert found himself slightly distancing himself from her, mentally. He found himself missing Anne more than before, because that would never even occur to her. Anne's character was bright, spotless, and extremely moral, full of high and romantic ideals. For years Gilbert had taken as one of his compasses the look of bright inquiring eyes, almost imperceptibly, and now that presence, that light was turned towards another. It galled so.