Anne's House of Dreams
“Very well. But I’ll not promise to abide by his opinion, Anne.
“This is something a man must decide for himself. My conscience would
never be easy if I kept silent on the subject.”
“Oh, your conscience!” moaned Anne. “I suppose that Uncle Dave has a
conscience too, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. But I am not the keeper of his conscience. Come, Anne, if this
affair did not concern Leslie--if it were a purely abstract case, you
would agree with me,--you know you would.”
“I wouldn’t,” vowed Anne, trying to believe it herself. “Oh, you can
argue all night, Gilbert, but you won’t convince me. Just you ask Miss
Cornelia what she thinks of it.”
“You’re driven to the last ditch, Anne, when you bring up Miss Cornelia
as a reinforcement. She will say, ‘Just like a man,’ and rage
furiously. No matter. This is no affair for Miss Cornelia to settle.
Leslie alone must decide it.”
“You know very well how she will decide it,” said Anne, almost in
tears. “She has ideals of duty, too. I don’t see how you can take
such a responsibility on your shoulders. _I_ couldn’t.”
“‘Because right is right to follow right
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence,’”
quoted Gilbert.
“Oh, you think a couplet of poetry a convincing argument!” scoffed
Anne. “That is so like a man.”
And then she laughed in spite of herself. It sounded so like an echo
of Miss Cornelia.
“Well, if you won’t accept Tennyson as an authority, perhaps you will
believe the words of a Greater than he,” said Gilbert seriously. “‘Ye
shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.’ I believe
that, Anne, with all my heart. It’s the greatest and grandest verse in
the Bible--or in any literature--and the TRUEST, if there are
comparative degrees of trueness. And it’s the first duty of a man to
tell the truth, as he sees it and believes it.”
“In this case the truth won’t make poor Leslie free,” sighed Anne. “It
will probably end in still more bitter bondage for her. Oh, Gilbert, I
CAN’T think you are right.”
CHAPTER 30
LESLIE DECIDES
A sudden outbreak of a virulent type of influenza at the Glen and down
at the fishing village kept Gilbert so busy for the next fortnight that
he had no time to pay the promised visit to Captain Jim. Anne hoped
against hope that he had abandoned the idea about Dick Moore, and,
resolving to let sleeping dogs lie, she said no more about the subject.
But she thought of it incessantly.
“I wonder if it would be right for me to tell him that Leslie cares for
Owen,” she thought. “He would never let her suspect that he knew, so
her pride would not suffer, and it MIGHT convince him that he should
let Dick Moore alone. Shall I--shall I? No, after all, I cannot. A
promise is sacred, and I’ve no right to betray Leslie’s secret. But
oh, I never felt so worried over anything in my life as I do over this.
It’s spoiling the spring--it’s spoiling everything.”
One evening Gilbert abruptly proposed that they go down and see Captain
Jim. With a sinking heart Anne agreed, and they set forth. Two weeks
of kind sunshine had wrought a miracle in the bleak landscape over
which Gilbert’s crow had flown. The hills and fields were dry and
brown and warm, ready to break into bud and blossom; the harbor was
laughter-shaken again; the long harbor road was like a gleaming red
ribbon; down on the dunes a crowd of boys, who were out smelt fishing,
were burning the thick, dry sandhill grass of the preceding summer.
The flames swept over the dunes rosily, flinging their cardinal banners
against the dark gulf beyond, and illuminating the channel and the
fishing village. It was a picturesque scene which would at other times
have delighted Anne’s eyes; but she was not enjoying this walk.
Neither was Gilbert. Their usual good-comradeship and Josephian
community of taste and viewpoint were sadly lacking. Anne’s
disapproval of the whole project showed itself in the haughty uplift of
her head and the studied politeness of her remarks. Gilbert’s mouth
was set in all the Blythe obstinacy, but his eyes were troubled. He
meant to do what he believed to be his duty; but to be at outs with
Anne was a high price to pay. Altogether, both were glad when they
reached the light--and remorseful that they should be glad.
Captain Jim put away the fishing net upon which he was working, and
welcomed them joyfully. In the searching light of the spring evening
he looked older than Anne had ever seen him. His hair had grown much
grayer, and the strong old hand shook a little. But his blue eyes were
clear and steady, and the staunch soul looked out through them gallant
and unafraid.
Captain Jim listened in amazed silence while Gilbert said what he had
come to say. Anne, who knew how the old man worshipped Leslie, felt
quite sure that he would side with her, although she had not much hope
that this would influence Gilbert. She was therefore surprised beyond
measure when Captain Jim, slowly and sorrowfully, but unhesitatingly,
gave it as his opinion that Leslie should be told.
“Oh, Captain Jim, I didn’t think you’d say that,” she exclaimed
reproachfully. “I thought you wouldn’t want to make more trouble for
her.”
Captain Jim shook his head.
“I don’t want to. I know how you feel about it, Mistress Blythe--just
as I feel meself. But it ain’t our feelings we have to steer by
through life--no, no, we’d make shipwreck mighty often if we did that.
There’s only the one safe compass and we’ve got to set our course by
that--what it’s right to do. I agree with the doctor. If there’s a
chance for Dick, Leslie should be told of it. There’s no two sides to
that, in my opinion.”
“Well,” said Anne, giving up in despair, “wait until Miss Cornelia gets
after you two men.”
“Cornelia’ll rake us fore and aft, no doubt,” assented Captain Jim.
“You women are lovely critters, Mistress Blythe, but you’re just a mite
illogical. You’re a highly eddicated lady and Cornelia isn’t, but
you’re like as two peas when it comes to that. I dunno’s you’re any
the worse for it. Logic is a sort of hard, merciless thing, I reckon.
Now, I’ll brew a cup of tea and we’ll drink it and talk of pleasant
things, jest to calm our minds a bit.”
At least, Captain Jim’s tea and conversation calmed Anne’s mind to such
an extent that she did not make Gilbert suffer so acutely on the way
home as she had deliberately intended to do. She did not refer to the
burning question at all, but she chatted amiably of other matters, and
Gilbert understood that he was forgiven under protest.
“Captain Jim seems very frail and bent this spring. The winter has
aged him,” said Anne sadly. “I am afraid that he will soon be going to
seek lost Margaret. I can’t bear to think of it.”
“Four Winds won’t be the same place when Captain Jim ‘sets out to
sea,’” agreed Gilbert.
The following evening he went to the house up the brook. Anne wandered
dismally around until his return.
“Well, what did Leslie say?” she demanded when he came in.
“Very little. I think she felt rather dazed.”
“And is she going to have the operation?”
“She is going to think it over and decide very soon.”
Gilbert flung himself wearily into the easy chair before the fire. He
looked tired. It had not been an easy thing for him to tell Leslie.
And the terror that had sprung into her eyes when the meaning of what
he told her came home to her was not a pleasant thing to remember.
Now, when the die was cast, he was beset with doubts of his own wisdom.
Anne looked at him remorsefully; then she slipped down on the rug
beside him and laid her glossy red head on his arm.
“Gilbert, I’ve been rather hateful over this. I won’t be any more.
Please just call me red-headed and forgive me.”
By which Gilbert understood that, no matter what came of it, there
would be no I-told-you-so’s. But he was not wholly comforted. Duty in
the abstract is one thing; duty in the concrete is quite another,
especially when the doer is confronted by a woman’s stricken eyes.
Some instinct made Anne keep away from Leslie for the next three days.
On the third evening Leslie came down to the little house and told
Gilbert that she had made up her mind; she would take Dick to Montreal
and have the operation.
She was very pale and seemed to have wrapped herself in her old mantle
of aloofness. But her eyes had lost the look which had haunted
Gilbert; they were cold and bright; and she proceeded to discuss
details with him in a crisp, business-like way. There were plans to be
made and many things to be thought over. When Leslie had got the
information she wanted she went home. Anne wanted to walk part of the
way with her.
“Better not,” said Leslie curtly. “Today’s rain has made the ground
damp. Good-night.”
“Have I lost my friend?” said Anne with a sigh. “If the operation is
successful and Dick Moore finds himself again Leslie will retreat into
some remote fastness of her soul where none of us can ever find her.”
“Perhaps she will leave him,” said Gilbert.
“Leslie would never do that, Gilbert. Her sense of duty is very
strong. She told me once that her Grandmother West always impressed
upon her the fact that when she assumed any responsibility she must
never shirk it, no matter what the consequences might be. That is one
of her cardinal rules. I suppose it’s very old-fashioned.”
“Don’t be bitter, Anne-girl. You know you don’t think it
old-fashioned--you know you have the very same idea of sacredness of
assumed responsibilities yourself. And you are right. Shirking
responsibilities is the curse of our modern life--the secret of all the
unrest and discontent that is seething in the world.”
“Thus saith the preacher,” mocked Anne. But under the mockery she felt
that he was right; and she was very sick at heart for Leslie.
A week later Miss Cornelia descended like an avalanche upon the little
house. Gilbert was away and Anne was compelled to bear the shock of
the impact alone.
Miss Cornelia hardly waited to get her hat off before she began.
“Anne, do you mean to tell me it’s true what I’ve heard--that Dr.
Blythe has told Leslie Dick can be cured, and that she is going to take
him to Montreal to have him operated on?”
“Yes, it is quite true, Miss Cornelia,” said Anne bravely.
“Well, it’s inhuman cruelty, that’s what it is,” said Miss Cornelia,
violently agitated. “I did think Dr. Blythe was a decent man. I
didn’t think he could have been guilty of this.”
“Dr. Blythe thought it was his duty to tell Leslie that there was a
chance for Dick,” said Anne with spirit, “and,” she added, loyalty to
Gilbert getting the better of her, “I agree with him.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, dearie,” said Miss Cornelia. “No person with any
bowels of compassion could.”
“Captain Jim does.”
“Don’t quote that old ninny to me,” cried Miss Cornelia. “And I don’t
care who agrees with him. Think--THINK what it means to that poor
hunted, harried girl.”
“We DO think of it. But Gilbert believes that a doctor should put the
welfare of a patient’s mind and body before all other considerations.”
“That’s just like a man. But I expected better things of you, Anne,”
said Miss Cornelia, more in sorrow than in wrath; then she proceeded to
bombard Anne with precisely the same arguments with which the latter
had attacked Gilbert; and Anne valiantly defended her husband with the
weapons he had used for his own protection. Long was the fray, but
Miss Cornelia made an end at last.
“It’s an iniquitous shame,” she declared, almost in tears. “That’s
just what it is--an iniquitous shame. Poor, poor Leslie!”
“Don’t you think Dick should be considered a little too?” pleaded Anne.
“Dick! Dick Moore! HE’S happy enough. He’s a better behaved and more