"Does she mean that ****'s memory is really restored?""Not likely--since she says nothing of it," said Gilbert. "She uses the word `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 ****'s faculties will be eventually restored, wholly or in part. His memory would not be likely to 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, only it would be mean.""Miss Cornelia says them for you," said Gilbert with a rueful smile. "She combs me down every time Iencounter 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 harbor was to be preferred before me. With Miss Cornelia the force of condemnation can no further go.""If Cornelia Bryant was sick, it would not be Doctor 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, doctor, 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. It takes all kinds of people to make a world."No further word came from Leslie for some time. The May days crept away in a sweet succession and the shores of Four Winds Harbor greened and bloomed and purpled. One day in late May Gilbert came home to be met by Susan in the stable yard.
"I am afraid something has upset Mrs. Doctor, doctor, dear," she said mysteriously. "She got a letter this afternoon and since then she has just been walking round the garden and talking to herself. You know it is not good for her to be on her feet so much, doctor, dear. She did not 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 it is 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 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't 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--and will you ever really forgive me?""Anne, I'll shake you if you don't grow coherent.
Redmond would be ashamed 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 start for 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 never thought--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! Whew! What has she to say? What's the news about ****?"Anne lifted the letter and held it out, calmly dramatic in a moment.
"There is NO ****! The man we have thought **** Moore-- whom everybody in Four Winds has believed for twelve years to be **** Moore--is his cousin, George Moore, of Nova Scotia, who, it seems, always resembled him very strikingly. **** Moore died of yellow fever thirteen years ago in Cuba."
