CHAPTER 32
MISS CORNELIA DISCUSSES THE AFFAIR
"And do you mean to tell me, Anne, dearie, 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 is very amazing, isn't it?"
"It's--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, Anne," 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 kerflummuxed before."
"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 is quite likely that George Moore remembers
nothing of his accident, or what led to it, and may
never remember it. It probably happened very soon
after Dick's death. We may find out more particulars
when Leslie writes again."
"Does she say what she is going to do? When is she
coming home?"
"She says she will stay with George Moore 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 we do not know what may have happened since.
Did you ever see George Moore, Miss Cornelia?"
"I did. It is all coming back to me. He was here
visiting his Uncle Abner eighteen years ago, when he
and Dick would be about seventeen. They were double
cousins, you see. Their fathers were brothers and
their mothers were twin sisters, and they did look a
terrible lot alike. Of course," added Miss Cornelia
scornfully, "it wasn't one of those freak resemblances
you read of 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 thought it
great fun, the two 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 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 scalawag 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
that whole winter over harbor with her grandmother
West. Captain Jim was away, too--that was the winter
he was wrecked on the Magdalens. I don't suppose
either he or Leslie had ever heard about the Nova
Scotia cousin looking so much like Dick. Nobody ever
thought of him when Captain Jim brought Dick--George, I
should say--home. Of course, we all thought Dick had
changed considerable--he'd got so lumpish and fat. But
we put that down to what had happened to him, and 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's a staggering thing. And
Leslie has sacrificed the best years of her life to
nursing a man who hadn't any claim on her! Oh, 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, Anne, 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 wished 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 am
wholesomely ashamed of it."
"How does Leslie seem to take it?"
"She writes like one dazed. I think that, like
ourselves, she hardly realises it yet. She says, `It
all seems like a strange dream to me, Anne.' That 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. Anne, dearie, here's a thought 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 match-maker, 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_'d 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 great rush, dearie. But Dick
Moore's been dead for thirteen 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 everyone 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 will be able to make a
place for himself again. It must be very strange for
him, poor fellow. I suppose all these years since his
accident will not exist for him."
