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Updated: June 21, 2025
If Marilla, in going down to Mrs. Lynde's that evening, was actuated by any motive save her avowed one of returning the quilting frames she had borrowed the preceding winter, it was an amiable weakness shared by most of the Avonlea people. Many a thing Mrs. Lynde had lent, sometimes never expecting to see it again, came home that night in charge of the borrowers thereof.
Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.
That was the date of Lynde's adventure, the spring of 1872. Here was almost positive proof that Miss Denham could not have been in New England at the time. Lynde did not know what to think. Of course he was mistaken; he must be mistaken and yet! There were moments when he could not look at Miss Denham without half expecting to see the man Blaisdell flitting somewhere in the background.
He was embarrassed by her unexpected elegance, but he covered his embarrassment and his pleasure by presenting his friend to the ladies, and ordering the servant to serve the dinner immediately. Lynde's constraint was only momentary, and the others had experienced none.
A smile, even, hovered on her mouth as she sat down at the breakfast-table, in the pretty negligee she had worn all night, and poured out Miss Lynde's coffee for her. "That's always very becoming to you, Bessie," said her aunt. "It's the nicest breakfast gown you have." "Do you think so?"
There was something so helpless and appealing in the girl's attitude that Lynde was touched. "May I speak with you, sir?" he said, addressing himself to a man whom somebody had called Morton, and who appeared to issue the orders for the party. The man came to Lynde's side. "For Heaven's sake, sir, explain this! Who is that young woman?" "You said you knew her," returned the man, not unpleasantly.
"Mackenzie? Merely idiotic," replied the doctor, with the cool professional air. "And the young girl," asked Lynde hesitatingly, "is she" "A very sad case," interrupted Dr. Pendegrast, with a tenderer expression settling upon his countenance. "The saddest thing in the world." "Insane?" "Hopelessly so, I fear." A nameless heaviness fell upon Lynde's heart.
Lynde had been proposing that she should make special arrangements to depart with him for a three-months' stay in Europe, but she would have nothing to do with the project. She did not dare. Such a move would make Cowperwood feel that she was alienating herself forever; it would give him an excellent excuse to leave her. "Oh, it isn't that," she had declared, in reply to Lynde's query.
She walked slowly, enjoying the sweetness of wood and field and the starry summer twilight, and thinking soberly about the new duties she was to take up on the morrow. When she reached the yard at Green Gables Mrs. Lynde's loud, decided tones floated out through the open kitchen window. "Mrs.
"That completes the ruin Mary began. If I should happen to catch up with him, I trust I shall have the moral strength not to knock his head off his skull off; it isn't a head." Lynde's sole hope of overtaking him, and it was a very slender hope, was based on the possibility that the man might fall and disable himself; but he seemed to have the sure-footedness as well as the lightness of a deer.
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