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where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm Elizabeth, your host. Thank you for being with me this evening. Tonight we are returning to Anne's house of dreams. But before we do, let's take some time to put the day behind us. Imagine you are taking a walk, like Anne, through some of her favourite spots at Four Winds Point. Perhaps that's through the Rose Garden.
by the house of dreams, or on the cliffs of four winds, or perhaps on the misty bar strolling through the sand dunes. by Captain Jim's lighthouse. Wherever you are in your mind, I'll give you some time to think about what you can see. all around you and try to view these things from Anne's perspective. Choose to delight in the details. Take a deep breath in and imagine you can smell the salty sea air. And when you exhale,
Come to a stillness and focus on what you might hear. Maybe the waves lapping on the beach. Perhaps the sound of a distant boat's horn approaching the harbour. Stay where you are in your mind. as I recap our last episode. It was the beginning of spring when Gilbert told Anne that he believed something could be done for Dick Moore. to return his faculties. He thought that Dick's disability could be caused by his skull putting pressure on his brain.
and that this could be resolved by a surgery, providing the brain itself hadn't been lacerated. Anne was outraged. and demanded Gilbert not raise the issue with Leslie. But the doctor believed it was his duty. Anne begged him to speak with Captain Jim first. But an outbreak of influenza kept Gilbert busy into the spring. And while they didn't discuss it, Anne couldn't stop thinking about her friend.
When they finally spoke to Captain Jim, he agreed with Gilbert that telling Leslie would be the right thing to do. Gilbert felt awful when he returned from the moors, and Leslie came by days later, as cold and removed as she had been the first day Anne met her. but confirmed that she would take Dick to Montreal for the surgery. Miss Cornelia was in uproar when she found out, and eventually resigned herself.
to dedicate her energy supporting Leslie through this difficult time and whatever the fallout might be. Anne defended her husband's decision. against her better judgment, and internally feared the worst for her friend and her friendship. Tonight, Leslie readies herself. for the big event. So just lie back and relax as I turn to the next pages of Anne's House of Dreams. Chapter 31 The Truth Makes Free Lesley
Having once made up her mind what to do, proceeded to do it with characteristic resolution and speed. House cleaning must be finished with first. whatever issues of life and death might wait beyond. The grey house up the brook was put into flawless order and cleanliness. with Miss Cornelia's ready assistance. Miss Cornelia having said her say to Anne, and later on to Gilbert and Captain Jim, sparing neither of them.
let it be assured, never spoke of the matter to Leslie. She accepted the fact of Dick's operation, referred to it when necessary, in a business-like way. and ignored it when it was not. Leslie never attempted to discuss it. She was very cold and quiet during these beautiful spring days. She seldom visited Anne, and though she was invariably courteous and friendly, that very courtesy was an icy barrier between her and the people of the little house.
The old jokes and laughter and chumminess of common things could not reach her over it. Anne refused to feel hurt. She knew that Leslie was in the grip of a hideous dread, a dread that wrapped her away from all the little glimpses of happiness and hours of pleasure. When one great passion seizes possession of the soul, all other feelings are crowded aside. Never in all her life
Had Leslie Moore shuddered away from the future with more intolerable terror? But she went forward as unswervingly in the path she had elected. as the martyrs of old walked their chosen way, knowing the end of it to be the fiery agony of the stake. The financial question was settled with greater ease than Anne had feared. Leslie borrowed the necessary money from Captain Jim, and at her insistence,
He took a mortgage on the little farm. So that's one thing off the poor girl's mind, Miss Cornelia told Anne, and off mine too. Now, if Dick gets well enough to work again, he'll be able to earn enough to pay the interest on it. And if he doesn't, I know Captain Jim will manage some way that Leslie won't have to. He said as much to me. I'm getting old, Cornelia, he said, and I've no chick or child of my own. Leslie won't take a gift from a living man, but maybe she will from a dead one.
So it will be alright as far as that goes. I wish everything else might be as settled as satisfactorily. As for that wretch of a dick, he's been awful these last few days. Devil was in him, believe me. Leslie and I couldn't get on with our work for the tricks he'd play. He chased all her ducks one day around the yard till most of them died, and not one.
thing would he do for us? Sometimes, you know, he'll make himself quite handy, bringing in pails of water and wood. But this week, if we sent him to the well… He tried to climb down into it. I thought once if only you'd shoot down their head first, everything would be nicely settled. Miss Cornelia! Now you needn't Miss Cornelia me and dearie.
Anybody would have thought the same. If the Montreal doctors can make a rational creature out of Dick Moore, they're wonders. Leslie took Dick to Montreal early in May. Gilbert went with her to help her and make the necessary arrangements for her. He came home with the report that the Montreal surgeon whom they had consulted agreed 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, the letter came. Leslie wrote that the operation had been successfully performed and that Dick was making a good recovery. What does she mean by successfully? asked Anne. Does she mean that Dick's memory is really restored? Not likely, since she says nothing of it, said Gilbert. She uses the words successfully from the surgeon's point of view.
The operation has been performed and followed by normal results, but it is too soon to know whether Dick's faculties will eventually be restored, wholly or in part. His memory would not likely return to him all at once. The process will be gradual if it occurs at all. Is that all she says? Yes. There's her letter. It's very short. Poor girl. She must be under a terrible strain.
Gilbert Blythe, there are heaps of things I long to say to you and it will be mean. Miss Cornelia says them for you, said Gilbert with a rueful smile. She comes me down every time I encounter her. She makes it plain to me that she regards me as little better than a murderer, and that she thinks it a great pity that Dr. Dave ever let me step into his shoes. She even told me that the Methodist doctor over the harbour
was preferred before me. With Miss Cornelia, the force of condemnation can no further go. If Cornelia Bryant was sick, it would not be Dr. Dave or the Methodist doctor she would send for. sniffed Susan. She would have you out of your hard-earned bed in the middle of the night, Dr. Dear, if she took a spell of misery, that she would. And then she would likely say your bill was past all reason.
But do not mind her, Doctor dear. Takes all kinds of people to make a world. No further word came from Leslie for some time. The May days crept away in sweet succession, and the shores of Four Winds Harbour greened and bloomed and purpled. One day, late in May, Gilbert came home to be met by Susan in the stable yard. I'm afraid something has upset Mrs. Doctor, Doctor, dear, she said mysteriously.
She got a letter this afternoon and since then she's just been walking around the garden and talking to herself. You know, it's not good for her to be on her feet so much, Dr. dear. She did not see fit to tell me what her news was. And I'm no pride, Doctor, dear, and never was. But it is plain something is upset her, and it's not good for her to be upset. Gilbert hurried rather anxiously to the garden.
had anything happened at Green Gables. But Anne, sitting on the rustic seat by the brook, did not look troubled, though she was certainly much excited. Her eyes were their greyest. and scarlet spots burned on her cheeks. What has happened then? Anne gave a queer little laugh. I think you'll hardly believe it when I tell you, Gilbert. I can hardly believe it yet. As Susan said the other day, I feel like a fly coming to live in the sun. Dazed-like. It's all so incredible.
I've read the letter a score of times, and every time it's just the same. I can't believe my own eyes. Oh, Gilbert, you were right. So right. I can see that clearly enough now. And I'm so ashamed of myself. Anne, will you ever really forgive me? Anne, I'll shake you down if you don't grow coherent. Redmond would be ashamed of you. What has happened? She won't believe it.
You won't believe it. I'm going to phone for Uncle Dave, said Gilbert, pretending to start for the house. Sit down, Gilbert. I'll try and tell you. I've had a letter. No, Gilbert. It's all so amazing, so incredibly amazing. We never thought, even not one of us ever dreamed. I suppose, said Gilbert, sitting down with a resigned air. The only thing to do in a case of this kind is to have patience, and go at the matter categorically. Whom is your letter from? Leslie. And, oh, Gilbert.
Leslie? What does she 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 everybody in four winds has believed for twelve years to be Dick Moore, is his cousin, George Moore. of Nova Scotia who, it seems, always resembled him very strikingly. Dick Moore died of yellow fever 13 years ago in Cuba.
Chapter 32 Miss Cornelia Discusses the Affair And do you mean to tell me, Anne Deary, that Dick Moore… has turned out not to be Dick Moore at all but somebody else. Is that what you phoned up to me today? Yes, Miss Cornelia. It's very amazing, isn't it? It's... Just like a man, said Miss Cornelia helplessly. She took off her hat with trembling fingers. For once in her life, Miss Cornelia was undeniably staggered.
I can't seem to sense it, Anna, she said. I've heard you say it, and I believe you, but I can't take it in. Dick Moore. is dead, has been dead all these years, and Leslie is free. Yes, the truth has made her free. Gilbert was right when he said that verse was the grandest in the Bible. Tell me everything, Anne, dearie. Since I got your phone, I've been in a regular muddle, believe me.
Cornelia Bryant was never so flummoxed before. Well, there isn't a very great deal to tell. Leslie's letter was short. She didn't go into particulars. This man, George Moore... has recovered his memory and knows who he is. He says Dick took yellow fever in Cuba, and the four sisters had to sail without him. George stayed behind to nurse him, but he died very shortly afterwards. George did not write Leslie because he intended to come right home and tell her himself. And why didn't he?
I suppose his accident must have intervened. Gilbert says it's quite likely that George Moore remembers nothing of his accident, or what led to it, and may never remember it. Probably happened very soon after Dick's death. We may find out more particulars when Leslie writes again. Does she say what she's going to do? When is she coming home? She says she will stay with George more until he can leave the hospital.
She has written to his people in Nova Scotia. It seems that George's only near relative is a married sister, much older than himself. She was living when George sailed on the Four Sisters, but of course... You do not know what may have happened since. Did you ever see George Moore, Miss Cornelia? Oh, I did. It is all coming back to me. He was here. visiting his uncle Abner 18 years ago, when he and Dick would have been about 17. They were double cousins, you see.
Their fathers were brothers and their mothers were twin sisters. They did look a terrible lot alike. Of course, added Miss Cornelia scornfully. It wasn't one of those freak resemblances you read in novels where two people are so much alike that they can fill each other's places and their nearest and dearest can't tell between them.
In those days, you could tell easy enough which was George and which was Dick. If you saw them together and near at hand, apart or some distance away, it wasn't so easy. They played lots of tricks on people, and they thought it great fun to scamps. George Moore was a little taller, and a good deal fatter than Dick. though neither of them was what you would call fat. They were both of the lean kind. Dick had higher color than George, and his hair was a shade lighter.
But their features were just alike, and they both had that one queer freak of eyes, one blue and one hazel. They weren't much alike in any other way, though. George was a real nice fellow, though he was a scallywag for mischief, and some said he had a liking for a glass even then. But everybody liked him better than Dick. He spent about a month here.
Leslie never saw him. She was only about eight or nine then. And I remember now that she spent the whole winter over harbour with her grandmother West. Captain Jim was away too. That was the winter he wrecked on the Magdalene's. I don't suppose either he or Leslie ever heard about the Nova Scotia cousin looking so much like Dick. Nobody ever thought of him when Captain Jim brought Dick.
Or George, I should say, home. Of course, we all thought Dick had changed considerably. He'd got so lumpish and fat. But we put that down to what had happened to him. No doubt that was the reason for, as I've said, George wasn't fat to begin with either. And there was no other way we could have guessed, for the man's senses were clean gone. I can't see that it is any wonder we were all deceived. But it is a staggering thing. Oh, and Leslie.
has sacrificed the best years of her life to nursing a man who hadn't any claim on her. Drat the men. No matter what they do, it's the wrong thing. And no matter who they are, it's somebody they shouldn't be. They do exasperate me. Gilbert and Captain Jim are men, and it is through them that the truth has been discovered at last, said Anne. Well, I admit that, conceded Miss Cornelia reluctantly. I'm sorry I raked the doctor off so.
It's the first time in my life I've ever felt ashamed of anything I said to a man. I don't know as I shall tell him so, though. He'll just have to take it for granted. Well, and dearie... It's a mercy the Lord doesn't answer all our prayers. I've been praying hard right along that the operation wouldn't cure dick. Of course, I didn't put it just quite so plain, but that was what was in the back of my mind, and I have no doubt the Lord knew it. Well, he has answered the spirit of your prayer.
You really wish that things shouldn't be made any harder for Leslie. I'm afraid that in my secret heart, I've been hoping the operation wouldn't succeed. And I'm wholesomely ashamed of it. How does Leslie seem to take it? She writes like one dazed. I think that like ourselves, she hardly realizes it yet. She says it all seems like a strange dream to me, Anne.
This is the only reference she makes to herself. Poor child. I suppose when the chains are struck off a prisoner, he'd feel queer and lost without them for a while. And, dearie. Here's a thought that keeps coming into my mind. What about Owen Ford? We both know Leslie was fond of him. Did it ever occur to you that he was fond of her? It did? Once? admitted Anne, feeling that she might say so much. Well, I hadn't any reason to think he was, but it just appeared to me…
He must be. Now, Anne, dearie, the Lord knows I'm not a matchmaker, and I scorn all such doings. But if I were you, and writing to that Ford man, I'd... Just mention. Casual, like, what has happened. That is what I would do. Of course. I will mention it when I write him, said Anne, a trifle distantly. Somehow this was a thing she could not discuss with Miss Cornelia, and yet she had to admit that the same thought had been lurking in her mind ever since she had heard of Leslie's freedom.
but she would not desecrate it by free speech. Of course there is no rush, dearie, but Dick Moore's been dead for 13 years, and Leslie has wasted enough of her life for him. We'll just see what comes of it. As for this George Moore, who's gone and come back to life when everybody thought he was dead and done for, just like a man, I'm real sorry for him.
He won't seem to fit in anywhere. He is still a young man, and if he recovers completely, as seems likely, he'll be able to make a place for himself again. It must be very strange for him, poor fellow. I suppose all those years since his accident will not exist for him. Chapter 33 Leslie Returns A fortnight later, Leslie Moore came home alone to the old house where she had spent so many bitter years. In the June twilight,
She went over the fields to Anne's and appeared with a ghost-like suddenness in the scented garden. "'Leslie!' cried Anne in amazement. "'Where have you sprung from?' We never knew you were coming. Why didn't you write? We would have met you. I couldn't write somehow, Anne. It seemed so futile to say anything with pen and ink, and I wanted to get back quietly. and unobserved. Anne put her arms about Leslie and kissed her. Leslie returned the kiss warmly. She looked pale and tired.
and she gave a little sigh as she dropped down on the grasses beside a great bed of daffodils that were gleaming through the pale, silvery twilight like golden stars. And she have come home alone, Leslie. Yes. George Moore's sister came to Montreal and took him home with her. Poor fellow. He was sorry to part with me.
though I was a stranger to him when his memory first came back. He clung to me in those first hard days, and he was trying to realize that Dick's death was not the thing of yesterday that seemed to him. It was all very hard for him. I helped him all I could. When his sister came, it was easier for him because it seemed to him only the other day that he had seen her last.
Fortunately, she had not changed much, and that helped him too. It's all so strange and wonderful, Leslie. I think we none of us realize it yet. I cannot. When I went into the house over there an hour ago, I felt that it must be a dream. That Dick must be there, with his childish smile, as he had been for so long. And I seem stunned yet. I'm not glad or sorry, or anything. I feel as if something had been torn, suddenly out of my life, and left a terrible hole.
I feel as if I couldn't be. I feel as if I must have changed into somebody else and I couldn't get used to it. It gives me a horrible, lonely... Dazed, helpless feeling. It's good to see you again. Seems as if you were sort of an anchor for my drifting soul. Oh, Anna. I dread it. All the gossip and wonderment and questioning. When I think of that, I wish I need not have come home at all. Dr. Dave was at the station when I came off the train.
He brought me home. Poor old man. He feels very badly because he told me years ago that nothing could be done for Dick. I honestly thought so, Leslie, he said to me today. But I should have told you not to depend on my opinion. I should have told you to go to a specialist. If I had, you would have saved many bitter years and poor George Moore many wasted ones.
I blame myself very much, Leslie. I told him not to do that. He'd done what he thought was right. He's always been so kind to me. Couldn't bear to see him worrying over it. And Dick? George, I mean? Is his memory fully restored? Practically. Of course, there are a great many details he can't recall yet. But he remembers more and more every day.
He went out for a walk on the evening after Dick was buried. He had Dick's money and watch on him. He meant to bring them home to me, along with my letter. He admits he went to a place where the sailors resorted, and he remembers drinking and nothing else. And I shall never forget the moment he remembered his own name. I saw him looking at me with an intelligent but puzzled expression. I said, Do you know me, Dick? He answered,
I never saw you before. Who are you? And my name is not Dick. I'm George Moore. And Dick died of yellow fever yesterday. Where am I? What has happened to me? I... I fainted, Anne. And ever since, I have felt as if I were in a dream. You will soon adjust yourself to this new state of things, Leslie. And you are young. Life is before you. You will have many beautiful years yet.
Perhaps I shall be able to look at it in that way after a while, Anne. Just now I feel too tired and indifferent to think about the future. I'm... I'm... And I'm lonely. I miss Dick. Isn't it all very strange? Do you know, I really was fond of poor Dick. George, I suppose I should say. Just as I would have been fond of a helpless child who depended on me for everything. I would never have admitted it. I was really ashamed of it because, you see, I had hated.
and despised Dick so much before he went away. When I heard that Captain Jim was bringing him home, I expected I would feel just the same for him. But I never did. Although I continued to loathe him as I remembered him, from the time he came home, I felt only pity. A pity that hurt and wrung me. I supposed then that it was just because his accident had made him so helpless and changed. But now I believe it was because there really was a different personality there. Carlo knew it, Anne.
I know now that Carlo knew it. I always thought it strange that Carlo shouldn't have known Dick. Dogs are usually so faithful. But he knew it was not his master who had come back. although none of the rest of us did. I had never seen George Moore, you know. I remember that Dick once mentioned casually that he had a cousin in Nova Scotia who looked as much like him as a twin, but the thing had gone out of my memory. And in any case, I would never have thought it of any importance.
You see, it never occurred to me to question Dick's identity. Any change in him, to me, seemed just the result of the accident. And that night in April when Gilbert told me he thought Dick might be cured. I can never forget it. It seemed to me that I had once been a prisoner in a hideous cage of torture. And then the door had been opened, and I could get out. I was still chained to the cage, but I was not in it. And that night I felt that a merciless hand was...
drawing me back into the cage, back to a torture even more terrible than it had once been. I didn't blame Gilbert. I felt he was right. And he had been very good. He said that if in view of the expense and uncertainty of the operation I should decide not to risk it he would not blame me in the least. But I knew how I ought to decide and I couldn't face it. All night, I walked to the floor like a madwoman trying to compel myself to face it. Couldn't, Anne. I thought I couldn't.
And when morning broke, I set my teeth and resolved that I wouldn't. I would let things remain as they were. It was very wicked. I know. It would have just been punishment for such wickedness if I'd just been left to abide by that decision. Kept to it all day. That afternoon I had to go up to the Glen to do some shopping. It was one of Dick's quiet, drowsy days, so I left him alone. I was gone a little longer than I had expected, and he missed me. He felt lonely.
And when I got home, he ran to meet me just like a child, with such a pleased smile on his face. Somehow, Anne, I just gave way then. That smile on his poor, vacant face was more than I could endure. It felt as if I were denying a child the chance to grow and develop. I knew that I must give him his chance, no matter what the consequences might be. So I came over and told Gilbert, Oh Anne, you must have thought me hateful in those weeks before I went away.
I didn't mean to be. But I couldn't think of anything except what I had to do and everything and everybody about me were like shadows. I know. I understood Leslie. And now it is all over. Your chain is broken. There is no cage. There is no cage, repeated Leslie absently. plucking at the fringing grasses with her slender, brown hands. But it doesn't seem as if there were anything else, Anne. You...
You remember what I told you of my folly that night on the sandbar? I find one doesn't get over being a fool very quickly. Sometimes I think there are people who are fools forever. And to be a fool of that kind is almost as bad as being a dog on a chain. You will feel very differently after you get over being tired and bewildered. said Anne, who, knowing a certain thing that Leslie did not know, did not feel herself called upon to waste overmuch sympathy.
Leslie laid her splendid, golden head against Anne's knee. Anyhow, I have you, she said. Life can't be altogether empty with such a friend. Anne pat my head as if I were a little girl. Mother me a bit. And let me tell you while my stubborn tongue is loosed a little just what you and your comradeship have meant to me since that night I met you on the rock shore.