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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing anne's House of Dreams by Lucy Maud Montgomery chapter 29 Gilbert and Anne disagree.

Gilbert laid down the ponderous medical tomb over which he had been pouring until the increasing dusk of the March evening made him desist.

He leaned back in his chair and gazed meditatively out of the window.

It was early spring, probably the ugliest time of the year.

Not even the sunset could redeem the dead sodden landscape and rotten black harbor ice upon which he looked.

No sign of life was visible save a big black crow winging his solitary way across a leaden field.

Gilbert speculated idly concerning that crow.

Was he a family crow with a black but comely crow wife awaiting him in the woods beyond the glen?

Or was he a glossy young buck of a crow on courting thought's intent?

Or was he a cynical bachelor crow, believing that he travels the fastest who travels alone?

Whatever he was, he soon disappeared in congenial gloom, and Gilbert turned to the cheerier view.

Indoors.

A fire light flickered from point to point, gleaming on the white and green coats of GOG and mugog on the sleek brown head of the beautiful setter.

Basking on the rug, on the picture frames on the walls.

On the vase full of daffodils from the window garden on Anne herself sitting by her little table with her sewing beside her and her hands clasped over her knee while she traced out pictures in the fire castles in Spain whose airy turrets pierced moonlit clouds and sunset barships sailing from the haven of good hopes straight to fourwind's harbor with precious burden For Anne was again a dreamer of dreams, albeit a grim shape of fear went with her night and day to shadow and darken her visions.

Gilbert was accustomed to refer to himself as an old married man, but he still looked upon Anne with the incredulous eyes of a lover.

He couldn't wholly believe yet that she was really his.

It might be only a dream after all.

Part and parcel of this magic house of dreams.

His soul still went on tiptoe before her, lest the charm be shattered and the dream dispelled.

Anne, he said slowly, lend me your ears.

I want to talk with you about something.

And looked across at him through the firelit gloom.

What is it?

She asked gaily.

You look fearfully solemn, Gilbert.

I really haven't done anything naughty today.

Ask Susan.

It's not of you or ourselves I want to talk.

It's about D*** Moore.

D*** Moore?

Echoed Anne.

Sitting up alertly.

Why, what in the world have you to say about D*** Moore?

I've been thinking a great deal about him lately.

Do you remember that time last summer I treated him for those car bunkles on his neck?

Yes.

Yes.

I took the opportunity to examine the scars on his head thoroughly.

I've always thought D*** was a very interesting, interesting case from a medical point of view.

Lately I've been studying the history of tree finding and the cases where it has been employed, and I've come to the conclusion that if D*** Moore were taken to a good hospital and the operation of tree finding performed on several places in his skull, his memory and faculties might be restored.

Gilbert.

Anne's voice was full of protest.

Surely you don't mean it.

I do indeed.

And I've decided that it is my duty to broach the subject to Leslie.

Gilbert blithe.

You shall not do any such thing, cried Anne vehemently.

Oh, Gilbert, you won't.

You won't.

You couldn't be so cruel.

Promise me you won't.

Why, and girl, I didn't suppose you would take it like this.

Be reasonable.

I won't be reasonable.

I can't be reasonable.

I am reasonable.

It is you who are unreasonable.

Gilbert, have you ever once thought what it would mean for Leslie if D*** Moore were to be restored to his right senses?

Just stop and think.

She's unhappy enough now.

But life as D***'s nurse and attendant is a thousand times easier for her than life as D***'s wife.

I know, I know.

It's unthinkable.

Don't you meddle with the matter.

Leave well enough alone.

I have thought over that aspect of the case thoroughly, Anne, but I believe that a doctor is bound to set the sanctity of a patient's mind and body above all other considerations, no matter what the consequences may be.

I believe it is duty to endeavor to restore health insanity if there's any hope whatever of it.

But D*** isn't your patient in that respect, cried Anne, taking another tack.

If Leslie had asked you if anything could be done for him, then it might be your duty to tell her what you really thought.

But you have no right to meddle.

I don't call it meddling.

Uncle Dave told Leslie twelve years ago that nothing could be done for D***.

She believes that, of course.

And why did Uncle Dave tell her that if it wasn't true?

Cried Anne triumphantly.

Doesn't he know as much about it as you?

I think not, though it may sound conceited and presumptuous to say it.

And you know as well as I that he's rather prejudiced against what he calls these newfangled notions of cutting and carving.

He's even opposed to operating for appendicitis.

He is right, exclaimed Anne with a complete change of front.

I believe myself that you modern doctors are entirely too fond of making experiments with human flesh and blood.

Rhoda.

Alan B would not be a living woman today if I had been afraid of making a certain experiment, argued Gilbert.

I took the risk and saved her life.

I'm sick and tired of hearing about Rota Allenby.

Cried Anne most unjustly.

For Gilbert had never mentioned Mrs.

Allenby's name since the day he had told Anne of his success in regard to her, and he could not be blamed for other people's discussion of it.

Gilbert felt rather hurt.

I had not expected you to look at the matter as you do, Anne, he said a little stiffly, getting up and moving towards the office door.

It was their first approach to a quarrel, but Anne flew after him and dragged him back.

Now, Gilbert, you are not going off mad.

Sit down here and I'll apologize be youtifly.

I shouldn't have said that.

But oh, if you knew.

And checked herself just in time.

She had been on the very verge of betraying Leslie's secret.

Knew what a woman feels about it, she concluded lamely.

I think I do know.

I've looked at the matter from every point of view, and I've been driven to the conclusion that it is my duty to tell Leslie that I believe it is possible that D*** can be restored to himself.

There my responsibility ends.

It will be for her to decide what she will do.

I don't think you have any right to put such a responsibility on her.

She has enough to bear.

She is poor.

How could she afford such an operation?

That is for her to decide, persisted Gilbert stubbornly.

You say you think that D*** can be cured, but are you sure of it?

Certainly not.

Nobody could be sure of such a thing.

There may have been lesions of the brain itself, the effect of which can never be removed.

But if, as I believe, his loss of memory and other faculties is due merely to the pressure on the brain centers of certain depressed areas of bone, then he can be cured.

But it's only a possibility, insisted Anne.

Now suppose you tell Leslie and she decides to have the operation.

It will cost a great deal.

She will have to borrow the money or sell her little property and suppose the operation is a failure and D*** remains the same?

How will she be able to pay back the money she borrows?

Or make a living for herself and that big helpless creature if she sells the farm?

Oh, I know.

But it is my duty to tell her I can't get away from that conviction.

Oh, I know the Blithe's stubbornness, groaned Anne.

But don't do this solely on your own responsibility.

Consult Dr.

Dave.

I have done so, said Gilbert reluctantly.

And what did he say?

In brief?

As you say, leave well enough alone.

Apart from his prejudice against snoofingled surgery, I'm afraid he looks at the case from your point of view.

Don't do it for Leslie's sake.

There now, cried Anne triumphantly.

I do think, Gilbert, that you ought to abide by the judgment of a man nearly 80, who has seen a great deal and saved scores of lives himself.

Surely his opinion ought to weigh more than a mere boy's.

Thank you.

Don't laugh.

It's too serious.

That's just my point.

It is serious.

Here is a man who has a helpless burden.

He may be restored to reason and usefulness.

He was so very useful before interjected Anne witheringly he may be given a chance to make good and redeem the past.

His wife doesn't know this.

I do.

It is therefore my duty to tell her that there is such a possibility.

That, boiled down, is my decision.

Don't say decision yet, Gilbert.

Consult somebody else.

Ask Captain Jim what he thinks about it.

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'm 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 Ms.

Cornelia what she thinks of it.

You've 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 or 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'll 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 itdding 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.

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