CHAPTER 31
THE TRUTH MAKES FREE
Leslie, having once made up her mind what to do, proceeded to do itwith characteristic resolution and speed. House-cleaning must befinished with first, whatever issues of life and death might awaitbeyond. The gray house up the brook was put into flawless order andcleanliness, with Miss Cornelia's ready assistance. Miss Cornelia,having said her say to Anne, and later on to Gilbert and CaptainJim--sparing neither of them, let it be assured--never spoke of thematter to Leslie. She accepted the fact of Dick's operation, referredto it when necessary in a business-like way, and ignored it when it wasnot. Leslie never attempted to discuss it. She was very cold andquiet during these beautiful spring days. She seldom visited Anne, andthough she was invariably courteous and friendly, that very courtesywas as an icy barrier between her and the people of the little house.The old jokes and laughter and chumminess of common things could notreach her over it. Anne refused to feel hurt. She knew that Lesliewas in the grip of a hideous dread--a dread that wrapped her away fromall little glimpses of happiness and hours of pleasure. When one greatpassion seizes possession of the soul all other feelings are crowdedaside. Never in all her life had Leslie Moore shuddered away from thefuture with more intolerable terror. But she went forward asunswervingly in the path she had elected as the martyrs of old walkedtheir chosen way, knowing the end of it to be the fiery agony of thestake.
The financial question was settled with greater ease than Anne hadfeared. Leslie borrowed the necessary money from Captain Jim, and, ather insistence, he took a mortgage on the little farm.
"So that is one thing off the poor girl's mind," Miss Cornelia toldAnne, "and off mine too. Now, if Dick gets well enough to work againhe'll be able to earn enough to pay the interest on it; and if hedoesn't I know Captain Jim'll manage someway that Leslie won't have to.He said as much to me. 'I'm getting old, Cornelia,' he said, 'and I'veno chick or child of my own. Leslie won't take a gift from a livingman, but mebbe she will from a dead one.' So it will be all right asfar as THAT goes. I wish everything else might be settled assatisfactorily. As for that wretch of a Dick, he's been awful theselast few days. The devil was in him, believe ME! Leslie and Icouldn't get on with our work for the tricks he'd play. He chased allher ducks one day around the yard till most of them died. And not onething would he do for us. Sometimes, you know, he'll make himselfquite handy, bringing in pails of water and wood. But this week if wesent him to the well he'd try to climb down into it. I thought once,'If you'd only shoot down there head-first everything would be nicelysettled.'"
"Oh, Miss Cornelia!"
"Now, you needn't Miss Cornelia me, Anne, dearie. ANYBODY would havethought the same. If the Montreal doctors can make a rational creatureout of Dick Moore they're wonders."
Leslie took Dick to Montreal early in May. Gilbert went with her, tohelp her, and make the necessary arrangements for her. He came homewith the report that the Montreal surgeon whom they had consultedagreed with him that there was a good chance of Dick's restoration.
"Very comforting," was Miss Cornelia's sarcastic comment.
Anne only sighed. Leslie had been very distant at their parting.
But she had promised to write. Ten days after Gilbert's return theletter came. Leslie wrote that the operation had been successfullyperformed and that Dick was making a good recovery.
"What does she mean by 'successfully?'" asked Anne. "Does she meanthat Dick's memory is really restored?"
"Not likely--since she says nothing of it," said Gilbert. "She usesthe word 'successfully' from the surgeon's point of view. Theoperation has been performed and followed by normal results. But it istoo soon to know whether Dick's faculties will be eventually restored,wholly or in part. His memory would not be likely to return to him allat once. The process will be gradual, if it occurs at all. Is thatall she says?"
"Yes--there's her letter. It's very short. Poor girl, she must beunder a terrible strain. Gilbert Blythe, there are heaps of things Ilong to say to you, only it would be mean."
"Miss Cornelia says them for you," said Gilbert with a rueful smile."She combs me down every time I encounter her. She makes it plain tome that she regards me as little better than a murderer, and that shethinks it a great pity that Dr. Dave ever let me step into his shoes.She even told me that the Methodist doctor over the harbor was to bepreferred before me. With Miss Cornelia the force of condemnation canno further go."
"If Cornelia Bryant was sick, it would not be Doctor Dave or theMethodist doctor she would send for," sniffed Susan. "She would haveyou out of your hard-earned bed in the middle of the night, doctor,dear, if she took a spell of misery, that she would. And then shewould likely say your bill was past all reason. But do not mind her,doctor, dear. It takes all kinds of people to make a world."
No further word came from Leslie for some time. The May days creptaway in a sweet succession and the shores of Four Winds Harbor greenedand bloomed and purpled. One day in late May Gilbert came home to bemet by Susan in the stable yard.
"I am afraid something has upset Mrs. Doctor, doctor, dear," she saidmysteriously. "She got a letter this afternoon and since then she hasjust been walking round the garden and talking to herself. You know itis not good for her to be on her feet so much, doctor, dear. She didnot see fit to tell me what her news was, and I am no pry, doctor,dear, and never was, but it is plain something has upset her. And itis not good for her to be upset."
Gilbert hurried rather anxiously to the garden. Had anything happenedat Green Gables? But Anne, sitting on the rustic seat by the brook,did not look troubled, though she was certainly much excited. Her eyeswere their grayest, and scarlet spots burned on her cheeks.
"What has happened, Anne?"
Anne gave a queer little laugh.
"I think you'll hardly believe it when I tell you, Gilbert. _I_ can'tbelieve it yet. As Susan said the other day, 'I feel like a fly comingto live in the sun--dazed-like.' It's all so incredible. I've readthe letter a score of times and every time it's just the same--I can'tbelieve my own eyes. Oh, Gilbert, you were right--so right. I can seethat clearly enough now--and I'm so ashamed of myself--and will youever really forgive me?"
"Anne, I'll shake you if you don't grow coherent. Redmond would beashamed of you. WHAT has happened?"
"You won't believe it--you won't believe it--"
"I'm going to phone for Uncle Dave," said Gilbert, pretending to startfor the house.
"Sit down, Gilbert. I'll try to tell you. I've had a letter, and oh,Gilbert, it's all so amazing--so incredibly amazing--we neverthought--not one of us ever dreamed--"
"I suppose," said Gilbert, sitting down with a resigned air, "the onlything to do in a case of this kind is to have patience and go at thematter categorically. Whom is your letter from?"
"Leslie--and, oh, Gilbert--"
"Leslie! Whew! What has she to say? What's the news about Dick?"
Anne lifted the letter and held it out, calmly dramatic in a moment.
"There is NO Dick! The man we have thought Dick Moore--whom everybodyin Four Winds has believed for twelve years to be Dick Moore--is hiscousin, George Moore, of Nova Scotia, who, it seems, always resembledhim very strikingly. Dick Moore died of yellow fever thirteen yearsago in Cuba."