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diff --git a/old/69514-0.txt b/old/69514-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5609e73..0000000 --- a/old/69514-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7321 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The best man, by Grace Livingston Hill -Lutz - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The best man - -Author: Grace Livingston Hill Lutz - -Illustrator: Gayle Hoskins - -Release Date: December 9, 2022 [eBook #69514] - -Most recently updated: February 2, 2023 - -Language: English - -Produced by: Steve Mattern, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST MAN *** - - -[Illustration: Before she could reply, the express train roared above -them - _Page 151_] - - - - - THE BEST MAN - - BY - GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ - - AUTHOR OF - VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS, ETC. - - FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR BY - GAYLE HOSKINS - - [Illustration] - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS NEW YORK - - Made in the United States of America - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1913. BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - COPYRIGHT, 1914. BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - - PUBLISHED JANUARY, 1914 - - - - - The Best Man - - SIXTH EDITION - - - - -THE BEST MAN - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Cyril Gordon had been seated at his desk but ten minutes and was deep -in the morning’s mail when there came an urgent message from his chief, -summoning him to an immediate audience in the inner office. - -The chief had keen blue eyes and shaggy eyebrows. He never wasted -words; yet those words when spoken had more weight than those of most -other men in Washington. - -There was the briefest of good-morning gleams in his nod and glance, -but he only said: - -“Gordon, can you take the Pennsylvania train for New York that leaves -the station in thirty-two minutes?” - -The young man was used to abrupt questions from his chief, but he -caught his breath, mentally surveying his day as it had been planned: - -“Why, sir, I suppose I could--if it is necessary----” He hesitated. - -“It is necessary,” said the chief curtly, as if that settled the -matter. - -“But--half an hour!” ejaculated Gordon in dismay. “I could hardly get -to my rooms and back to the station. I don’t see how---- Isn’t there a -train a little later?” - -“Later train won’t do. Call up your man on the ’phone. Tell him to pack -your bag and meet you at the station in twenty minutes. You’ll need -evening clothes. Can you depend on your man to get your things quickly -without fail?” - -There was that in the tone of the chief that caused Gordon to make no -further demur. - -“Sure!” he responded with his usual business-like tone, as he strode to -the ’phone. His daze was passing off. “Evening clothes?” he questioned -curiously, as if he might not have heard aright. - -“Yes, evening clothes,” was the curt answer, “and everything you’ll -need for daytime for a respectable gentleman of leisure--a tourist, you -understand.” - -Gordon perceived that he was being given a mission of trust and -importance, not unmixed with mystery perhaps. He was new in the secret -service, and it had been his ambition to rise in his chief’s good -graces. He rang the telephone bell furiously and called up the number -of his own apartments, giving his man orders in a breezy, decisive tone -that caused a look of satisfaction to settle about the fine wrinkles -of the chief’s eyes. - -Gordon’s watch was out and he was telling his man on just what car he -must leave the apartments for the station. The chief noted it was two -cars ahead of what would have been necessary. His gray head gave an -almost imperceptible nod of commendation, and his eyes showed that he -was content with his selection of a man. - -“Now, sir,” said Gordon, as he hung up the receiver, “I’m ready for -orders.” - -“Well, you are to go to New York, and take a cab for the Cosmopolis -Hotel--your room there is already secured by wire. Your name is John -Burnham. The name of the hotel and the number of your room are on -this memorandum. You will find awaiting you an invitation to dine -this evening with a Mr. Holman, who knows of you as an expert in -code-reading. Our men met him on the train an hour ago and arranged -that he should invite you. He didn’t know whom they represented, of -course. He has already tried to ’phone you at the hotel about coming to -dinner to-night. He knows you are expected there before evening. Here -is a letter of introduction to him from a man he knows. Our men got -that also. It is genuine, of course. - -“Last night a message of national importance, written in cipher, was -stolen from one of our men before it had been read. This is now in the -hands of Holman, who is hoping to have you decipher it for him and a -few guests who will also be present at dinner. They wish to use it for -their own purposes. Your commission is to get hold of the message and -bring it to us as soon as possible. Another message of very different -import, written upon the same kind of paper, is in this envelope, -with a translation for you to use in case you have to substitute a -message. You will have to use your own wits and judgment. The main -thing is, _get the paper_, and _get back with it_, with as little -delay as possible. Undoubtedly your life will be in danger should it -be discovered that you have made off with it. Spare no care to protect -yourself _and the message_, at all hazards. Remember, I said, _and the -message_, young man! It means much to the country. - -“In this envelope is money--all you will probably need. Telegraph or -’phone to this address if you are in trouble. Draw on us for more, if -necessary, also through this same address. Here is the code you can -use in case you find it necessary to telegraph. Your ticket is already -bought. I have sent Clarkson to the station for it, and he will meet -you at the train. You can give him instructions in case you find you -have forgotten anything. Take your mail with you, and telegraph back -orders to your stenographer. I think that is all. Oh, yes, to-night, -while you are at dinner, you will be called to the ’phone by one of -our men. If you are in trouble, this may give you opportunity to -get away, and put us wise. You will find a motor at the door now, -waiting to take you to the station. If your man doesn’t get there -with your things, take the train, anyway, and buy some more when you -get to New York. Don’t turn aside from your commission for anything. -Don’t let _anything_ hinder you! Make it a matter of life and death! -Good-morning, and good luck!” - -The chief held out a big, hairy hand that was surprisingly warm and -soft considering the hardness of his face and voice, and the young man -grasped it, feeling as if he were suddenly being plunged into waves of -an unknown depth and he would fain hold on to this strong hand. - -He went out of the office quietly enough, and the keen old eyes watched -him knowingly, understanding the beating of the heart under Gordon’s -well-fitting business coat, the mingled elation and dread over the -commission. But there had been no hesitancy, no question of acceptance, -when the nature of the commission was made known. The young man was -“game.” He would do. Not even an eyelash had flickered at the hint -of danger. The chief felt he would be faithful even in the face of -possible death. - -Gordon’s man came rushing into the station just after he reached there -himself. Clarkson was already there with the ticket. Gordon had time to -scribble a message to Julia Bentley, whose perfumed scrawl he had read -on the way down. Julia had bidden him to her presence that evening. He -could not tell whether he was relieved or sorry to tell her he could -not come. It began to look to him a good deal as if he would ask Julia -Bentley to marry him some day, when she got tired of playing all the -others off against him, and he could make up his mind to surrender his -freedom to any woman. - -He bought a paper and settled himself comfortably in the parlor-car, -but his interest was not in the paper. His strange commission engaged -all his thoughts. He took out the envelope containing instructions and -went over the matter, looking curiously at the cipher message and its -translation, which, however, told him nothing. It was the old chief’s -way to keep the business to himself until such time as he chose to -explain. Doubtless it was safer for both message and messenger that he -did not know the full import of what he was undertaking. - -Gordon carefully noted down everything that his chief had told him, -comparing it with the written instructions in the envelope; arranged -in his mind just how he would proceed when he reached New York; tried -to think out a good plan for recovering the stolen message, but could -not; and so decided to trust to the inspiration of the moment. Then it -occurred to him to clear his overcoat pockets of any letters or other -tell-tale articles and stow them in his suit-case. He might have to -leave his overcoat behind him. So it would be well to have no clues for -anyone to follow. - -Having arranged these matters, and prepared a few letters with notes -for his stenographer, to be mailed back to her from Philadelphia, he -reread Julia Bentley’s note. When every angular line of her tall script -was imprinted on his memory, he tore the perfumed note into tiny pieces -and dropped them from the car window. - -The question was, did he or did he not want to ask Julia Bentley to -become his wife? He had no doubt as to what her answer would be. Julia -had made it pretty plain to him that she would rather have him than any -of her other admirers; though she did like to keep them all attendant -upon her. Well, that was her right so long as she was unmarried. He had -no fault to find with her. She was a fine girl, and everybody liked -her. Also, she was of a good family, and with a modest fortune in her -own right. Everybody was taking it for granted that they liked each -other. It was time he was married and had a real home, he supposed, -whatever that was--that seemed to have so great a charm for all his -friends. To his eyes, it had as yet taken on no alluring mirage effect. -He had never known a real home, more than his quiet bachelor apartments -were to him now, where his man ordered everything as he was told, -and the meals were sent up when wanted. He had money enough from his -inheritance to make things more than comfortable, and he was deeply -interested in the profession he had chosen. - -Still, if he was ever going to marry, it was high time, of course. But -did he want Julia? He could not quite make it seem pleasant to think of -her in his rooms when he came home at night tired; she would always be -wanting to go to her endless theatre parties and receptions and dances; -always be demanding his attention. She was bright and handsome and well -dressed, but he had never made love to her. He could not quite imagine -himself doing so. How did men make love, anyway? Could one call it love -when it was “made” love? These questions followed one another idly -through his brain as the landscape whirled past him. If he had stayed -at home, he would have spent the evening with Julia, as she requested -in her note, and there would probably have been a quiet half-hour after -other callers had gone when he would have stayed as he had been doing -of late, and tried to find out whether he really cared for her or not. - -Suppose, for instance, they were married, and she sat beside him now. -Would any glad thrill fill his heart as he looked at her beautiful face -and realized that she was his? He tried to look over toward the next -chair and imagine that the tired, fat old lady with the double chin and -the youthful purple hat was Julia, but that would not work. He whirled -his chair about and tried it on an empty chair. That went better; but -still no thrill of joy lifted him out of his sordid self. He could not -help thinking about little trying details. The way Julia looked when -she was vexed. Did one mind that in the woman one loved? The way she -ordered her coachman about. Would she ever speak so to her husband? She -had a charming smile, but her frown was--well--unbecoming to say the -least. - -He tried to keep up the fallacy of her presence. He bought a magazine -that he knew she liked, and read a story to her (in imagination). He -could easily tell how her black eyes would snap at certain phrases she -disliked. He knew just what her comment would be upon the heroine’s -conduct. It was an old disputed point between them. He knew how she -would criticize the hero, and somehow he felt himself in the hero’s -place every time she did it. The story had not been a success, and he -felt a weariness as he laid the magazine aside at the call for dinner -from the dining-car. - -Before he had finished his luncheon he had begun to feel that though -Julia might think now that she would like to marry him, the truth -about it was that she would not enjoy the actual life together any -better than he would. Were all marriages like that? Did people lose -the glamour and just settle down to endure each other’s faults and -make the most of each other’s pleasant side, and not have anything -more? Or was he getting cynical? Had he lived alone too long, as his -friends sometimes told him, and so was losing the ability really to -love anybody but himself? He knit his brows, and got up whistling to go -out and see why the train had stopped so long in this little country -settlement. - -It was just beyond Princeton, and they were not far now from New York. -It would be most annoying to be delayed so near to his destination. He -was anxious to get things in train for his evening of hard work. It -was necessary to find out how the land lay as soon as possible. - -It appeared that there was a wrecked freight ahead of them, and there -would be delay. No one knew just how long; it would depend on how soon -the wrecking train arrived to help. - -Gordon walked nervously up and down the grass at the side of the track, -looking anxiously each way for sign of the wrecking train. The thought -of Julia did occur to him, but he put it impatiently away, for he knew -just how poorly Julia would bear a delay on a journey even in his -company. He had been with her once when the engine got off the track -on a short trip down to a Virginia house-party, and she was the most -impatient creature alive, although it mattered not one whit to any of -the rest of the party whether they made merry on the train or at their -friend’s house. And yet, if Julia were anything at all to him, would -not he like the thought of her companionship now? - -A great white dog hobbled up to him and fawned upon him as he turned -to go back to the train, and he laid his hand kindly upon the animal’s -head, and noted the wistful eyes upon his face. He was a noble dog, and -Gordon stood for a moment fondling him. Then he turned impatiently and -tramped back to his car again. But when he reached the steps he found -that the dog had followed him. - -Gordon frowned, half in annoyance, half in amusement, and sitting down -on a log by the wayside he took the dog’s pink nozzle into his hands, -caressing the white fur above it gently. - -The dog whined happily, and Gordon meditated. How long would the train -wait? Would he miss getting to New York in time for the dinner? Would -he miss the chance to rise in his chief’s good graces? The chief would -expect him to get to New York some other way if the train were delayed. -How long ought he to wait on possibilities? - -All at once he saw the conductor and trainmen coming back hurriedly. -Evidently the train was about to start. With a final kindly stroke of -the white head, he called a workman nearby, handed him half a dollar to -hold the dog, and sprang on board. - -He had scarcely settled himself into his chair, however, before the -dog came rushing up the aisle from the other end of the car, and -precipitated himself muddily and noisily upon him. - -With haste and perturbation Gordon hurried the dog to the door and -tried to fling him off, but the poor creature pulled back and clung to -the platform yelping piteously. - -Just then the conductor came from the other car and looked at him -curiously. - -“No dogs allowed in these cars,” he said gruffly. - -“Well, if you know how to enforce that rule I wish you would,” said -Gordon. “I’m sure I don’t know what to do with him.” - -“Where has he been since you left Washington?” asked the grim conductor -with suspicion in his eyes. - -“I certainly haven’t had him secreted about me, a dog of that size,” -remarked the young man dryly. “Besides, he isn’t my dog. I never saw -him before till he followed me at the station. I’m as anxious to be rid -of him as he is to stay.” - -The conductor eyed the young man keenly, and then allowed a grim sense -of humor to appear in one corner of his mouth. - -“Got a chain or a rope for him?” he asked more sympathetically. - -“Well, no,” remarked the unhappy attaché of the dog. “Not having had an -appointment with the dog I didn’t provide myself with a leash for him.” - -“Take him into the baggage-car,” said the conductor briefly, and -slammed his way into the next car. - -There seemed nothing else to be done, but it was most annoying to -be thus forced on the notice of his fellow-travellers, when his -commission required that he be as inconspicuous as possible. - -At Jersey City he hoped to escape and leave the dog to the tender -mercies of the baggage man, but that official was craftily waiting -for him and handed the animal over to his unwilling master with a -satisfaction ill-proportioned to the fee he had received for caring for -him. - -Then began a series of misfortunes. Disappointment and suspicion -stalked beside him, and behind him a voice continually whispered his -chief’s last injunction: “Don’t let anything hinder you!” - -Frantically he tried first one place and then another, but all to no -effect. Nobody apparently wanted to care for a stray white dog, and -his very haste aroused suspicion. Once he came near being arrested as -a dog thief. He could not get rid of that dog! Yet he must not let him -follow him! Would he have to have the animal sent home to Washington as -the only solution of the problem? Then a queer fancy seized him that -just in some such way had Miss Julia Bentley been shadowing his days -for nearly three years now; and he had actually this very day been -considering calmly whether he might not have to marry her, just because -she was so persistent in her taking possession of him. Not that she was -unladylike, of course; no, indeed! She was stately and beautiful, and -had never offended. But she had always quietly, persistently, taken it -for granted that he would be her attendant whenever she chose; and she -always chose whenever he was in the least inclined to enjoy any other -woman’s company. - -He frowned at himself. Was there something weak about his character -that a woman or a dog could so easily master him? Would any other -employee in the office, once trusted with his great commission, have -allowed it to be hindered by a dog? - -Gordon could not afford to waste any more time. He must get rid of him -at once! - -The express office would not take a dog without a collar and chain -unless he was crated; and the delays and exasperating hindrances seemed -to be interminable. But at last, following the advice of a kindly -officer, he took the dog to an institution in New York where, he was -told, dogs were boarded and cared for, and where he finally disposed -of him, having first paid ten dollars for the privilege. As he settled -back in a taxicab with his watch in his hand, he congratulated himself -that he had still ample time to reach his hotel and get into evening -dress before he must present himself for his work. - -Within three blocks of the hotel the cab came to such a sudden -standstill that Gordon was thrown to his knees. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -They were surrounded immediately by a crowd in which policemen were -a prominent feature. The chauffeur seemed dazed in the hands of the -officers. - -A little, barefoot, white-faced figure huddled limply in the midst -showed Gordon what had happened: also there were menacing glances -towards himself and a show of lifted stones. He heard one boy say: “You -bet he’s in a hurry to git away. Them kind allus is. They don’t care -who they kills, they don’t!” - -A great horror seized him. The cab had run over a newsboy and perhaps -killed him. Yet instantly came the remembrance of his commission: -“Don’t let anything hinder you. Make it a matter of life and death!” -Well, it looked as if this was a matter of death that hindered him now. - -They bundled the moaning boy into the taxicab and as Gordon saw no -escape through the tightly packed crowd, who eyed him suspiciously, he -climbed in beside the grimy little scrap of unconscious humanity, and -they were off to the hospital to the tune of “Don’t let anything hinder -you! Don’t let anything hinder you!” until Gordon felt that if it did -not stop soon he would go crazy. He meditated opening the cab door and -making his escape in spite of the speed they were making, but a vision -of broken legs and a bed in the hospital for himself held him to his -seat. One of the policemen had climbed on in front with the chauffeur, -and now and again he glanced back as if he were conveying a couple of -prisoners to jail. It was vexatious beyond anything! And all on account -of that white dog! Could anything be more ridiculous than the whole -performance? - -His annoyance and irritation almost made him forget that it was his -progress through the streets that had silenced this mite beside him. -But just as he looked at his watch for the fifth time the boy opened -his eyes and moaned, and there was in those eyes a striking resemblance -to the look in the eyes of the dog of whose presence he had but just -rid himself. - -Gordon started. In spite of himself it seemed as if the dog were -reproaching him through the eyes of the child. Then suddenly the boy -spoke. - -“Will yous stay by me till I’m mended?” whispered the weak little voice. - -Gordon’s heart leaped in horror again, and it came to him that he -was being tried out this day to see if he had the right stuff in him -for hard tasks. The appeal in the little street-boy’s eyes reached -him as no request had ever yet done, and yet he might not answer it. -Duty,--life and death duty,--called him elsewhere, and he must leave -the little fellow whom he had been the involuntary cause of injuring, -to suffer and perhaps to die. It cut him to the quick not to respond to -that urgent appeal. - -Was it because he was weary that he was visited just then by a vision -of Julia Bentley with her handsome lips curled scornfully? Julia -Bentley would not have approved of his stopping to carry a boy to the -hospital, any more than to care for a dog’s comfort. - -“Look here, kiddie,” he said gently, leaning over the child, “I’d stay -by you if I could, but I’ve already made myself late for an appointment -by coming so far with you. Do you know what Duty is?” - -The child nodded sorrowfully. - -“Don’t yous mind me,” he murmured weakly. “Just yous go. I’m game all -right.” Then the voice trailed off into silence again, and the eyelids -fluttered down upon the little, grimy, unconscious face. - -Gordon went into the hospital for a brief moment to leave some money in -the hands of the authorities for the benefit of the boy, and a message -that he would return in a week or two if possible; then hurried away. - -Back in the cab once more, he felt as if he had killed a man and left -him lying by the roadside while he continued his unswerving march -toward the hideous duty which was growing momently more portentous, and -to be relieved of which he would gladly have surrendered further hope -of his chief’s favor. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but all -the time the little white face of the child came before his vision, -and the mocking eyes of Julia Bentley tantalized him, as if she were -telling him that he had spoiled all his chances--and hers--by his -foolish soft-heartedness. Though, what else could he have done than he -had done, he asked himself fiercely. - -He looked at his watch. It was at least ten minutes’ ride to the -hotel, the best time they could make. Thanks to his man the process of -dressing for evening would not take long, for he knew that everything -would be in place and he would not be hindered. He would make short -work of his toilet. But there was his suit-case. It would not do to -leave it at the hotel, neither must he take it with him to the house -where he was to be a guest. There was nothing for it but to go around -by the way of the station where it would have to be checked. That meant -a longer ride and more delay, but it must be done. - -Arrived at the hotel at last and in the act of signing the unaccustomed -“John Burnham” in the hotel registry, there came a call to the -telephone. - -With a hand that trembled from excitement he took the receiver. His -breath went from him as though he had just run up five flights of -stairs. “Yes? Hello! Oh, Mrs. Holman. Yes! Burnham. I’ve but just -arrived. I was delayed. A wreck ahead of the train. Very kind of you to -invite me, I’m sure. Yes, I’ll be there in a few moments, as soon as I -can get rid of the dust of travel. Thank you. Good-by.” - -It all sounded very commonplace to the clerk, who was making out bills -and fretting because he could not get off to take his girl to the -theatre that night, but as Gordon hung up the receiver he looked around -furtively as if expecting to see a dozen detectives ready to seize upon -him. It was the first time he had ever undertaken a commission under an -assumed name and he felt as if he were shouting his commission through -the streets of New York. - -The young man made short work of his toilet. Just as he was leaving the -hotel a telegram was handed him. It was from his chief, and so worded -that to the operator who had copied it down it read like a hasty call -to Boston; but to his code-enlightened eyes it was merely a blind to -cover his exit from the hotel and from New York, and set any possible -hunters on a wrong scent. He marvelled at the wonderful mind of his -chief, who thought out every detail of an important campaign, and -forgot not one little possible point where difficulty might arise. - -Gordon had a nervous feeling as he again stepped into a taxicab and -gave his order. He wondered how many stray dogs, and newsboys with -broken legs, would attach themselves to him on the way to dinner. -Whenever the speed slowed down, or they were halted by cars and autos, -his heart pounded painfully, lest something new had happened, but he -arrived safely and swiftly at the station, checked his suit-case, -and took another cab to the residence of Mr. Holman, without further -incident. - -The company were waiting for him, and after the introductions they went -immediately to the dining-room. Gordon took his seat with the feeling -that he had bungled everything hopelessly, and had arrived so late -that there was no possible hope of his doing what he had been sent -to do. For the first few minutes his thoughts were a jumble, and his -eyes dazed with the brilliant lights of the room. He could not single -out the faces of the people present and differentiate them one from -another. His heart beat painfully against the stiff expanse of evening -linen. It almost seemed as if those near him could hear it. He found -himself starting and stammering when he was addressed as “Mr. Burnham.” -His thoughts were mingled with white dogs, newsboys, and ladies with -scornful smiles. - -He was seated on the right of his hostess, and gradually her gentle -manners gave him quietness. He began to gain control of himself, and -now he seemed to see afar the keen eye of his chief watching the -testing of his new commissioner. His heart swelled to meet the demand -made upon him. A strong purpose came to him to rise above all obstacles -and conquer in spite of circumstances. He must forget everything else -and rise to the occasion. - -From that moment the dancing lights that multiplied themselves in the -glittering silver and cut glass of the table began to settle into -order; and slowly, one by one, the conglomeration of faces around the -board resolved itself into individuals. - -There was the pretty, pale hostess, whose gentle ways seemed -hardly to fit with her large, boisterous, though polished husband. -Unscrupulousness was written all over his ruddy features, also a -certain unhidden craftiness which passed for geniality among his kind. - -There were two others with faces full of cunning, both men of wealth -and culture. One did not think of the word “refinement” in connection -with them; still, that might be conceded also; but it was all -dominated by the cunning that on this occasion, at least, was allowed -to sit unmasked upon their countenances. They had outwitted an enemy, -and they were openly exultant. - -Of the other guests, one was very young and sleek, with eyes that had -early learned to evade; one was old and weary-looking, with a hunted -expression; one was thick-set, with little eyes set close in a fat, -selfish face. Gordon began to understand that these three but did the -bidding of the others. They listened to the conversation merely from a -business standpoint and not with any personal interest. They were there -because they were needed, and not because they were desired. - -There was one bond which they seemed to hold in common: an alert -readiness to combine for their mutual safety. This did not manifest -itself in anything tangible, but the guest felt that it was there and -ready to spring upon him at any instant. - -All this came gradually to the young man as the meal with its pleasant -formalities began. As yet nothing had been said about the reason for -his being there. - -“Did you tell me you were in a wreck?” suddenly asked the hostess -sweetly, turning to him, and the table talk hushed instantly while the -host asked: “A wreck! Was it serious?” - -Gordon perceived his mistake at once. With instant caution, he replied -smilingly, “Oh, nothing serious, a little break-down on a freight -ahead, which required time to patch up. It reminded me----” and then he -launched boldly into one of the bright dinner stories for which he was -noted among his companions at home. His heart was beating wildly, but -he succeeded in turning the attention of the table to his joke, instead -of to asking from where he had come and on what road. Questions about -himself were dangerous he plainly saw, if he would get possession of -the valued paper and get away without leaving a trail behind him. He -succeeded in one thing more, which, though he did not know it, was the -very thing his chief had hoped he would do when he chose him instead -of a man who had wider experience; he made every man at the table feel -that he was delightful, a man to be thoroughly trusted and enjoyed; who -would never suspect them of having any ulterior motives in anything -they were doing. - -The conversation for a little time rippled with bright stories and -repartee, and Gordon began to feel almost as if he were merely enjoying -a social dinner at home, with Julia Bentley down the table listening -and haughtily smiling her approval. For the time the incidents of -the dog and the newsboy were forgotten, and the young man felt his -self-respect rising. His heart was beginning to get into normal action -again and he could control his thoughts. Then suddenly, the crisis -arrived. - -The soup and fish courses had been disposed of, and the table was being -prepared for the entrée. The host leaned back genially in his chair -and said, “By the way, Mr. Burnham, did you know I had an axe to grind -in asking you here this evening? That sounds inhospitable, doesn’t -it? But I’m sure we’re all grateful to the axe that has given us the -opportunity of meeting you. We are delighted at having discovered you.” - -Gordon bowed, smiling at the compliment, and the murmurs of hearty -assent around the table showed him that he had begun well. If only he -could keep it up! But how, _how_, was he to get possession of that -magic bit of paper and take it away with him? - -“Mr. Burnham, I was delighted to learn through a friend that you are an -expert in code-reading. I wonder, did the message that my friend Mr. -Burns sent you this morning give you any intimation that I wanted you -to do me a favor?” - -Gordon bowed again. “Yes: it was intimated to me that you had some -message you would like deciphered, and I have also a letter of -introduction from Mr. Burns.” - -Here Gordon took the letter of introduction from his pocket and handed -it across the table to his host, who opened it genially, as if it were -hardly necessary to read what was written within since they already -knew so delightfully the man whom it introduced. The duplicate cipher -writing in Gordon’s pocket crackled knowingly when he settled his coat -about him again, as if it would say, “My time is coming! It is almost -here now.” - -The young man wondered how he was to get it out without being seen, in -case he should want to use it, but he smiled pleasantly at his host -with no sign of the perturbation he was feeling. - -“You see,” went on Mr. Holman, “we have an important message which we -cannot read, and our expert who understands all these matters is out of -town and cannot return for some time. It is necessary that we know as -soon as possible the import of this writing.” - -While he was speaking Mr. Holman drew from his pocket a long, soft -leather wallet and took therefrom a folded paper which Gordon at once -recognized as the duplicate of the one he carried in his pocket. -His head seemed to reel, and all the lights go dark before him as -he reached a cold hand out for the paper. He saw in it his own -advancement coming to his eager grasp, yet when he got it would he be -able to hold it? Something of the coolness of a man facing a terrible -danger came to him now. By sheer force of will he held his trembling -fingers steady as he took the bit of paper and opened it carelessly, as -if he had never heard of it before, saying as he did so: - -“I will do my best.” - -There was a sudden silence as every eye was fixed upon him while he -unfolded the paper. He gave one swift glance about the table before he -dropped his eyes to the task. Every face held the intensity of almost -terrible eagerness, and on every one but that of the gentle hostess sat -cunning--craft that would stop at nothing to serve its own ends. It was -a moment of almost awful import. - -The next instant Gordon’s glance went down to the paper in his hand, -and his brain and heart were seized in the grip of fright. There was no -other word to describe his feeling. The message before him was clearly -written in the code of the home office, and the words stared at him -plainly without the necessity of study. The import of them was the -revelation of one of the most momentous questions that had to do with -the Secret Service work, a question the answer to which had puzzled the -entire department for weeks. That answer he now held in his hand, and -he knew that if it should come to the knowledge of those outside before -it had done its work through the department it would result in dire -calamity to the cause of righteousness in the country, and incidentally -crush the inefficient messenger who allowed it to become known. For the -instant Gordon felt unequal to the task before him. How could he keep -these bloodhounds at bay--for such they were, he perceived from the -import of the message, bloodhounds who were getting ill-gotten gains -from innocent and unsuspecting victims--some of them little children. - -But the old chief had picked his man well. Only for an instant the -glittering lights darkened before his eyes and the cold perspiration -started. Then he rallied his forces and looked up. The welfare of a -nation’s honor was in his hands, and he would be true. It was a matter -of life and death, and he would save it or lose his own life if need be. - -He summoned his ready smile. - -“I shall be glad to serve you if I can,” he said. “Of course I’d like -to look this over a few minutes before attempting to read it. Codes are -different, you know, from one another, but there is a key to them all -if one can just find it out. This looks as if it might be very simple.” - -The spell of breathlessness was broken. The guests relaxed and went on -with their dinner. - -Gordon, meanwhile, tried coolly to keep up a pretense of eating, the -paper held in one hand while he seemed to be studying it. Once he -turned it over and looked on the back. There was a large cross-mark -in red ink at the upper end. He looked at it curiously and then -instinctively at his host. - -“That is my own mark,” said Mr. Holman. “I put it there to distinguish -it from other papers.” He was smiling politely, but he might as well -have said, “I put it there to identify it in case of theft;” for every -one at the table, unless it might be his wife, understood that that was -what he meant. Gordon felt it and was conscious of the other paper in -his vest-pocket. The way was going to be most difficult. - -Among the articles in the envelope which the chief had given him before -his departure from Washington were a pair of shell-rimmed eye-glasses, -a false mustache, a goatee, and a pair of eyebrows. He had laughed -at the suggestion of high-tragedy contained in the disguise, but had -brought them with him for a possible emergency. The eye-glasses were -tucked into the vest-pocket beside the duplicate paper. He bethought -himself of them now. Could he, under cover of taking them out, manage -to exchange the papers? And if he should, how about that red-ink -mark across the back? Would anyone notice its absence? It was well to -exchange the papers as soon as possible before the writing had been -studied by those at the table, for he knew that the other message, -though resembling this one in general words, differed enough to attract -the attention of a close observer. Dared he risk their noticing the -absence of the red cross on the back? - -Slowly, cautiously, under cover of the conversation, he managed to get -that duplicate paper out of his pocket and under the napkin in his lap. -This he did with one hand, all the time ostentatiously holding the code -message in the other hand, with its back to the people at the table. -This hand meanwhile also held his coat lapel out that he might the more -easily search his vest-pockets for the glasses. It all looked natural. -The hostess was engaged in a whispered conversation with the maid at -the moment. The host and other guests were finishing the exceedingly -delicious patties on their plates, and the precious code message -was safely in evidence, red cross and all. They saw no reason to be -suspicious about the stranger’s hunt for his glasses. - -“Oh, here they are!” he said, quite unconcernedly, and put on the -glasses to look more closely at the paper, spreading it smoothly on the -table cloth before him, and wondering how he should get it into his -lap in place of the one that now lay quietly under his napkin. - -The host and the guests politely refrained from talking to Gordon and -told each other incidents of the day in low tones that indicated the -non-importance of what they were saying; while they waited for the real -business of the hour. - -Then the butler removed the plates, pausing beside Gordon waiting -punctiliously with his silver tray to brush away the crumbs. - -This was just what Gordon waited for. It had come to him as the only -way. Courteously he drew aside, lifting the paper from the table and -putting it in his lap, for just the instant while the butler did his -work; but in that instant the paper with the red cross was slipped -under the napkin, and the other paper took its place upon the table, -back down so that its lack of a red cross could not be noted. - -So far, so good, but how long could this be kept up? And the paper -under the napkin--how was it to be got into his pocket? His hands were -like ice now, and his brain seemed to be at boiling heat as he sat back -and realized that the deed was done, and could not be undone. If anyone -should pick up that paper from the table and discover the lack of the -red mark, it would be all up with him. He looked up for an instant -to meet the gaze of the six men upon him. They had nothing better to -do now than to look at him until the next course arrived. He realized -that not one of them would have mercy upon him if they knew what he had -done, not one unless it might be the tired, old-looking one, and he -would not dare interfere. - -Still Gordon was enabled to smile, and to say some pleasant nothings -to his hostess when she passed him the salted almonds. His hand lay -carelessly guarding the secret of the paper on the table, innocently, -as though it just _happened_ that he laid it on the paper. - -Sitting thus with the real paper in his lap under his large damask -napkin, the false paper under his hand on the table where he from -time to time perused it, and his eye-glasses which made him look most -distinguished still on his nose, he heard the distant telephone bell -ring. - -He remembered the words of his chief and sat rigid. From his position -he could see the tall clock in the hall, and its gilded hands pointed -to ten minutes before seven. It was about the time his chief had said -he would be called on the telephone. What should he do with the two -papers? - -He had but an instant to think until the well-trained butler returned -and announced that some one wished to speak with Mr. Burnham on the -telephone. His resolve was taken. He would have to leave the substitute -paper on the table. To carry it away with him might arouse suspicion, -and, moreover, he could not easily manage both without being noticed. -The real paper must be put safely away at all hazards, and he must take -the chance that the absence of the red mark would remain unnoticed -until his return. - -Deliberately he laid a heavy silver spoon across one edge of the paper -on the table, and an icecream fork across the other, as if to hold it -in place until his return. Then, rising with apologies, he gathered -his napkin, paper, and all in his hand, holding it against his coat -most naturally, as if he had forgotten that he had it, and made his -way into the front hall, where in an alcove was the telephone. As he -passed the hat-rack he swept his coat and hat off with his free hand, -and bore them with him, devoutly hoping that he was not being watched -from the dining-room. Could he possibly get from the telephone out the -front door without being seen? Hastily he hid the cipher message in an -inner pocket. The napkin he dropped on the little telephone table, and -taking up the receiver he spoke: “Hello! Yes! Oh, good evening! You -don’t say so! How did that happen?” He made his voice purposely clear, -that it might be heard in the dining-room if anyone was listening. Then -glancing in that direction he saw, to his horror, his host lean over -and lift the cipher paper he had left on the table and hand it to the -guest on his right. - -The messenger at the other end had given his sentence agreed upon -and he had replied according to the sentences laid down by the chief -in his instructions; the other end had said good-by and hung up, but -Gordon’s voice spoke, cool and clear in the little alcove, despite -his excitement. “All right. Certainly, I can take time to write it -down. Wait until I get my pencil. Now, I’m ready. Have you it there? -I’ll wait a minute until you get it.” His heart beat wildly. The blood -surged through his ears like rushing waters. Would they look for the -little red mark? The soft clink of spoons and dishes and the murmur of -conversation was still going on, but there was no doubt but that it -was a matter of a few seconds before his theft would be discovered. He -must make an instant dash for liberty while he yet could. Cautiously, -stealthily, like a shadow from the alcove, one eye on the dining-room, -he stole to the door and turned the knob. Yet even as he did so he saw -his recent host rise excitedly from his seat and fairly snatch the -paper from the man who held it. His last glimpse of the room where he -had but three minutes before been enjoying the hospitality of the house -was a vision of the entire company starting up and pointing to himself -even as he slid from sight. There was no longer need for silence. He -had been discovered and must fight for his life. He shut the door -quickly, his nerves so tense that it seemed as if something must break -soon; opened and slammed the outer door, and was out in the great -whirling city under the flare of electric lamps with only the chance of -a second of time before his pursuers would be upon him. - -He came down the steps with the air of one who could scarcely take time -to touch his feet to the ground, but must fly. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Almost in front of the house stood a closed carriage with two fine -horses, but the coachman was looking up anxiously toward the next -building. The sound of the closing door drew the man’s attention, and, -catching Gordon’s eye, he made as if to jump down and throw open the -door of the carriage. Quick as a flash, Gordon saw he had been mistaken -for the man the carriage awaited, and he determined to make use of the -circumstance. - -“Don’t get down,” he called to the man, taking chances. “It’s very late -already. I’ll open the door. Drive for all you’re worth.” He jumped -in and slammed the carriage door behind him, and in a second more the -horses were flying down the street. A glance from the back window -showed an excited group of his fellow-guests standing at the open door -of the mansion he had just left pointing toward his carriage and wildly -gesticulating. He surmised that his host was already at the telephone -calling for his own private detective. - -Gordon could scarcely believe his senses that he had accomplished his -mission and flight so far, and yet he knew his situation was most -precarious. Where he was going he neither knew nor cared. When he was -sure he was far enough from the house he would call to the driver and -give him directions, but first he must make sure that the precious -paper was safely stowed away, in case he should be caught and searched. -They might be coming after him with motor-cycles in a minute or two. - -Carefully rolling the paper into a tiny compass, he slipped it into -a hollow gold case which was among the things in the envelope the -chief had given him. There was a fine chain attached to the case, and -the whole looked innocently like a gold pencil. The chain he slipped -about his neck, dropping the case down inside his collar. That done he -breathed more freely. Only from his dead body should they take that -away. Then he hastily put on the false eyebrows, mustache, and goatee -which had been provided for his disguise, and pulling on a pair of -light gloves he felt more fit to evade detection. - -He was just beginning to think what he should say to the driver about -taking him to the station, for it was important that he get out of the -city at once, when, glancing out of the window to see what part of -the city he was being taken through he became aware of an auto close -beside the carriage keeping pace with it, and two men stretching their -necks as if to look into the carriage window at him. He withdrew to the -shadow instantly so that they could not see him, but the one quick -glance he had made him sure that one of his pursuers was the short -thick-set man with the cruel jaw who had sat across from him at the -dinner-table a few minutes before. If this were so he had practically -no chance at all of escape, for what was a carriage against a swift -moving car and what was he against a whole city full of strangers and -enemies? If he attempted to drop from the carriage on the other side -and escape into the darkness he had but a chance of a thousand at not -being seen, and he could not hope to hide and get away in this unknown -part of the city. Yet he must take his chance somehow, for the carriage -must sooner or later get somewhere and he be obliged to face his -pursuers. - -To make matters worse, just at the instant when he had decided to jump -at the next dark place and was measuring the distance with his eye, his -hand even being outstretched to grasp the door handle, a blustering, -boisterous motor-cycle burst into full bloom just where he intended -to jump, and the man who rode it was in uniform. He dodged back into -the darkness of the carriage again that he might not be seen, and -the motor-cycle came so near that its rider turned a white face and -looked in. He felt that his time had come, and his cause was lost. It -had not yet occurred to him that the men who were pursuing him would -hardly be likely to call in municipal aid in their search, lest their -own duplicity would be discovered. He reasoned that he was dealing -with desperate men who would stop at nothing to get back the original -cipher paper, and stop his mouth. He was well aware that only death -would be considered a sufficient silencer for him after what he had -seen at Mr. Holman’s dinner-table, for the evidence he could give would -involve the honor of every man who had sat there. He saw in a flash -that the two henchmen whom he was sure were even now riding in the car -on his right had been at the table for the purpose of silencing him -if he showed any signs of giving trouble. The wonder was that any of -them dared call in a stranger on a matter of such grave import which -meant ruin to them all if they were found out, but probably they had -reasoned that every man had his price and had intended to offer him a -share of the booty. It was likely that the chief had caused it to be -understood by them that he was the right kind of man for their purpose. -Yet, of course, they had taken precautions, and now they had him well -caught, an auto on one side, a motor-cycle on the other and no telling -how many more behind! He had been a fool to get into this carriage. -He might have known it would only trap him to his death. There seemed -absolutely no chance for escape now--yet he must fight to the last. He -put his hand on his revolver to make sure it was easy to get at, tried -to think whether it would not be better to chew up and swallow that -cipher message rather than to run the risk of its falling again into -the hands of the enemy; decided that he must carry it intact to his -chief if possible; and finally that he must make a dash for safety at -once, when just then the carriage turned briskly into a wide driveway, -and the attendant auto and motor-cycle dropped behind as if puzzled at -the move. The carriage stopped short and a bright light from an open -doorway was flung into his face. There seemed to be high stone walls on -one side and the lighted doorway on the other hand evidently led into -a great stone building. He could hear the puffing of the car and cycle -just behind. A wild notion that the carriage had been placed in front -of the house to trap him in case he tried to escape, and that he had -been brought to prison, flitted through his mind. - -His hand was on his revolver as the coachman jumped down to fling open -the carriage door, for he intended to fight for his liberty to the last. - -He glanced back through the carriage window, and the lights of the auto -glared in his face. The short, thick-set man was getting out of the -car, and the motor-cyclist had stood his machine up against the wall -and was coming toward the carriage. Escape was going to be practically -impossible. A wild thought of dashing out the opposite door of his -carriage, boldly seizing the motor-cycle and making off on it passed -through his mind, and then the door on his left was flung open and the -carriage was immediately surrounded by six excited men in evening dress -all talking at once. “Here you are at last!” they chorused. - -“Where is the best man?” shouted some one from the doorway. “Hasn’t -he come either?” And as if in answer one of the men by the carriage -door wheeled and called excitedly: “Yes, he’s come! Tell him--tell -Jeff--tell him he’s come.” Then turning once more to Gordon he seized -him by the arm and cried: “Come on quickly! There isn’t a minute to -wait. The organist is fairly frantic. Everybody has been just as -nervous as could be. We couldn’t very well go on without you--you know. -But don’t let that worry you. It’s all right now you’ve come. Forget -it, old man, and hustle.” Dimly Gordon perceived above the sound of -subdued hubbub that an organ was playing, and even as he listened it -burst into the joyous notes of the wedding march. It dawned upon him -that this was not a prison to which he had come but a church--not a -court-room but a wedding, and horror of horrors! they took him for the -best man. His disguise had been his undoing. How was he to get out of -this scrape? And with his pursuers just behind! - -“Let me explain----” he began, and wondered what he could explain. - -“There’s no time for explanations now, man. I tell you the organ has -begun the march. We’re expected to be marching down that middle aisle -this very minute and Jeff is waiting for us in the chapel. I sent the -signal to the bride and another to the organist the minute we sighted -you. Come on! Everybody knows your boat was late in coming in. You -don’t need to explain a thing till afterwards.” - -At that moment one of the ushers moved aside and the short, thick-set -man stepped between, the light shining full upon his face, and Gordon -knew him positively for the man who had sat opposite him at the table a -few minutes before. He was peering eagerly into the carriage door and -Gordon saw his only escape was into the church. With his heart pounding -like a trip hammer he yielded himself to the six ushers, who swept the -little pursuer aside as if he had been a fly and literally bore Gordon -up the steps and into the church door. - -A burst of music filled his senses, and dazzling lights, glimpses -of flowers, palms and beautiful garments bewildered him. His one -thought was for escape from his pursuers. Would they follow him into -the church and drag him out in the presence of all these people, or -would they be thrown off the track for a little while and give him -opportunity yet to get away? He looked around wildly for a place of -exit but he was in the hands of the insistent ushers. One of them -chattered to him in a low, growling whisper, such as men use on solemn -occasions: - -“It must have been rough on you being anxious like this about getting -here, but never mind now. It’ll go all right. Come on. Here’s our -cue and there stands Jefferson over there. You and he go in with the -minister, you know. The groom and the best man, you understand, they’ll -tell you when. Jeff has the ring all right, so you won’t need to bother -about that. There’s absolutely nothing for you to do but stand where -you’re put and go out when the rest do. You needn’t feel a bit nervous.” - -Was it possible that these crazy people didn’t recognize their mistake -even yet here in the bright light? Couldn’t they see his mustache was -stuck on and one eyebrow was crooked? Didn’t they know their best man -well enough to recognize his voice? Surely, surely, some one would -discover the mistake soon--that man Jeff over there who was eyeing him -so intently. He would be sure to know this was not his friend. Yet -every minute that they continued to think so was a distinct gain for -Gordon, puzzling his pursuers and giving himself time to think and plan -and study his strange surroundings. - -And now they were drawing him forward and a turn of his head gave him -a vision of the stubbed head of the thick-set man peering in at the -chapel door and watching him eagerly. He must fool him if possible. - -“But I don’t know anything about the arrangements,” faltered Gordon, -reflecting that the best man might not be very well known to the ushers -and perhaps he resembled him. It was not the first time he had been -taken for another man--and with his present make-up and all, perhaps it -was natural. Could he possibly hope to bluff it out for a few minutes -until the ceremony was over and then escape? It would of course be the -best way imaginable to throw that impudent little man in the doorway -off his track. If the real best man would only stay away long enough -it would not be a difficult part to play. The original man might turn -up after he was gone and create a pleasant little mystery, but nobody -would be injured thereby. All this passed through his mind while the -usher kept up his sepulchral whisper: - -“Why, there are just the usual arrangements, you know--nothing new. -You and Jeff go in after the ushers have reached the back of the church -and opened the door. Then you just stand there till Celia and her uncle -come up the aisle. Then follows the ceremony--very brief. Celia had -all that repeating after the minister cut out on account of not being -able to rehearse. It’s to be just the simplest service, not the usual -lengthy affair. Don’t worry, you’ll be all right, old man. Hurry! -They’re calling you. Leave your hat right here. Now I must go. Keep -cool. It’ll soon be over.” - -The breathless usher hurried through the door and settled into a sort -of exalted hobble to the time of the wonderful Lohengrin music. Gordon -turned, thinking even yet to make a possible escape, but the eagle-eye -of his pursuer was upon him and the man Jefferson was by his side: - -“Here we are!” he said, eagerly grabbing Gordon’s hat and coat and -dumping them on a chair. “I’ll look after everything. Just come along. -It’s time we went in. The doctor is motioning for us. Awfully glad to -see you at last. Too bad you had to rush so. How many years is it since -I saw you? Ten! You’ve changed some, but you’re looking fine and dandy. -No need to worry about anything. It’ll soon be over and the knot tied.” - -Mechanically Gordon fell into place beside the man Jefferson, who was -a pleasant-faced youth, well-groomed and handsome. Looking furtively -at his finely-cut, happy features, Gordon wondered if he would feel -as glad as this youth seemed to be, when he walked down the aisle to -meet his bride. How, by the way, would he feel if he were going to be -married now,--going into the face of this great company of well-dressed -people to meet Miss Julia Bentley and be joined to her for life? -Instinctively his soul shrank within him at the thought. - -But now the door was wide open, the organ pealing its best, and he -suddenly became aware of many eyes, and of wondering how long his -eyebrows would withstand the perspiration that was trickling softly -down his forehead. His mustache--ridiculous appendage! why had he not -removed it?--was it awry? Dared he put up his hand to see? His gloves! -Would anyone notice that they were not as strictly fresh as a best -man’s gloves should be? Then he took his first step to the music, and -it was like being pulled from a delicious morning nap and plunged into -a tub of icy water. - -He walked with feet that suddenly weighed like lead, across a church -that looked to be miles in width, in the face of swarms of curious -eyes. He tried to reflect that these people were all strangers to him, -that they were not looking at him, anyway, but at the bridegroom by -his side, and that it mattered very little what he did, so long as he -kept still and braved it out, if only the real best man didn’t turn up -until he was well out of the church. Then he could vanish in the dark, -and go by some back way to a car or a taxicab and so to the station. -The thought of the paper inside the gold pencil-case filled him with -a sort of elation. If only he could get out of this dreadful church, -he would probably get away safely. Perhaps even the incident of the -wedding might prove to be his protection, for they would never seek him -in a crowded church at a fashionable wedding. - -The man by his side managed him admirably, giving him a whispered -hint, a shove, or a push now and then, and getting him into the proper -position. It seemed as if the best man had to occupy the most trying -spot in all the church, but as they put him there, of course it was -right. He glanced furtively over the faces near the front, and they all -looked quite satisfied, as if everything were going as it should, so he -settled down to his fate, his white, strained face partly hidden by the -abundant display of mustache and eyebrow. People whispered softly how -handsome he looked, and some suggested that he was not so stout as when -they had last seen him, ten years before. His stay in a foreign land -must have done him good. One woman went so far as to tell her daughter -that he was far more distinguished-looking than she had ever thought he -could become, but it was wonderful what a stay in a foreign land would -do to improve a person. - -The music stole onward; and slowly, gracefully, like the opening of -buds into flowers, the bridal party inched along up the middle aisle -until at last the bride in all the mystery of her white veil arrived, -and all the maidens in their flowers and many colored gauzes were -suitably disposed about her. - -The feeble old man on whose arm the bride had leaned as she came up -the aisle dropped out of the procession, melting into one of the front -seats, and Gordon found himself standing beside the bride. He felt sure -there must be something wrong about it, and looked at his young guide -with an attempt to change places with him, but the man named Jefferson -held him in place with a warning eye. “You’re all right. Just stay -where you are,” he whispered softly, and Gordon stayed, reflecting on -the strange fashions of weddings, and wondering why he had never before -taken notice of just how a wedding party came in and stood and got out -again. If he was only out of this how glad he would be. It seemed one -had to be a pretty all-around man to be a member of the Secret Service. - -The organ had hushed its voice to a sort of exultant sobbing, filled -with dreams of flowers and joys, and hints of sorrow; and the minister -in a voice both impressive and musical began the ceremony. Gordon stood -doggedly and wondered if that really was one eyebrow coming down over -his eye, or only a drop of perspiration. - -Another full second passed, and he decided that if he ever got out -of this situation alive he would never, no, never, no, _never_, get -married himself. - -During the next second that crawled by he became supremely conscious -of the creature in white by his side. A desire possessed him to look -at her and see if she were like Julia Bentley. It was like a nightmare -haunting his dreams that she _was_ Julia Bentley somehow transported -to New York and being married to him willy-nilly. He could not shake -it off, and the other eyebrow began to feel shaky. He was sure it was -sailing down over his eye. If he only dared press its adhesive lining a -little tighter to his flesh! - -Some time during the situation there came a prayer, interminable to his -excited imagination, as all the other ceremonies. - -Under cover of the hush and the supposedly bowed heads, Gordon turned -desperately toward the bride. He must see her and drive this phantasm -from his brain. He turned, half expecting to see Julia’s tall, -handsome form, though telling himself he was a fool, and wondering why -he so dreaded the idea. Then his gaze was held fascinated. - -She was a little creature, slender and young and very beautiful, -with a beauty which a deathly pallor only enhanced. Her face was -delicately cut, and set in a frame of fine dark hair, the whole made -most exquisite by the mist of white tulle that breathed itself about -her like real mist over a flower. But the lovely head drooped, the -coral lips had a look of unutterable sadness, and the long lashes swept -over white cheeks. He could not take his eyes from her now that he had -looked. How lovely, and how fitting for the delightful youth by his -side! Now that he thought of it she was like him, only smaller and more -delicate, of course. A sudden fierce, ridiculous feeling of envy filled -Gordon’s heart. Why couldn’t he have known and loved a girl like that? -Why had Julia Bentley been forever in his pathway as the girl laid out -for his choice? - -He looked at her with such intensity that a couple of dear old sisters -who listened to the prayer with their eyes wide open, whispered one to -the other: “Just see him look at her! How he must love her! Wasn’t it -beautiful that he should come right from the steamer to the church and -never see her till now, for the first time in ten long years. It’s so -romantic!” - -“Yes,” whispered the other; “and I believe it’ll last. He looks at her -that way. Only I do dislike that way of arranging the hair on his face. -But then it’s foreign I suppose. He’ll probably get over it if they -stay in this country.” - -A severe old lady in the seat in front turned a reprimanding chin -toward them and they subsided. Still Gordon continued to gaze. - -Then the bride became aware of his look, raised her eyes, and--they -were full of tears! - -They gave him one reproachful glance that shot through his soul like a -sword, and her lashes drooped again. By some mysterious control over -the law of gravity, the tears remained unshed, and the man’s gaze was -turned aside; but that look had done its mighty work. - -All the experiences of the day rushed over him and seemed to culminate -in that one look. It was as if the reproach of all things had come upon -him. The hurt in the white dog’s eyes had touched him, the perfect -courage in the appeal of the child’s eyes had called forth his deepest -sympathy, but the tears of this exquisite woman wrung his heart. He saw -now that the appeal of the dog and the child had been the opening wedge -for the look of a woman, which tore self from him and flung it at her -feet for her to walk upon; and when the prayer was ended he found that -he was trembling. - -He looked vindictively at the innocent youth beside him, as the soft -rustle of the audience and the little breath of relief from the -bridal party betokened the next stage in the ceremony. What had this -innocent-looking youth done to cause tears in those lovely eyes? Was -she marrying him against her will? He was only a boy, anyway. What -right had he to suppose he could care for a delicate creature like -that? He was making her cry already, and he seemed to be utterly -unconscious of it. What could be the matter? Gordon felt a desire to -kick him. - -Then it occurred to him that inadvertently _he_ might have been the -cause of her tears; he, supposedly the best man, who had been late, and -held up the wedding no knowing how long. Of course it wasn’t really -his fault; but by proxy it was, for he now was masquerading as that -unlucky best man, and she was very likely reproaching him for what she -supposed was his stupidity. He had heard that women cried sometimes -from vexation, disappointment or excitement. - -Yet in his heart of hearts he could not set those tears, that look, -down to so trivial a cause. They had reached his very soul, and he -felt there was something deeper there than mere vexation. There had -been bitter reproach for a deep wrong done. The glance had told him -that. All the manhood in him rose to defend her against whoever had -hurt her. He longed to get one more look into her eyes to make quite -sure; and then, if there was still appeal there, his soul must answer -it. - -For the moment his commission, his ridiculous situation, the real peril -to his life and trust, were forgotten. - -The man Jefferson had produced a ring and was nudging him. It appeared -that the best man had some part to play with that ring. He dimly -remembered somewhere hearing that the best man must hand the ring to -the bridegroom at the proper moment, but it was absurd for them to go -through the farce of doing that when the bridegroom already held the -golden circlet in his fingers! Why did he not step up like a man and -put it upon the outstretched hand; that little white hand just in front -of him there, so timidly held out with its glove fingers tucked back, -like a dove crept out from its covert unwillingly? - -But that Jefferson-man still held out the ring stupidly to him, and -evidently expected him to take it. Silly youth! There was nothing for -it but to take it and hand it back, of course. He must do as he was -told and hasten that awful ceremony to its interminable close. He took -the ring and held it out, but the young man did not take it again. -Instead he whispered, “Put it on her finger!” - -Gordon frowned. Could he be hearing aright? Why didn’t the fellow put -the ring on his own bride? If he were being married, he would knock any -man down that dared to put his wife’s wedding ring on for him. Could -that be the silly custom now, to have the best man put the bride’s ring -on? How unutterably out of place! But he must not make a scene, of -course. - -The little timid hand, so slender and white, came a shade nearer as if -to help, and the ring finger separated itself from the others. - -He looked at the smooth circlet. It seemed too tiny for any woman’s -finger. Then, reverently, he slipped it on, with a strange, -inexpressible longing to touch the little hand. While he was thinking -himself all kinds of a fool, and was enjoying one of his intermittent -visions of Julia Bentley’s expressive countenance interpolated on the -present scene, a strange thing happened. - -There had been some low murmurs and motions which he had not noticed -because he thought his part of this very uncomfortable affair was -about concluded, when, lo and behold, the minister and the young man -by his side both began fumbling for his hand, and among them they -managed to bring it into position and place in its astonished grasp the -little timid hand that he had just crowned with its ring. - -As his fingers closed over the bride’s hand, there was such reverence, -such tenderness in his touch that the girl’s eyes were raised once more -to his face, this time with the conquered tears in retreat, but all the -pain and appeal still there. He looked and involuntarily he pressed her -hand the closer, as if to promise aforetime whatever she would ask. -Then, with her hand in his, and with the realization that they two -were detached as it were from the rest of the wedding party, standing -in a little centre of their own, his senses came back to him, and he -perceived as in a flash of understanding that it was _they_ who were -being married! - -There had been some terrible, unexplainable mistake, and he was -stupidly standing in another man’s place, taking life vows upon -himself! The thing had passed from an adventure of little moment into a -matter of a life-tragedy, two life-tragedies perhaps! What should he do? - -With the question came the words, “I pronounce you husband and wife,” -and “let no man put asunder.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -What had he done? Was it some great unnamed, unheard-of crime he had -unconsciously committed? Could anyone understand or excuse such asinine -stupidity? Could he ever hold up his head again, though he fled to -the most distant part of the globe? Was there nothing that could save -the situation? Now, before they left the church, could he not declare -the truth, and set things right, undo the words that had been spoken -in the presence of all these witnesses, and send out to find the real -bridegroom? Surely neither law nor gospel could endorse a bond made in -the ignorance of either participant. It would, of course, be a terrible -thing for the bride, but better now than later. Besides, he was pledged -by that hand-clasp to answer the appeal in her eyes and protect her. -This, then, was what it had meant! - -But his commission! What of that? “A matter of life and death!” Ah! but -this was _more_ than life or death! - -While these rapid thoughts were flashing through his brain, the -benediction was being pronounced, and with the last word the organ -pealed forth its triumphant lay. The audience stirred excitedly, -anticipating the final view of the wedding procession. - -The bride turned to take her bouquet from the maid of honor, and the -movement broke the spell under which Gordon had been held. - -He turned to the young man by his side and spoke hurriedly in a low -tone. - -“An awful mistake has been made,” he said, and the organ drowned -everything but the word “mistake.” “I don’t know what to do,” he went -on. But young Jefferson hastened to reassure him joyously: - -“Not a bit of it, old chap. Nobody noticed that hitch about the ring. -It was only a second. Everything went off slick. You haven’t anything -more to do now but take my sister out. Look alive, there! She looks as -if she might be going to faint! She hasn’t been a bit well all day! -Steady her, quick, can’t you? She’ll stick it out till she gets to the -air, but hurry, for goodness’ sake!” - -Gordon turned in alarm. Already the frail white bride had a claim on -him. His first duty was to get her out of this crowd. Perhaps, after -all, she had discovered that he was not the right man, and that was the -meaning of her tears and appeal. Yet she had held her own and allowed -things to go through to the finish, and perhaps he had no right to -reveal to the assembled multitudes what she evidently wanted kept -quiet. He must wait till he could ask her. He must do as this other man -said--this--this brother of hers--who was of course the best man. Oh, -fool, and blind! Why had he not understood at the beginning and got -himself out of this fix before it was too late? And what should he do -when he reached the door? How could he ever explain? His commission! He -dared not breathe a word of that? What explanation could he possibly -offer for his--his--yes----his _criminal_ conduct? Why, no such thing -was ever heard of in the history of mankind as that which had happened -to him. From start to finish it was--it--was---- He could not think of -words to express what it was. - -He was by this time meandering jerkily down the aisle, attempting to -keep time to the music and look the part that she evidently expected -him to play, but his eyes were upon her face, which was whiter now and, -if possible, lovelier, than before. - -“Oh, just see how devoted he is,” murmured the eldest of the two dear -old sisters, and he caught the sense of her words as he passed, and -wondered. Then, immediately before him, retreating backward down the -aisle with terrible eyes of scorn upon him, he seemed to feel the -presence of Miss Julia Bentley leading onward toward the church door; -but he would not take his eyes from that sweet, sad face of the white -bride on his arm to look. He somehow knew that if he could hold out -until he reached that door without looking up, her power over him would -be exorcised forever. - -Out into the vacant vestibule, under the tented canopy, alone together -for the moment, he felt her gentle weight grow heavy on his arm, and -knew her footsteps were lagging. Instinctively, lest others should -gather around them, he almost lifted her and bore her down the carpeted -steps, through the covered pathway, to the luxurious motor-car waiting -with open door, and placed her on the cushions. Some one closed the car -door and almost immediately they were in motion. - -She settled back with a half sigh, as if she could not have borne -one instant more of strain, then sitting opposite he adjusted the -window to give her air. She seemed grateful but said nothing. Her eyes -were closed wearily, and the whole droop of her figure showed utter -exhaustion. It seemed a desecration to speak to her, yet he must have -some kind of an understanding before they reached their destination. - -“An explanation is due to you----” he began, without knowing just what -he was going to say, but she put out her hand with a weary protest. - -“Oh, please don’t!” she pleaded. “I know--the boat was late! It doesn’t -matter in the least.” - -He sat back appalled! She did not herself know then that she had -married the wrong man! - -“But you don’t understand,” he protested. - -“Never mind,” she moaned. “I don’t want to understand. Nothing can -change things. Only, let me be quiet till we get to the house, or I -never can go through with the rest of it.” - -Her words ended with almost a sob, and he sat silent for an instant, -with a mingling of emotions, uppermost of which was a desire to take -the little, white, shrinking girl into his arms and comfort her, -“Nothing can change things!” That sounded as though she did know -but thought it too late to undo the great mistake now that it had -been made. He must let her know that he had not understood until the -ceremony was over. While he sat helplessly looking at her in the -dimness of the car where she looked so small and sad and misty huddled -beside her great bouquet, she opened her eyes and looked at him. She -seemed to understand that he was about to speak again. By the great arc -light they were passing he saw there were tears in her eyes again, and -her voice held a child-like pleading as she uttered one word: - -“Don’t!” - -It hurt him like a knife, he knew not why. But he could not resist the -appeal. Duty or no duty, he could not disobey her command. - -“Very well.” He said it quietly, almost tenderly, and sat back with -folded arms. After all, what explanation could he give her that she -would believe? He might not breathe a word of his commission or -the message. What other reason could he give for his extraordinary -appearance at her wedding and by her side? - -The promise in his voice seemed to give her relief. She breathed a -sigh of relief and closed her eyes. He must just keep still and have -his eyes open for a chance to escape when the carriage reached its -destination. - -Thus silently they threaded through unknown streets, strange thoughts -in the heart of each. The bride was struggling with her heavy burden, -and the man was trying to think his way out of the maze of perplexity -into which he had unwittingly wandered. He tried to set his thoughts -in order and find out just what to do. First of all, of course came -his commission, but somehow every time the little white bride opposite -took first place in his mind. Could he serve both? What _would_ serve -both, and what would serve _either_? As for himself, he was free to -confess that there was no room left in the present situation for even -a consideration of his own interests. - -Whatever there was of good in him must go now to set matters right -in which he had greatly blundered. He must do the best he could for -the girl who had so strangely crossed his pathway, and get back to -his commission. But when he tried to realize the importance of his -commission and set it over against the interests of the girl-bride, his -mind became confused. What should he do! He could not think of slipping -away and leaving her without further words, even if an opportunity -offered itself. Perhaps he was wrong. Doubtless his many friends might -tell him so if they were consulted, but he did not intend to consult -them. He intended to see this troubled soul to some place of safety, -and look out for his commission as best he could afterward. One thing -he did not fully realize, and that was that Miss Julia Bentley’s vision -troubled him no longer. He was free. There was only one woman in the -whole wide world that gave him any concern, and that was the little -sorrowful creature who sat opposite to him, and to whom he had just -been married. - -Just been married! He! The thought brought with it a thrill of wonder, -and a something else that was not unpleasant. What if he really had? -Of course he had not. Of course such a thing could not hold good. But -what if he had! Just for an instant he entertained the thought--would -he be glad or sorry? He did not know her, of course, had heard her -speak but a few words, had looked into her face plainly but once, and -yet suppose she were his! His heart answered the question with a glad -bound that astonished him, and all his former ideas of real love were -swept from his mind in a breath. He knew that, stranger though she -was, he could take her to his heart; cherish her, love her and bear -with her, as he never could have done Julia Bentley. Then all at once -he realized that he was allowing his thoughts to dwell upon a woman -who by all that was holy belonged to another man, and that other man -would doubtless soon be the one with whom he would have to deal. He -would soon be face to face with a new phase of the situation and he -must prepare himself to meet it. What was he going to do? Should he -plan to escape from the opposite door of the automobile while the bride -was being assisted from her seat? No, he could not, for he would be -expected to get out first and help her out. Besides, there would be too -many around, and he could not possibly get away. But, greater than any -such reason, the thing that held him bound was the look in her eyes -through the tears. He simply could not leave her until he knew that -she no longer needed him. And yet there was his commission! Well, he -must see her in the hands of those who would care for her at least. So -much he had done even for the white dog, and then, too, surely she was -worth as many minutes of his time as he had been compelled to give to -the injured child of the streets. If he only could explain to her now! - -The thought of his message, with its terrible significance, safe in -his possession, sent shivers of anxiety through his frame! Suppose -he should be caught, and it taken from him, all on account of this -most impossible incident! What scorn, what contumely, would be his! -How could he ever explain to his chief? Would anybody living believe -that a man in his senses could be married to a stranger before a -whole church full of people, and not know he was being married until -the deed was done--and then not do anything about it after it was -done? That was what he was doing now this very minute. He ought to be -explaining something somehow to that poor little creature in the shadow -of the carriage. Perhaps in some way it might relieve her sorrow if he -did, and yet when he looked at her and tried to speak his mouth was -hopelessly closed. He might not tell her anything! - -He gradually sifted his immediate actions down to two necessities; -to get his companion to a safe place where her friends could care for -her, and to make his escape as soon and as swiftly as possible. It was -awful to run and leave her without telling her anything about it; when -she evidently believed him to be the man she had promised and intended -to marry; but the real bridegroom would surely turn up soon somehow -and make matters right. Anyhow, it was the least he could do to take -himself out of her way, and to get his trust to its owners at once. - -The car halted suddenly before a brightly lighted mansion, whose tented -entrance effectually shut out the gaze of alien eyes, and made the -transit from car to domicile entirely private. There was no opportunity -here to disappear. The sidewalk and road were black with curious -onlookers. He stepped from the car first and helped the lady out. He -bore her heavy bouquet because she looked literally too frail to carry -it further herself. - -In the doorway she was surrounded by a bevy of servants, foremost among -whom her old nurse claimed the privilege of greeting her with tears and -smiles and many “Miss-Celia-my-dears,” and Gordon stood for the instant -entranced, watching the sweet play of loving kindness in the face of -the pale little bride. As soon as he could lay down those flowers -inconspicuously he would be on the alert for a way of escape. It -surely would be found through some back or side entrance of the house. - -But even as the thought came to him the old nurse stepped back to let -the other servants greet the bride with stiff bows and embarrassed -words of blessing, and he felt a hand laid heavily on his arm. - -He started as he turned, thinking instantly again of his commission and -expecting to see a policeman in uniform by his side, but it was only -the old nurse, with tears of devotion still in her faded eyes. - -“Mister George, ye hevn’t forgot me, hev ye?” she asked, earnestly. -“You usen’t to like me verra well, I mind, but ye was awful for the -teasin’ an’ I was always for my Miss Celie! But bygones is bygones now -an’ I wish ye well. Yer growed a man, an’ I know ye must be worthy o’ -her, or she’d never hev consented to take ye. Yev got a gude wife an’ -no mistake, an’ I know ye’ll be the happiest man alive. Ye won’t hold -it against me, Mister George, that I used to tell yer uncle on your -masterful tricks, will ye? You mind I was only carin’ fer my baby girl, -an’ ye were but a boy.” - -She paused as if expecting an answer, and Gordon embarrassedly assured -her that he would never think of holding so trifling a matter against -her. He cast a look of reverent admiration and tenderness toward the -beautiful girl who was smiling on her loyal subjects like a queen, -roused from her sorrow to give joy to others; and even her old nurse -was satisfied. - -“Ah, ye luve her, Mister George, don’t ye?” the nurse questioned. “I -don’t wonder. Everybody what lays eyes on her luves her. She’s that -dear----” here the tears got the better of the good woman for an -instant and she forgot herself and pulled at the skirt of her new black -dress thinking it was an apron, and wishing to wipe her eyes. - -Then suddenly Gordon found his lips uttering strange words, without his -own apparent consent, as if his heart had suddenly taken things in hand -and determined to do as it pleased without consulting his judgment. - -“Yes, I love her,” he was saying, and to his amazement he found that -the words were true. - -This discovery made matters still more complicated. - -“Then ye’ll promise me something, Mister George, won’t ye?” said the -nurse eagerly, her tears having their own way down her rosy anxious -face. “Ye’ll promise me never to make her feel bad any more? She’s -cried a lot these last three months, an’ nobody knows but me. She could -hide it from them all but her old nurse that has loved her so long. But -she’s been that sorrowful, enough fer a whole lifetime. Promise that -ye’ll do all in yer power to make her happy always.” - -“I will do all in my power to make her happy,” he said, solemnly, as if -he were uttering a vow, and wondered how short-lived that power was to -be. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -The wedding party had arrived in full force now. Carriages and -automobiles were unloading; gay voices and laughter filled the house. -The servants disappeared to their places, and the white bride, with -only a motioning look toward Gordon, led the way to the place where -they were to stand under an arch of roses, lilies and palms, in a -room hung from the ceiling with drooping ferns and white carnations -on invisible threads of silver wire, until it all seemed like a fairy -dream. - -Gordon had no choice but to follow, as his way was blocked by the -incoming guests, and he foresaw that his exit would have to be made -from some other door than the front if he were to escape yet awhile. -As he stepped into the mystery of the flower-scented room where his -lady led the way, he was conscious of a feeling of transition from the -world of ordinary things into one of wonder, beauty and mysterious joy; -but all the time he knew he was an impostor, who had no right in that -silver-threaded bower. - -Yet there he stood bowing, shaking hands, and smirking behind his false -mustache, which threatened every minute to betray him. - -People told him he was looking well, and congratulated him on his -bride. Some said he was stouter than when he left the country, and -some said he was thinner. They asked him questions about relatives -and friends living and dead, and he ran constant risk of getting into -hopeless difficulties. His only safety was in smiling, and saying very -little; seeming not to hear some questions, and answering others with -another question. It was not so hard after he got started, because -there were so many people, and they kept coming close upon one another, -so no one had much time to talk. Then supper with its formalities was -got through with somehow, though to Gordon, with his already satisfied -appetite and his hampering mustache, it seemed an endless ordeal. - -“Jeff,” as they all called him, was everywhere, attending to -everything, and he slipped up to the unwilling bridegroom just as he -was having to answer a very difficult question about the lateness of -his vessel, and the kind of passage they had experienced in crossing. -By this time Gordon had discovered that he was supposed to have been -ten years abroad, and his steamer had been late in landing, but where -he came from or what he had been doing over there were still to be -found out; and it was extremely puzzling to be asked from what port he -had sailed, and how he came to be there when he had been supposed to -have been in St. Petersburg but the week before? His state of mind was -anything but enviable. Besides all this, Gordon was just reflecting -that the last he had seen of his hat and coat was in the church. What -had become of them, and how could he go to the station without a hat? -Then opportunely “Jeff” arrived. - -“Your train leaves at ten three,” he said in a low, business-like tone, -as if he enjoyed the importance of having made all the arrangements. -“I’ve secured the stateroom as you cabled me to do, and here are the -tickets and checks. The trunks are down there all checked. Celia didn’t -want any nonsense about their being tied up with white ribbon. She -hates all that. We’ve arranged for you to slip out by the fire-escape -and down through the back yard of the next neighbor, where a motor, -just a plain regular one from the station, will be waiting around the -corner in the shadow. Celia knows where it is. None of the party will -know you are gone until you are well under way. The car they think you -will take is being elaborately adorned with white at the front door -now, but you won’t have any trouble about it. I’ve fixed everything up. -Your coat and hat are out on the fire-escape, and as soon as Celia’s -ready I’ll show you the way.” - -Gordon thanked him. There was nothing else to do, but his countenance -grew blank. Was there, then, to be no escape? Must he actually take -another man’s bride with him in order to get away? And how was he to -get away from her? Where was the real bridegroom and why did he not -appear upon the scene? And yet what complications that might bring up. -He began to look wildly about for a chance to flee at once, for how -could he possibly run away with a bride on his hands? If only some one -were going with them to the station he could slip away with a clear -conscience, leaving her in good hands, but to leave her alone, ill, and -distressed was out of the question. He had rid himself of a lonely dog -and a suffering child, though it gave him anguish to do the deed, but -leave this lovely woman for whom he at least appeared to have become -responsible, he could not, until he was sure she would come to no harm -through him. - -“Don’t let anything hinder you! Don’t let anything hinder you!” - -It appeared that this refrain had not ceased for an instant since it -began, but had chimed its changes through music, ceremony, prayer -and reception without interruption. It acted like a goad upon his -conscience now. He must do something that would set him free to go back -to Washington. An inspiration came to him. - -“Wouldn’t you like to go to the station with us?” he asked the young -man, “I am sure your sister would like to have you.” - -The boy’s face lit up joyfully. - -“Oh, wouldn’t you mind? I’d like it awfully, and--if it’s all the same -to you, I wish Mother could go too. It’s the first time Celia and she -were ever separated, and I know she hates it fiercely to have to say -good-by with the house full of folks this way. But she doesn’t expect -it of course, and really it isn’t fair to you, when you haven’t seen -Celia alone yet, and it’s your wedding trip----” - -“There will be plenty of time for us,” said the compulsory bridegroom -graciously, and felt as if he had perjured himself. It was not in his -nature to enjoy a serious masquerade of this kind. - -“I shall be glad to have you both come,” he added earnestly. “I really -want you. Tell your mother.” - -The boy grasped his hand impulsively: - -“I say,” said he, “you’re all right! I don’t mind confessing that I’ve -hated the very thought of you for a whole three months, ever since -Celia told us she had promised to marry you. You see, I never really -knew you when I was a little chap, but I didn’t used to like you. I -took an awful scunner to you for some reason. I suppose kids often -take irrational dislikes like that. But ever since I’ve laid eyes on -you to-night, I’ve liked you all the way through. I like your eyes. -It isn’t a bit as I thought I remembered you. I used to think your -eyes had a sort of deceitful look. Awful to tell you, isn’t it? But I -felt as if I wanted to have it off my conscience, for I see now you’re -nothing of the kind. You’ve got the honestest eyes I ever saw on a man, -and I’d stake my last cent that you wouldn’t cheat a church mouse. -You’re true as steel, and I’m mighty glad you’re my brother-in-law. I -know you’ll be good to Celia.” - -The slow color mounted under his disguise until it reached Gordon’s -burnished brown hair. His eyes were honest eyes. They had always been -so--until to-day. Into what a world of deceit he had entered! How he -would like to make a clean breast of it all to this nice, frank boy; -but he must not! for there was his trust! For an instant he was on the -point of trying to explain that he was not the true bridegroom, and -getting young Jefferson to help him to set matters right, but an influx -of newly arrived guests broke in upon their privacy, and he could only -press the boy’s hand and say in embarrassed tones: - -“Thank you! I shall try to be worthy of your good opinion hereafter!” - -It was over at last, and the bride slipped from his side to prepare -for the journey. He looked hastily around, feeling that his very first -opportunity had come for making an escape. If an open window had -presented itself, he would have vaulted through, trusting to luck and -his heels to get away, but there was no window, and every door was -blocked by staring, admiring, smirking people. He bethought himself of -the fire-escape where waited his hat and coat, and wondered if he could -find it. - -With smiling apologies, he broke away from those around him, murmuring -something about being needed, and worked his way firmly but steadily -toward the stairs and thence to the back halls. Coming at last upon an -open window, he slipped through, his heart beating wildly. He thought -for a second that he was there ahead of the others; but a dark form -loomed ahead and he perceived some one coming up from outside. Another -second, and he saw it was his newly acquired brother-in-law. - -“Say, this is great!” was his greeting. “How did you manage to find -your way up alone? I was just coming down after you. I wanted to leave -you there till the last minute so no one would suspect, but now you -are here we can hustle off at once. I just took Mother and Celia down. -It was pretty stiff for Mother to climb down, for she was a little -bit afraid, but she was game all right, and she was so pleased to go. -They’re waiting for us down there in the court. Here, let me help you -with your overcoat. Now I’ll pull down this window, so no one will -suspect us and follow. That’s all right now, come on! You go ahead. -Just hold on to the railing and go slow. I’ll keep close to you. I know -the way in my sleep. I’ve played fire here many a year, and could climb -down in my sleep.” - -Gordon found himself wishing that this delightful brother-in-law were -really his. There was evidently to be no opportunity of escape here. He -meditated making a dash and getting away in the dark when they should -reach the foot of the stairs; much as he hated to leave that way, he -felt he must do so if there was any chance for him at all; but when -they reached the ground he saw that was hopeless. The car that was -to take them to the station was drawn up close to the spot, and the -chauffeur stood beside it. - -“Your mother says fer you to hurry, Mister Jefferson,” he called in a -sepulchral tone. “They’re coming out around the block to watch. Get in -as quick as you can.” - -The burly chauffeur stood below Gordon, helped him to alight on his -feet from the fire-escape, and hustled him into the darkness of the -conveyance. - -They were very quiet until they had left the dark court and were -speeding away down the avenue. Then the bride’s mother laid two gentle -hands upon Gordon’s, leaning across from her seat to do so, and said: - -“My son, I shall never forget this of you, never! It was dear of you to -give me this last few minutes with my darling!” - -Gordon, deeply touched and much put to it for words, mumbled something -about being very glad to have her, and Jefferson relieved the situation -by pouring forth a volume of information and questions, fortunately not -pausing long enough to have the latter answered. The bride sat with one -hand clasped in her mother’s, and said not a word. Gordon was haunted -by the thought of tears in her eyes. - -There was little opportunity for thinking, but Gordon made a hasty -plan. He decided to get his party all out to the train and then -remember his suit-case, which he had left checked in the station. -Jefferson would probably insist upon going for it but he would insist -more strenuously that the brother and sister would want to have -this last minute together. Then he could get away in the crowd and -disappear, coming later for his suit-case perhaps, or sending a porter -from his own train for it. The only drawback to this arrangement was -that it seemed a dishonorable way to leave these people who would -in the nature of things be left in a most trying position by his -disappearance, especially the sad little bride. But it could not be -helped, and his staying would only complicate things still further, -for he would have to explain who he was, and that was practically -impossible on account of his commission. It would not do to run risks -with himself until his mission was accomplished and his message -delivered. After that he could confess and make whatever reparation a -man in his strange position could render. - -The plan worked very well. The brother of course eagerly urged that he -be allowed to go back for the suit-case, but Gordon, with well-feigned -thoughtfulness, said in a low tone: - -“Your sister will want you for a minute all to herself.” - -A tender look came into the boy’s eyes, and he turned back smiling -to the stateroom where his mother and sister were having a wordless -farewell. Gordon jumped from the train and sprinted down the platform, -feeling meaner than he ever remembered to have felt in his whole -life, and with a strange heaviness about his heart. He forgot for the -moment that there was need for him to be on his guard against possible -detectives sent by Mr. Holman. Even the importance of the message -he carried seemed to weigh less, now that he was free. His feet had -a strange unwillingness to hurry, and without a constant pressure of -the will would have lagged in spite of him. His heart wanted to let -suit-case and commission and everything else go to the winds and take -him back to the stateroom where he had left his sorrowful bride of -an hour. She was not his, and he might not go, but he knew that he -would never be the same hereafter. He would always be wondering where -she was, wishing he could have saved her from whatever troubled her; -wishing she were his bride, and not another’s. - -He passed back through the station gate, and a man in evening clothes -eyed him sharply. He fancied he saw a resemblance to one of the men -at the Holman dinner-table, but he dared not look again lest a glance -should cost him recognition. He wondered blindly which way he should -take, and if it would be safe to risk going at once to the checking -window, or whether he ought to go in hiding until he was sure young -Jefferson would no longer look for him. Then a hand touched his -shoulder and a voice that was strangely welcome shouted: - -“This way, George! The checking place is over to the right!” - -He turned and there stood Jefferson, smiling and panting: - -“You see, the little mother had something to say to Celia alone, so I -saw I was _de trop_, and thought I better come with you,” he declared -as soon as he could get his breath. - -“Gee, but you can run!” added the panting youth. “What’s the hurry? -It’s ten whole minutes before the train leaves. I couldn’t waste all -that time kicking my heels on the platform, when I might be enjoying -my new brother-in-law’s company. I say, are you really going to live -permanently in Chicago? I do wish you’d decide to come back to New -York. Mother’ll miss Celia no end. I don’t know how she’s going to -stand it.” - -Walking airily by Gordon’s side, he talked, apparently not noticing the -sudden start and look of mingled anxiety and relief that overspread -his brother-in-law’s countenance. Then another man walked by them -and turning looked in their faces. Gordon was sure this was the -thick-set man from Holman’s. He was eying Gordon keenly. Suddenly all -other questions stepped into the background, and the only immediate -matter that concerned him was his message, to get it safely to its -destination. With real relief he saw that this had been his greatest -concern all the time, underneath all hindrances, and that there had -not been at any moment any escape from the crowding circumstances other -than that he had taken, step by step. If he had been beset by thieves -and blackguards, and thrown into prison for a time he would not have -felt shame at the delay, for those things he could not help. He saw -with new illumination that there was no more shame to him from these -trivial and peculiar circumstances with which he had been hemmed in -since his start to New York than if he had been checked by any more -tragic obstacles. His only real misgiving was about his marriage. -Somehow it seemed his fault, and he felt there ought to be some way -to confess his part at once--but how--without putting his message in -jeopardy--for no one would believe unless they knew all. - -But the time of danger was at hand, he plainly saw. The man whom he -dared not look closely at had turned again and was walking parallel to -them, glancing now and again keenly in their direction. He was watching -Gordon furtively; not a motion escaped him. - -There was a moment’s delay at the checking counter while the attendant -searched for the suit-case, and Gordon was convinced that the man had -stopped a few steps away merely for the purpose of watching him. - -He dared not look around or notice the man, but he was sure he followed -them back to the train. He felt his presence as clearly as if he had -been able to see through the back of his head. - -But Gordon was cool and collected now. It was as if the experiences -of the last two hours, with their embarrassing predicaments, had been -wiped off the calendar, and he were back at the moment when he left -the Holman house. He knew as well as if he had watched them follow him -that they had discovered his--theft--treachery--whatever it ought to be -called--and he was being searched for; and because of what was at stake -those men would track him to death if they could. But he knew also -that his disguise and his companion were for the moment puzzling this -sleuth-hound. - -This was probably not the only watcher about the station. There were -detectives, too, perhaps, hired hastily, and all too ready to seize a -suspect. - -He marvelled that he could walk so deliberately, swinging his suit-case -in his gloved hand at so momentous a time. He smiled and talked easily -with the pleasant fellow who walked by his side, and answered his -questions with very little idea of what he was saying; making promises -which his heart would like to keep, but which he now saw no way of -making good. - -Thus they entered the train and came to the car where the bride and her -mother waited. There were tears on the face of the girl, and she turned -to the window to hide them. Gordon’s eyes followed her wistfully, and -down through the double glass, unnoticed by her absent gaze, he saw the -face of the man who had followed them, sharply watching him. - -Realizing that his hat was a partial disguise, he kept it on in spite -of the presence of the ladies. The color rose in his cheeks that he had -to seem so discourteous, but, to cover his embarrassment, he insisted -that he be allowed to take the elder lady to the platform, as it really -was almost time for the train to start, and so he went deliberately out -to act the part of bridegroom in the face of his recognized foe. - -The mother and Gordon stood for a moment on the vestibule platform, -while Jefferson bade his sister good-by and tried to soothe her -distress at parting from her mother. - -“He’s all right, Celie, indeed he is,” said the young fellow -caressingly, laying his hand upon his sister’s bowed head. “He’s going -to be awfully good to you; he cares a lot for you, and he’s promised -to do all sorts of nice things. He says he’ll bring you back soon, and -he would never stand in the way of your being with us a lot. He did -indeed! What do you think of that? Isn’t it quite different from what -you thought he would say? He doesn’t seem to think he’s got to spend -the rest of his days in Chicago either. He says there might something -turn up that would make it possible for him to change all his plans. -Isn’t that great?” - -Celia tried to look up and smile through her tears, while the man -outside studied the situation a moment in perplexity and then strolled -slowly back to watch Gordon and the elder woman. - -“You will be good to my little girl,” he heard the woman’s voice -pleading. “She has always been guarded, and she will miss us all, even -though she has you.” The voice went through Gordon like a knife. To -stand much more of this and not denounce himself for a blackguard would -be impossible. Neither could he keep his hat on in the presence of this -wonderful motherhood, a motherhood that appealed to him all the more -that he had never known a mother of his own, and had always longed for -one. - -He put up his hand and lifted his hat slightly, guarding as much as -possible his own face from the view of the man on the station platform, -who was still walking deliberately, considerately, up and down, often -passing near enough to hear what they were saying. In this reverent -attitude, Gordon said, as though he were uttering a sacred vow: - -“I will guard her as if she were--as if I were--as if I -were--_you_”--then he paused a moment and added solemnly, -tenderly--“Mother!” - -He wondered if it were not desecration to utter such words when all -the time he was utterly unable to perform them in the way in which the -mother meant. “Impostor!” was the word which rang in his ears now. The -clamor about being hindered had ceased, for he was doing his best, and -not letting even a woman’s happiness stand in the way of his duty. - -Yet his heart had dictated the words he had spoken, while his mind and -judgment were busy with his perilous position. He could not gainsay his -heart, for he felt that in every way he could he would guard and care -for the girl who was to be in his keeping at least for a few minutes -until he could contrive some way to get her back to her friends without -him. - -The whistle of the train was sounding now, and the brakemen were -shouting, “All aboard!” - -He helped the frail little elderly woman down the steps, and she -reached up her face to kiss him. He bent and took the caress, the first -time that a woman’s lips had touched his face since he was a little -child. - -“Mother, I will not let anything harm her,” he whispered, and she said: - -“My boy, I can trust you!” - -Then he put her into the care of her strong young son, swung upon the -train as the wheels began to move, and hurried back to the bride. On -the platform, walking beside the train, he still saw the man. Going to -the weeping girl, Gordon stooped over her gently, touched her on the -shoulder, and drew the window shade down. The last face he saw outside -was the face of the baffled man, who was turning back, but what for? -Was he going to report to others, and would there perhaps be another -stop before they left the city, where officers or detectives might -board the train? He ought to be ready to get off and run for his life -if there was. There seemed no way but to fee the porter to look after -his companion, and leave her, despicable as it seemed! Yet his soul of -honor told him he could never do that, no matter what was at stake. - -Then, without warning a new situation was thrust upon him. The bride, -who had been standing with bowed head and with her handkerchief up to -her eyes, just as her brother had left her, tottered and fell into -his arms, limp and white. Instantly all his senses were called into -action, and he forgot the man on the platform, forgot the possible -next stop in the city, and the explanation he had been about to make -to the girl; forgot even the importance of his mission, and the -fact that the train he was on was headed toward Chicago, instead of -Washington; forgot everything but the fact that the loveliest girl he -had ever seen, with the saddest look a human face might wear, was lying -apparently lifeless in his arms. - -Outside the window the man had turned back and was now running -excitedly along with the train trying to see into the window; and -down the platform, not ten yards behind, came a frantic man with -English-looking clothes, a heavy mustache and goatee, shaggy eyebrows, -and a sensual face, striding angrily along as fast as his heavy body -would carry him. - -But Gordon saw none of them. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Five hours before, the man who was hurling himself furiously after the -rapidly retreating train had driven calmly through the city, from the -pier of the White Star Line to the apartment of a man whom he had met -abroad, and who had offered him the use of it during his absence. The -rooms were in the fourth story of a fine apartment house. The returning -exile noted with satisfaction the irreproachable neighborhood, as he -slowly descended from the carriage, paid his fee, and entered the door, -to present his letter of introduction to the janitor in charge. - -His first act was to open the steamer trunk which he had brought with -him in the cab, and take therefrom his wedding garments. These he -carefully arranged on folding hangers and hung in the closet, which was -otherwise empty save for a few boxes piled on the high shelf. - -Then he hastened to the telephone and communicated with his best man, -Jefferson Hathaway; told him the boat was late arriving at the dock, -but that he was here at last; gave him a few directions concerning -errands he would like to have done, and agreed to be at the church a -half-hour earlier than the time set for the ceremony, to be shown just -what arrangements had been made. He was told that his bride was feeling -very tired and was resting, and agreed that it would be as well not -to disturb her; they would have time enough to talk afterwards; there -really wasn’t anything to say but what he had already written. And he -would have about all he could do to get there on time as it was. He -asked if Jefferson had called for the ring he had ordered and if the -carriage would be sent for him in time and then without formalities -closed the interview. He and Jefferson were not exactly fond of one -another, though Jefferson was the beloved brother of his bride-to-be. - -He hung up the receiver and rang for a brandy and soda to brace himself -for the coming ordeal which was to bind to him a woman whom for years -he had been trying to get in his power and whom he might have loved if -she had not dared to scorn him for the evil that she knew was in him. -At last he had found a way to subdue her and bring her with her ample -fortune to his feet and he felt the exultation of the conqueror as he -went about his preparations for the evening. - -He made a smug and leisurely toilet, with a smile of satisfaction upon -his flabby face. He was naturally a selfish person and had always known -how to make other people attend to all bothersome details for him -while he enjoyed himself. He was quite comfortable and self-complacent -as he posed a moment before the mirror to smooth his mustache and note -how well he was looking. Then he went to the closet for his coat. - -It was most peculiar, the way it happened, but somehow, as he stepped -into that closet to take down his coat, which hung at the back where -the space was widest, the opening at the wrist of his shirt-sleeve -caught for just an instant in the little knob of the closet latch. The -gold button which held the cuff to the wristband slipped its hold, -and the man was free almost at once, but the angry twitch he had -made at the slight detention had given the door an impetus which set -it silently moving on its hinges. (It was characteristic of George -Hayne that he was always impatient of the slightest detention.) He -had scarcely put his hand upon his wedding coat when a soft steel -click, followed by utter darkness, warned him that his impatience had -entrapped him. He put out his hand and pushed at the door, but the -catch had settled into place. It was a very strong, neat little catch, -and it did its work well. The man was a prisoner. - -At first he was only annoyed, and gave the door an angry kick or two, -as if of course it would presently release him meekly; but then he -bethought him of his polished wedding shoes, and desisted. He tried to -find a knob and shake the door, but the only knob was the tiny brass -one on the outside of the catch, and you cannot shake a plain surface -reared up before you. Then he set his massive, flabby shoulder against -the door and pressed with all his might, till his bulky linen shirt -front creaked with dismay, and his wedding collar wilted limply. But -the door stood like adamant. It was massive, like the man, but it was -not flabby. The wood of which it was composed had spent its early life -in the open air, drinking only the wine of sunshine and sparkling air, -wet with the dews of heaven, and exercising against the north blast. It -was nothing for it to hold out against this pillow of a man, who had -been nurtured in the dissipation and folly of a great city. The door -held its own, and if doors do such things, the face of it must have -laughed to the silent room; and who knows but the room winked back? It -would be but natural that a room should resent a new occupant in the -absence of a beloved owner. - -He was there, safe and fast, in the still dark, with plenty of time -for reflection. And there were things in his life that called for his -reflection. They had never had him at an advantage before. - -In due course of time, having exhausted his breath and strength in -fruitless pushing, and his vocabulary in foolish curses, he lifted up -his voice and roared. No other word would quite describe the sound that -issued from his mighty throat. But the city roared placidly below him, -and no one minded him in the least. - -He sacrificed the shiny toes of the shoes and added resounding kicks -on the door to the general hubbub. He changed the roar to a bellow -like a mad bull, but still the silence that succeeded it was as deep -and monotonous as ever. He tried going to the back of the closet and -hurling himself against the door, but he only hurt his soft muscles -with the effort. Finally he sat down on the floor of the closet. - -Now, the janitor’s wife, who occupied an apartment somewhat -overcrowded, had surreptitiously borrowed the use of this closet the -week before, in order to hang therein her Sunday gown, whose front -breadth was covered with grease-spots, thickly overlaid with French -chalk. The French chalk had done its work and removed the grease-spots, -and now lay thickly on the floor of the closet, but the imprisoned -bridegroom did not know that, and he sat down quite naturally to rest -from his unusual exertions, and to reflect on what could be done next. - -The immediate present passed rapidly in review. He could not afford -more than ten minutes to get out of this hole. He ought to be on the -way to the church at once. There was no knowing what nonsense Celia -might get into her head if he delayed. He had known her since her -childhood, and she had always scorned him. The hold he had upon her now -was like a rope of sand, but only he knew that. If he could but knock -that old door down! If he only hadn’t hung up his coat in the closet! -If the man who built the house only hadn’t put such a fool catch on the -door! When he got out he would take time to chop it off! If only he had -a little more room, and a little more air! It was stifling! Great beads -of perspiration went rolling down his hot forehead, and his wet collar -made a cool band about his neck. He wondered if he had another clean -collar of that particular style with him. If he _only_ could get out of -this accursed place! Where were all the people? Why was everything so -still? Would they never come and let him out? - -He reflected that he had told the janitor he would occupy the room with -his baggage for two or three weeks perhaps, but he expected to go away -on a trip this very evening. The janitor would not think it strange -if he did not appear. How would it be to stay here and die? Horrible -thought! - -He jumped up from the floor and began his howlings and gyrations once -more, but soon desisted, and sat down to be entertained by a panorama -of his past life which is always unpleasantly in evidence at such -times. Fine and clear in the darkness of the closet stood out the -nicely laid scheme of deviltry by which he had contrived to be at last -within reach of a coveted fortune. - -Occasionally would come the frantic thought that just through this -little mishap of a foolish clothespress catch he might even yet lose -it. The fraud and trickery by which he had an heiress in his power -did not trouble him so much as the thought of losing her--at least of -losing the fortune. He must have that fortune, for he was deep in debt, -and--but then he would refuse to think, and get up to batter at his -prison door again. - -Four hours his prison walls enclosed him, with inky blackness all -around save for a faint glimmer of light, which marked the well-fitted -base of the door as the night outside drew on. He had lighted the gas -when he began dressing, for the room had already been filled with -shadows, and now, it began to seem as if that streak of flickering gas -light was the only thing that saved him from losing his mind. - -Somewhere from out of the dim shadows a face evolved itself and gazed -at him, a haggard face with piercing hollow eyes and despair written -upon it. It reproached him with a sin he thought long-forgotten. He -shrank back in horror and the cold perspiration stood out upon his -forehead, for the eyes were the eyes of the man whose name he had -forged upon a note involving trust money fifteen years before; and the -man, a quiet, kindly, unsuspecting creature had suffered the penalty in -a prison cell until his death some five years ago. - -Sometimes at night in the first years after his crime, that face had -haunted him, appearing at odd intervals when he was plotting some -particularly shady means of adding to his income, until he had resolved -to turn over a new leaf, and actually gave up one or two schemes as -being too unscrupulous to be indulged in, thus acquiring a comforting -feeling of being virtuous. But it was long since the face had come. -He had settled it in his mind that the forgery was merely a patch of -wild oats which he had sown in his youth, something to be regretted but -not too severely blamed for, and thus forgiving himself he had grown -to feel that it was more the world’s fault for not giving him what -he wanted than his own for putting a harmless old man in prison. Of -the shame that had killed the old man he knew nothing, nor could have -understood. The actual punishment itself was all that appealed to him. -He was ever one that had to be taught with the lash, and then only -kept straight while it was in sight. - -But the face was very near and vivid here in the thick darkness. It -was like a cell, this closet, bare, cold, black. The eyes in the gloom -seemed to pierce him with the thought: “This is what you made me -suffer. It is your turn now. IT IS YOUR TURN NOW!” Nearer and nearer -they came looking into his own, until they saw down into his very soul, -his little sinful soul, and drew back appalled at the littleness and -meanness of what they saw. - -Then for the first time in his whole selfish life George Hayne knew any -shame, for the eyes read forth to him all that they had seen, and how -it looked to them; and beside the tale they told the eyes were clean of -sin and almost glad in spite of suffering wrongfully. - -Closer and thicker grew the air of the small closet; fiercer grew the -rage and shame and horror of the man incarcerated. - -Now, from out the shadows there looked other eyes, eyes that had never -haunted him before; eyes of victims to whom he had never cast a half a -thought. Eyes of men and women he had robbed by his artful, gentlemanly -craft; eyes of innocent girls whose wrecked lives had contributed to -his selfish scheme of living; even the great reproachful eyes of -little children who had looked to him for pity and found none. Last, -above them all were the eyes of the lovely girl he was to have married. - -He had always loved Celia Hathaway more than he could have loved anyone -or anything else besides himself, and it had eaten into his very being -that he never could make her bow to him; not even by torture could he -bring her to her knees. Stung by the years of her scorn he had stooped -lower and lower in his methods of dealing with her until he had come -at last to employ the tools of slow torture to her soul that he might -bring low her pride and put her fortune and her scornful self within -his power. The strength with which she had withheld him until the -time of her surrender had turned his selfish love into a hate with -contemplations of revenge. - -But now her eyes glowed scornfully, wreathed round with bridal white, -and seemed to taunt him with his foolish defeat at this the last minute -before the final triumph. - -Undoubtedly the brandy he had taken had gone to his head. Was he going -mad that he could not get away from all these terrible eyes? - -He felt sure he was dying when at last the janitor came up to the -fourth floor on his round of inspection, noticed the light flaring -from the transom over the door occupied by the stranger who had said -he was going to leave on a trip almost immediately, and went in to -investigate. The eyes vanished at his step. The man in the closet lost -no time in making his presence known, and the janitor, cautiously, -and with great deliberation made careful investigation of the cause -and reason for this disturbance and finally let him out, after having -received promise of reward which never materialized. - -The stranger flew to the telephone in frantic haste, called up the -house of his affianced bride, shouting wildly at the operator for all -undue delays, and when finally he succeeded in getting some one to the -’phone it was only to be told that neither Mrs. Hathaway nor her son -were there. Were they at the church? “Oh, no,” the servant answered, -“they came back from the church long ago. There is a wedding in the -house, and a great many people. They are making so much noise I can’t -hear. Speak louder please!” - -He shouted and raved at the servant, asking futile questions and -demanding information, but the louder he raved the less the servant -understood and finally he hung up the receiver and dashed about the -room like an insane creature, tearing off his wilted collar, grabbing -at another, jerking on his fine coat, searching vainly for his cuffs, -snatching his hat and overcoat, and making off down the stairs; -breathlessly, regardless of the demand of the janitor for the fee of -freedom he had been promised. - -Out in the street he rushed hither and thither blindly in search of -some conveyance, found a taxicab at last, and, plunging in, ordered it -to go at once to the Hathaway address. - -Arrived there, he presented an enlivening spectacle to the guests, who -were still making merry. His trousers were covered with French chalk, -his collar had slipped from its confining button in front and curved -gracefully about one fat cheek, his high hat was a crush indeed, having -been rammed down to his head in his excitement. He talked so fast and -so loud that they thought he was crazy and tried to put him out, but he -shook his fist angrily in the face of the footman and demanded to know -where Miss Hathaway was? When they told him she was married and gone, -he turned livid with wrath and told them that that was impossible, as -he was the bridegroom. - -By this time the guests had gathered in curious groups in the hall and -on the stairs, listening, and when he claimed to be the bridegroom they -shouted with laughter, thinking this must be some practical joke or -else that the man was insane. But one older gentleman, a friend of the -family, stepped up to the excited visitor and said in a quieting voice: - -“My friend, you have made a mistake! Miss Hathaway has this evening -been married to Mr. George Hayne, just arrived from abroad, and they -are at this moment on their way to take the train. You have come too -late to see her, or else you have the wrong address, and are speaking -of some other Miss Hathaway. That is very likely the explanation.” - -George looked around on the company with helpless rage, then rushed to -his taxicab and gave the order for the station. - -Arriving at the station, he saw it was within half a minute of the -departure of the Chicago train, and none knew better than he what time -that train had been going to depart. Had he not given minute directions -regarding the arrangements to his future brother-in-law? What did it -all mean anyway? Had Celia managed somehow to carry out the wedding -without him to hide her mortification at his non-appearance? Or had she -run away? He was too excited to use his reason. He could merely urge -his heavy bulk onward toward the fast fleeting train; and dashed up -the platform, overcoat streaming from his arm, coat-tails flying, hat -crushed down upon his head, his fat, bechalked legs rumbling heavily -after him. He passed Jefferson and his mother; watching tearfully, -lingeringly, the retreating train. Jefferson laughed at the funny -spectacle, but the mother did not notice and only said absently: “I -think he’ll be good to her, don’t you, Jeff? He has nice eyes. I don’t -remember that his eyes used to seem so pleasant, and so--deferential.” -Then they turned to go back to their car, and the train moved faster -and faster out of the station. It would presently rush away out into -the night, leaving the two pursuers to face each other, baffled. - -Both realized this at the same instant and the short, thick-set man -with sudden decision turned again and plunging along with the train -caught at the rail and swung himself with dangerous precipitation to -the last platform of the last car with a half-frightened triumph. -Looking back he saw the other man with a frantic effort sprint forward, -trying to do the same thing, and failing in the attempt, sprawl flat on -the platform, to the intense amusement of a couple of trainmen standing -near. - -George Hayne, having thus come to a full stop in his headlong career, -lay prostrate for a moment, stunned and shaken; then gathered himself -up slowly and stood gazing after the departing train. After all, if he -had caught it what could he have done? It was incredible that Celia -could have got herself married and gone on her wedding trip without -him. If she had eloped with some one else and they were on that train -what could he have done? Kill the bridegroom and force the bride to -return with him and be married over again? Yes, but that might have -been a trifle awkward after all, and he had enough awkward situations -to his account already. Besides, it wasn’t in the least likely that -Celia was married yet. Those people at the house had been fooled -somehow, and she had run away. Perhaps her mother and brother were gone -with her. The same threats that had made her bend to him once should -follow her wherever she had gone. She would marry him yet and pay for -this folly a hundred fold. He lifted a shaking hand of execration -toward the train which by this time was vanishing into the dark opening -at the end of the station, where signal lights like red berries -festooned themselves in an arch against the blackness, and the lights -of the last car paled and vanished like a forgotten dream. - -Then he turned and hobbled slowly back to the gates regardless of the -merriment he was arousing in the genial trainmen; for he was spent -and bruised, and his appearance was anything but dignified. No member -of the wedding company had they seen him at this juncture would have -recognized in him any resemblance to the handsome gentleman who had -played his part in the wedding ceremony. No one would have thought it -possible that he could be Celia Hathaway’s bridegroom. - -Slowly back to the gate he crept, haggard, dishevelled, crestfallen; -his hair in its several isolated locks downfallen over his forehead, -his collar wilted, his clothes smeared with chalk and dust, his -overcoat dragging forlornly behind him. He was trying to decide what -to do next, and realizing the torment of a perpetual thirst, when a -hand was laid suddenly upon him and a voice that somehow had a familiar -twang, said: “You will come with me, sir.” - -He looked up and there before him in the flesh were the eyes of the man -who had haunted him for years, the very eyes grown younger, and filled -with more than reproach. They were piercing him with the keenness of -retribution. They said, as plainly as those eyes in the closet had -spoken but a brief hour before: “Your time is over. My time has come. -You have sinned. You shall suffer. Come now and meet your reward.” - -He started back in horror. His hands trembled and his brain reeled. He -wished for another cocktail to help him to meet this most extraordinary -emergency. Surely, something had happened to his nerves that he was -seeing these eyes in reality, and hearing the voice, that old man’s -voice made young, bidding him come with him. It could not be, of -course. He was unnerved with all he had been through. The man had -mistaken him for some one--or perhaps it was not a man after all. He -glanced quickly around to see if others saw him, and at once became -aware that a crowd was collecting about them. - -The man with the strange eyes and the familiar voice was dressed in -plain clothes, but he seemed to have full assurance that he was a real -live man and had a right to dictate. George Hayne could not shake away -his grasp. There was a determination about it that struck terror to his -soul, and he had a weak desire to scream and hide his eyes. Could he be -coming down with delirium tremens? That brandy must have been unusually -strong to have lasted so long in its effects. Then he made a weak -effort to speak, but his voice sounded small and frightened. The eyes -took his assurance from him. - -“Who are you?” he asked, and meant to add, “What right have _you_ -to dictate to _me_?” but the words died away in his throat, for the -plainclothes man had opened his coat and disclosed a badge that shone -with a sinister light straight into his eyes. - -“I am Norman Brand,” answered the voice, “and I want you for what you -did to my father. It is time you paid your debt. You were the cause -of his humiliation and death. I have been watching for you for years. -I saw the notice of your wedding in the paper and was tracking you. It -was for this I entered the service. Come with me.” - -With a cry of horror George Hayne wrenched away from his captor and -turned to flee, but instantly three revolvers were levelled at him, and -he found that two policemen in brass buttons were stationed behind him, -and the crowd closed in about him. Wherever he turned it was to look -into the barrel of a gun, and there was no escape in any direction. - -They led him away to the patrol wagon, the erstwhile bridegroom, and -in place of the immaculate linen he had searched so frantically for in -his apartment they put upon his wrists cuffs of iron. They put him in a -cell and left him with eyes of the old man for company and the haunting -likeness of his son’s voice filling him with frenzy. The unquenchable -thirst came upon him and he begged for brandy and soda, but none came -to slake his thirst, for he had crossed the great gulf and justice at -last had him in her grasp. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Meantime the man on the steps of the last car of the Chicago Limited -was having his doubts about whether he ought to have boarded that -train. He realized that the fat traveller who was hurling himself after -the train had stirred in him a sudden impulse which had been only half -formed before and he had obeyed it. Perhaps he was following a wrong -scent and would lose the reward which he knew was his if he brought the -thief of the code-writing, dead or alive, to his employer. He was half -inclined to jump off again now before it was too late; but looking down -he saw they were already speeding over a network of tracks, and trains -were flying by in every direction. By the time they were out of this -the speed would be too great for him to attempt a jump. It was even now -risky, and he was heavy for athletics. He must do it at once if he did -it at all. - -He looked ahead tentatively to see if the track on which he must jump -was clear, and the great eye of an engine stabbed him in the face, as -it bore down upon him. The next instant it swept by, its hot breath -fanning his cheek, and he drew back shuddering involuntarily. It was of -no use. He could not jump here. Perhaps they would slow up or stop, -and anyway, should he jump or stay on board? - -He sat down on the upper step the better to get the situation in hand. -Perhaps in a minute more the way would be clearer to jump off if he -decided not to go on. Thus he vacillated. It was rather unlike him not -to know his own mind. - -It seemed as if there must be something here to follow, and yet, -perhaps he was mistaken. He had been the first man of the company at -the front door after Mr. Holman turned the paper over, and they all had -noticed the absence of the red mark. It had been simultaneous with the -clicking of the door-latch and he had covered the ground from his seat -to the door sooner than anyone else. He could swear he had seen the -man get into the cab that stood almost in front of the house. He had -lost no time in getting into his own car which was detailed for such -an emergency, and in signalling the officer on a motor-cycle who was -also ready for a quick call. The carriage had barely turned the corner -when they followed, there was no other of the kind in sight either way -but that, and he had followed it closely. It must have been the right -carriage. And yet, when the man got out at the church he was changed, -much changed in appearance, so that he had looked twice into the empty -carriage to make sure that the man for whom he searched was not still -in there hiding. Then he had followed him into the church and seen him -married; stood close at hand when he put his bride into a big car, and -he had followed the car to the house where the reception was held; even -mingling with the guests and watching until the bridal couple left for -the train. He had stood in the alley in the shadow, the only one of the -guests who had found how the bride was really going away, and again he -had followed to the station. - -He had walked close enough to the bridegroom in the station to be -almost sure that mustache and those heavy eyebrows were false; and yet -he could not make it out. How could it be possible that a man who was -going to be married in a great church full of fashionable people would -so dare to flirt with chance as to accept an invitation to a dinner -where he might not be able to get away for hours? What would have -happened if he had not got there in time? Was it in the least possible -that these two men could be identical? Everything but the likeness -and the fact that he had followed the man so closely pointed out the -impossibility. - -The thick-set man was accustomed to trust his inner impressions -thoroughly, and in this case his inner impression was that he must -watch this peculiar bridegroom and be sure he was not the right man -before he forever got away from him--and yet--and yet, he might be -missing the right man by doing it. However, he had come so far, had -risked a good deal already in following and in throwing himself on -that fast moving train. He would stay a little longer and find out -for sure. He would try and get a seat where he could watch him and in -an hour he ought to be able to tell if he were really the man who had -stolen the code-writing. If he could avoid the conductor for a time he -would simply profess to have taken the wrong train by mistake and maybe -could get put off somewhere near home, in case he discovered that he -was barking up the wrong tree. He would stick to the train for a little -yet, inasmuch as there seemed no safe way of getting off at present. - -Having decided so much, he gave one last glance toward the twinkling -lights of the city hurrying past, and getting up sauntered into the -train, keeping a weather eye out for the conductor. He meant to burn -no bridges behind him. He was well provided with money for any kind of -a trip and mileage books and passes. He knew where to send a telegram -that would bring him instant assistance in case of need, and even now -he knew the officer on the motor-cycle had reported to his employer -that he had boarded this train. There was really no immediate need for -him to worry. It was big game he was after and one must take some risks -in a case of that sort. Thus he entered the sleeper to make good the -impression of his inner senses. - -Gordon had never held anything so precious, so sweet and beautiful and -frail-looking, in his arms. He had a feeling that he ought to lay her -down, yet there was a longing to draw her closer to himself and shield -her from everything that could trouble her. - - * * * * * - -But she was not his--only a precious trust to be guarded and cared -for as vigilantly as the message he carried hidden about his neck; -she belonged to another, somewhere, and was a sacred trust until -circumstances made it possible for him to return her to her rightful -husband. Just what all this might mean to himself, to the woman in -his arms, and to the man whom she was to have married, Gordon had not -as yet had time to think. It was as if he had been watching a moving -picture and suddenly a lot of circumstances had fallen in a heap -and become all jumbled up together, the result of his own rash but -unsuspecting steps, the way whole families have in moving pictures of -falling through a sky-scraper from floor to floor, carrying furniture -and inhabitants with them as they descend. - -He had not as yet been able to disentangle himself from the debris and -find out what had been his fault and what he ought to do about it. - -He laid her gently on the couch of the drawing-room and opened the -little door of the private dressing-room. There would be cold water in -there. - -He knew very little about caring for sick people--he had always been -well and strong himself--but cold water was what they used for people -who had fainted, he was sure. He would not call in anyone to help, -unless it was absolutely necessary. He pulled the door of the stateroom -shut, and went after the water. As he passed the mirror, he started at -the curious vision of himself. One false eyebrow had come loose and -was hanging over his eye, and his goatee was crooked. Had it been so -all the time? He snatched the eyebrow off, and then the other; but the -mustache and goatee were more tightly affixed, and it was very painful -to remove them. He glanced back, and the white, limp look of the girl -on the couch frightened him. What was he about, to stop over his -appearance when she might be dying, and as for pain--he tore the false -hair roughly from him, and, stuffing it into his pocket, filled a glass -with water and went back to the couch. His chin and upper lip smarted, -but he did not notice it, nor know that the mark of the plaster was all -about his face. He only knew that she lay there apparently lifeless -before him, and he must bring the soul back into those dear eyes. It -was strange, wonderful, how his feeling had grown for the girl whom he -had never seen till three hours before. - -He held the glass to her white lips and tried to make her drink, then -poured water on his handkerchief and awkwardly bathed her forehead. -Some hairpins slipped loose and a great wealth of golden-brown hair -fell across his knees as he half knelt beside her. One little hand -drooped over the side of the couch and touched his. He started! It -seemed so soft and cold and lifeless. - -He blamed himself that he had no remedies in his suit-case. Why had -he never thought to carry something,--a simple restorative? Other -people might need it though he did not. No man ought to travel without -something for the saving of life in an emergency. He might have needed -it himself even, in case of a railroad accident or something. - -He slipped his arm tenderly under her head and tried to raise it so -that she could drink, but the white lips did not move nor attempt to -swallow. - -Then a panic seized him. Suppose she was dying? Not until later, when -he had quiet and opportunity for thought, did it occur to him what a -terrible responsibility he had dared to take upon himself in letting -her people leave her with him; what a fearful position he would have -been in if she had really died. At the moment his whole thought was -one of anguish at the idea of losing her; anxiety to save her precious -life; and not for himself. - -Forgetting his own need of quiet and obscurity, he laid her gently back -upon the couch again, and rushed from the stateroom out into the aisle -of the sleeper. The conductor was just making his rounds and he hurried -to him with a white face. - -“Is there a doctor on board, or have you any restoratives? There is a -lady----” He hesitated and the color rolled freshly into his anxious -face. “That is--my wife.” He spoke the word unwillingly, having at the -instant of speaking realized that he must say this to protect her good -name. It seemed like uttering a falsehood, or stealing another man’s -property; and yet, technically, it was true, and for her sake at least -he must acknowledge it. - -“My wife,” he began again more connectedly, “is ill--unconscious.” - -The conductor looked at him sharply. He had sized them up as a wedding -party when they came down the platform toward the train. The young -man’s blush confirmed his supposition. - -“I’ll see!” he said briefly. “Go back to her and I’ll bring some one.” - -It was just as Gordon turned back that the thick-set man entered the -car from the other end and met him face to face, but Gordon was too -distraught at that moment to notice him, for his mind was at rest about -his pursuer as soon as the train started. - -Not so with the pursuer however. His keen little eyes took in the -white, anxious face, the smear of sticking plaster about the mouth and -eyebrows, and instantly knew his man. His instincts had not failed him -after all. - -He put out a pair of brawny fists to catch at him, but a lurch of the -train and Gordon’s swift stride out-purposed him, and by the time the -little man had righted his footing Gordon was disappearing into the -stateroom, and the conductor with another man was in the aisle behind -him waiting to pass. He stepped back and watched. At least he had -driven his prey to quarry and there was no possible escape now until -the train stopped. He would watch that door as a cat watches a mouse, -and perhaps be able to send a telegram for help before he made any move -at all. It was as well that his impulse to take the man then and there -had come to naught. What would the other passengers have thought of -him? He must of course move cautiously. What a blunder he had almost -made. It was no part of his purpose to make public his errand. The -men who were behind him did not wish to be known, nor to have their -business known. - -With narrowing eyes he watched the door of the stateroom as the -conductor and doctor came and went. He gathered from a few questions -asked by one of the passengers that there was some one sick, probably -the lady he had seen faint as the train started. It occurred to him -that this might be his opportunity, and when the conductor came out -of the drawing-room the second time he inquired if any assistance was -needed, and implied that doctoring was his profession, though it would -be a sorry patient that had only his attention. However, if he had one -accomplishment it was bluffing, and he never stopped at any profession -that suited his needs. - -The conductor was annoyed at the interruptions that had already -occurred and he answered him brusquely that they had all the help -necessary and there wasn’t anything the matter anyway. - -There was nothing left for the man to do but wait. - -He subsided with his eye on the stateroom door, and later secured a -berth in plain sight of that door, but gave no order to have it made -up until every other passenger in the car was gone to what rest a -sleeping-car provides. He kept his vigil well, but was rewarded with -no sight of his prey that night, and at last with a sense of duty well -done and the comfortable promise from the conductor that his deftly -worded telegraphic message to Mr. Holman should be sent from a station -they passed a little after midnight, he crept to his well-earned rest. -He was not at home in a dress shirt and collar, being of the walks of -life where a collar is mostly accounted superfluous, and he was glad -to be relieved of it for a few hours. It had not yet occurred to him -that his appearance in that evening suit would be a trifle out of place -when morning came. It is doubtful if he had ever considered matters of -dress. His profession was that of a human ferret of the lower order, -and there were many things he did not know. It might have been the way -he held his fork at dinner that had made Gordon decide that he was but -a henchman of the others. - -Having put his mind and his body at rest he proceeded to sleep, and the -train thundered on its way into the night. - -Gordon meanwhile had hurried back from his appeal to the conductor, and -stood looking helplessly down at the delicate girl as she lay there -so white and seemingly lifeless. Her pretty travelling gown set off -the exquisite face finely; her glorious hair seemed to crown her. A -handsome hat had fallen unheeded to the floor, and lay rolling back -and forth in the aisle with the motion of the train. He picked it up -reverently, as though it had been a part of her. His face in the few -minutes had gone haggard. - -The conductor hurried in presently, followed by a grave elderly man -with a professional air. He touched a practised finger to the limp -wrist, looked closely into the face, and then taking a little bottle -from a case he carried called for a glass. - -The liquid was poured between the closed lips, the white throat -reluctantly swallowed it, the eyelids presently fluttered, a long -breath that was scarcely more than a sigh hovered between the lips, and -then the blue eyes opened. - -She looked about, bewildered, looking longest at Gordon, then closed -her eyes wearily, as if she wished they had not brought her back, and -lay still. - -The physician still knelt beside her, and Gordon, with time now to -think, began to reflect on the possible consequences of his deeds. -With anxious face, he stood watching, reflecting bitterly that he -might not claim even a look of recognition from those sweet eyes, -and wishing with all his heart that his marriage had been genuine. A -passing memory of his morning ride to New York in company with Miss -Bentley’s conjured vision brought wonder to his eyes. It all seemed -so long ago, and so strange that he ever could have entertained for a -moment the thought of marrying Julia. She was a good girl of course, -fine and handsome and all that,--but--and here his eyes sought the -sweet sad face on the couch, and his heart suffered in a real agony for -the trouble he saw; and for the trouble he must yet give to her when he -told her who he was, or rather who he was not; for he must tell her and -that soon. It would not do to go on in her company--nor to Chicago! And -yet, how was he possibly to leave her in this condition? - -But no revelations were to be given that night. - -The physician administered another draught, and ordered the porter to -make up the berth immediately. Then with skilful hands and strong arms -he laid the young girl in upon the pillows and made her comfortable, -Gordon meanwhile standing awkwardly by with averted eyes and troubled -mien. He would have liked to help, but he did not know how. - -“She’d better not be disturbed any more than is necessary to-night,” -said the doctor, as he pulled the pretty cloth travelling gown smoothly -down about the girl’s ankles and patted it with professional hands. -“Don’t let her yield to any nonsense about putting up her hair, or -taking off that frock for fear she’ll rumple it. She needs to lie -perfectly quiet. It’s a case of utter exhaustion, and I should say a -long strain of some kind--anxiety, worry perhaps.” He looked keenly at -the sheepish bridegroom. “Has she had any trouble?” - -Gordon lifted honest eyes. - -“I’m afraid so,” he answered contritely, as if it must have been his -fault some way. - -“Well, don’t let her have any more,” said the elder man briskly. “She’s -a very fragile bit of womanhood, young man, and you’ll have to handle -her carefully or she’ll blow away. Make her _happy_, young man! People -can’t have too much happiness in this world. It’s the best thing, after -all, to keep them well. Don’t be afraid to give her plenty.” - -“Thank you!” said Gordon, fervently, wishing it were in his power to do -what the physician ordered. - -The kindly physician, the assiduous porter, and the brusque but -good-hearted conductor went away at last, and Gordon was left with his -precious charge, who to all appearances was sleeping quietly. The light -was turned low and the curtains of the berth were a little apart. He -could see the dim outline of drapery about her, and one shadowy hand -lying limp at the edge of the couch, in weary relaxation. - -Above her, in the upper berth, which he had told the porter not to make -up, lay the great purple-black plumed hat, and a sheaf of lilies of the -valley from her bouquet. It seemed all so strange for him to be there -in their sacred presence. - -He locked the door, so that no one should disturb the sleeper, and went -slowly into the little private dressing-room. For a full minute after -he reached it, he stood looking into the mirror before him, looking -at his own weary, soiled face, and wondering if he, Cyril Gordon, -heretofore honored and self-respecting, had really done in the last -twelve hours all the things which he was crediting himself with having -done! And the question was, how had it happened? Had he taken leave of -his senses, or had circumstances been too much for him? Had he lost -the power of judging between right and wrong? Could he have helped any -of the things that had come upon him? How could he have helped them? -What ought he to have done? What ought he to do now? Was he a criminal -beyond redemption? Had he spoiled the life of the sweet woman out there -in her berth, or could he somehow make amends for what he had done? And -was he as badly to blame for it all as he felt himself to be? - -After a minute he rallied, to realize that his face was dirty. He -washed the marks of the adhesive plaster away, and then, not satisfied -with the result, he brought his shaving things from his suit-case -and shaved. Somehow, he felt more like himself after his toilet was -completed, and he slipped back into the darkened drawing-room and -stretched himself wearily on the couch, which, according to his -directions, was not made up, but merely furnished with pillows and a -blanket. - -The night settled into the noisy quiet of an express train, and each -revolution of the wheels, as they whirled their way Chicagoward, -resolved itself into the old refrain, “Don’t let anything hinder you! -Don’t let anything hinder you!” - -He certainly was not taking the most direct route from New York to -Washington, though it might eventually prove that the longest way round -was the shortest way home, on account of its comparative safety. - -As he settled to the quiet of his couch, a number of things came -more clearly to his vision. One was that they had safely passed the -outskirts of New York without interference of any kind, and must -by this time be speeding toward Albany, unless they were on a road -that took them more directly West. He had not thought to look at the -tickets for knowledge of his bearings, and the light was too dim for -him to make out any monograms or letterings on inlaid wood panels or -transoms, even if he had known enough about New York railroads to gain -information from them. There was one thing certain: even if he had been -mistaken about his supposed pursuers, by morning there would surely be -some one searching for him. The duped Holman combination would stop -at nothing when they discovered his theft of the paper, and he could -not hope that so sharp-eyed a man as Mr. Holman had seemed to be would -be long in discovering the absence of his private mark on the paper. -Undoubtedly he knew it already. As for the frantic bridegroom, Gordon -dreaded the thought of meeting him. It must be put off at any hazards -until the message was safe with his chief, then, if he had to answer -with his life for carrying off another man’s bride, he could at least -feel that he left no duty to his government undone. It was plain that -his present situation was a dangerous one from two points of view, -for the bridegroom would have no difficulty in finding out what train -he and the lady had taken; and he was satisfied that an emissary of -Holman had more than a suspicion of his identity. The obvious thing to -do was to get off that train at the first opportunity and get across -country to another line of railroad. But how was that to be done with a -sick lady on his hands? Of course he could leave her to herself. She -probably had taken journeys before, and would know how to get back. She -would at least be able to telegraph to her friends to come for her. He -could leave her money and a note explaining his involuntary villainy, -and her indignation with him would probably be a sufficient stimulant -to keep her from dying of chagrin at her plight. But as from the first -every nerve and fibre in him rejected this suggestion. It would be -cowardly, unmanly, horrible! Undoubtedly it might be the wise thing to -do from many standpoints, but--_never_! He could no more leave her that -way than he could run off to save his life and leave that message he -carried. She was a trust as much as that. He had got into this, and he -must get out somehow, but he would not desert the lady or neglect his -duty. - -Toward morning, when his fitful vigil became less lucid it occurred -to him that he ought really to have deserted the bride while she was -still unconscious, jumping off the train at the short stop they made -soon after she fell into his arms. She would then have been cared for -by some one, his absence discovered, and she would have been put off -the train and her friends sent for at once. But it would have been -dastardly to have deserted her that way not knowing even if she still -lived, he on whom she had at least a claim of temporary protection. - -It was all a terrible muddle, right and wrong juggled in such a -mysterious and unusual way. He never remembered to have come to a spot -before where it was difficult to know which of two things it was right -to do. There had always before been such clearly defined divisions. He -had supposed that people who professed not to know what was right were -people who wished to be blinded on the subject because they wished to -do wrong and think it right. But now he saw that he had judged such too -harshly. - -Perhaps his brain had been overstrained with the excitement and -annoyances of the day, and he was not quite in a condition to judge -what was right. He ought to snatch a few minutes’ sleep, and then -his mind would be clearer, for something must be done and that soon. -It would not do to risk entering a large city where detectives and -officers with full particulars might even now be on the watch for -him. He was too familiar with the workings of retribution in this -progressive age not to know his danger. But he really must get some -sleep. - -At last he yielded to the drowsiness that was stealing over him--just -for a moment, he thought, and the wheels hummed on their monotonous -song: “Don’t let anything hinder! Don’t let anything----! Don’t -let----! Don’t! Hin-der-r-r-r!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -The man slept, and the train rushed on. The night waned. The dawn grew -purple in the east, and streaked itself with gold; then later got out -a fillet of crimson and drew over its cloudy forehead. The breath of -the lilies filled the little room with delicate fragrance, and mingled -strange scenes in the dreams of the man and the woman so strangely -united. - -The sad little bride grew restless and stirred, but the man on the -couch did not hear her. He was dreaming of a shooting affray, in -which he carried a bride in a gold pencil and was shot for stealing a -sandwich out of Mr. Holman’s vest-pocket. - -The morning light grew clearer. The east had put on a vesture of gold -above her purple robe, and its reflection shone softly in at the -window, for the train was just at that moment rushing northward, though -its general course was west. - -The sleeper behind the thick green curtains stirred again and became -conscious, as in many days past, of her heavy burden of sorrow. Always -at first waking the realization of it sat upon her as though it would -crush the life from her body. Lying still with bated breath, she fought -back waking consciousness as she had learned to do in the last three -months, yet knew it to be futile while she was doing it. - -The sun shot up between the bars of crimson, like a topaz on a lady’s -gown that crowns the whole beautiful costume. The piercing, jewelled -light lay across the white face, touched the lips with warm fingers, -and the troubled soul knew all that had passed. - -She lay quiet, letting the torrent sweep over her with its sickening -realization. She was married! It was over--with the painful parting -from dear ones. She was off away from them all. The new life she so -dreaded had begun, and how was she to face it--the life with one whom -she feared and did not respect? How could she ever have done it but for -the love of her dear ones? - -Gradually she came to remember the night before--the parting with -her mother and her brother; the little things that brought the tears -again to her eyes. Then all was blankness. She must have fainted. She -did not often faint, but it must be--yes, she remembered opening her -eyes and seeing men’s faces about her, and George--could it have been -George?--with a kinder look in his eyes than she had ever thought to -see there. Then she must have fainted again--or had she? No, some one -had lifted her into this berth, and she had drunk something and had -gone to sleep. What had happened? Where was everybody? It was good -to have been left alone. She grudgingly gave her unloved husband a -fragment of gratitude for not having tried to talk to her. In the -carriage on the way he had seemed determined to begin a long argument -of some kind. She did not want to argue any more. She had written tomes -upon the subject, and had said all she had to say. He was not deceived. -He knew she did not love him, and would never have married him but for -her mother’s sake and for the sake of her beloved father’s memory. What -was the use of saying more? Let it rest. The deed was done, and they -were married. Now let him have his way and make her suffer as he chose. -If he would but let her suffer in silence and not inflict his bitter -tongue upon her, she would try to bear it. And perhaps--oh, perhaps, -she would not live long, and it would soon be all over. - -As the daylight grew, the girl felt an inclination to find out whether -her husband was near. Cautiously she lifted her head, and, drawing back -a corner of the curtain, peered out. - -He lay quietly on the couch, one hand under his cheek against the -pillow, the other across his breast, as if to guard something. He -was in the still sleep of the overwearied. He scarcely seemed to be -breathing. - -Celia dropped the curtain, and put her hand to her throat. It startled -her to find him so near and so still. Softly, stealthily, she lay down -again and closed her eyes. She must not waken him. She would have as -long a time to herself as was possible, and try to think of her dear -mother and her precious brother. Oh, if she were just going away from -them alone, how well she could bear it! But to be going with one whom -she had always almost hated---- - -Her brother’s happy words about George suddenly came to her mind. -Jefferson had thought him fine. Well, of course the dear boy knew -nothing about it. He had not read all those letters--those awful -letters. He did not know the threats--the terrible language that had -been used. She shuddered as she thought of it. But in the same breath -she was glad that her brother had been deceived. She would not have it -otherwise. Her dear ones must never know what she had gone through to -save them from disgrace and loss of fortune--disgrace, of course, being -the first and greatest. She had feared that George would let them see -through his veneer of manners, and leave them troubled, but he had made -a better appearance than she had hoped. Ten years had made a greater -change in him than she had expected. He really had not been so bad as -her conjured image of him. - -Then a sudden desire to look at him again seized her, to know once for -all just how he really did seem. She would not want to notice him awake -any more than she could help, nor dare, lest he presume upon her sudden -interest, to act as if he had never offended; but if she should look -at him now as he lay asleep she might study his face and see what she -really had to expect. - -She fought the desire to peer at him again, but finally it gained -complete possession of her, and she drew back the curtain once more. - -He was lying just as quietly as before. His heavy hair, a little -disordered on the pillow, gave him a noble, interesting appearance. He -did not seem at all a fellow of whom to be afraid. It was incredible -that he could have written those letters. - -She tried to trace in his features a likeness to the youth of ten -years ago, whom she had known when she was but a little girl, who had -tied her braids to her chair, and put raw oysters and caterpillars -down her back, or stretched invisible cords to trip her feet in dark -places; who made her visits to a beloved uncle--whom he also had the -right to call uncle, though he was no cousin of hers--a long list of -catastrophes resulting in tears; who had never failed to mortify her on -all occasions possible, and once---- But the memories were too horrible -as they crowded one upon another! Let them be forgotten! - -She watched the face before her keenly, critically, yet she could see -no trace of any such character as she had imagined the boy George must -have developed as a man; of which his letters had given her ample -proof. This man’s face was finely-cut and sensitive. There was nothing -coarse or selfish in its lines. The long, dark eyelashes lay above dark -circles of weariness, and gave that look of boyishness that always -touches the maternal chord in a woman’s heart. George used to have a -puffy, self-indulgent look under his eyes even when he was a boy. She -had imagined from his last photograph that he would be much stouter, -much more bombastic; but, then, in his sleep, perhaps those things fell -from a man. - -She tried to turn away indifferently, but something in his face held -her. She studied it. If he had been any other man, any stranger, she -would have said from looking at him critically that kindness and -generosity, self-respect and respect for women, were written all over -the face before her. There was fine, firm modelling about the lips -and the clean-shaven chin; and about the forehead the look almost of -a scholar; yet she thought she knew the man before her to be none of -these things. How deceptive were looks! She would probably be envied -rather than pitied by all who saw her. Well, perhaps that was better. -She could the easier keep her trouble to herself. But stay, what was -there about this man that seemed different? The smooth face? Yes. -She had the dim impression that last night he wore a mustache. She -must have been mistaken, of course. She had only looked at him when -absolutely necessary, and her brain was in such a whirl; but still -there seemed to be something different about him. - -Her eyes wandered to the hand that lay across his breast. It was the -fine white hand of the professional man, the kind of hand that somehow -attracts the eye with a sense of cleanness and strength. There was -nothing flabby about it. George as a boy used to have big, stumpy -fingers and nails chewed down to the quick. She could remember how -she used to hate to look at them when she was a little girl, and yet -somehow could not keep her eyes away. She saw with relief that the -nails on this hand were well shaped and well cared for. - -He looked very handsome and attractive as he lay there. The sun shot -one of its early daring bolts of light across his hair as the train -turned in its course and lurched northward around a curve. It glinted -there for a moment, like a miniature search-light, travelling over the -head, showing up every wave and curve. He had the kind of hair which -makes a woman’s hand instinctively long to touch it. Celia wondered -at the curious thoughts that crowded through her mind, knowing that -all the while there was the consciousness that when this man should -wake she would think of nothing but his hateful personality as she had -known it through the years. And she was his wife! How strange! How -terrible! How impossible to live with the thought through interminable -weary years! Oh, that she might die at once before her strength failed -and her mother found out her sorrow! She lay back again on her pillows -very still and tried to think, but somehow a pleasant image of him, -her husband, lingered in her memory. Could it be possible that she -would ever see anything pleasant in him? Ever endure the days of his -companionship? Ever come to the point where she could overlook his -outrageous conduct toward her, forgive him, and be even tolerant of -him? Sharp memories crowded upon her, and the smarting tears stung -their way into her eyes, answering and echoing in her heart, “No, no, a -thousand times, no!” She had paid his price and gained redemption for -her own, but--forget what he had done? _Never!_ - -The long strain of weariness, and the monotony of the onrushing train, -lulled her half into unconsciousness again, and the man on the couch -slumbered on. - -He came to himself suddenly, with all his senses on the alert, as the -thumping noise and motion of the train ceased, and a sudden silence of -open country succeeded, broken now and again by distant oncoming and -receding voices. He caught the fragment of a sentence from some train -official: “It’s a half-hour late, and maybe more. We’ll just have to -lie by, that’s all. Here, you, Jim, take this flag and run up to the -switch----” The voice trailed into the distance, ended by the metallic -note of a hammer doing something mysterious to the underpinning of the -car. - -Gordon sat up suddenly, his hand yet across his breast, where his first -waking thought had been to feel if the little pencil-case were safe. - -Glancing stealthily toward the curtains of the berth, and perceiving no -motion, he concluded that the girl still slept. - -Softly he slipped his feet into his shoes, gave one or two other -touches to his toilet, and stood up, looking toward the curtains. He -wanted to go out and see where they were stopping, but dared he go -without knowing that she was all right? - -Softly, reverently, he stooped and brought his face close to the -opening in the curtains. Celia felt his eyes upon her. Her own were -closed, and by a superhuman effort she controlled her breathing, -slowly, gently, as if she were asleep. - -He looked for a long moment, thrilled by the delicate beauty of her -sleeping face, filled with an intoxicating joy to see that her lips -were no longer white; then, turning reverently away, he unlocked the -door and stepped forth. - -The other occupants of the car were still wrapped in slumber. Loud -snores of various kinds and qualities testified to that. A dim light at -the further end contended luridly, and losingly, with the daylight now -flooding the outside world and creeping mischievously into the transoms. - -Gordon closed the door of the compartment noiselessly and went down the -aisle to the end of the car. - -A door was open, and he could hear voices outside. The conductor stood -talking with two brakemen. He heard the words: “Three-quarters of an -hour at least,” and then the men walked off toward the engine. - -Gordon looked across the country, and for the first time since he -started on his journey let himself remember that it was springtime and -May. - -There had been a bitter wind the night before, with a hint of rain in -the air. In fact, it had rained quite smartly during the ride to the -hospital with the hurt child, but he had been so perturbed that he had -taken little notice of the weather. But this was a radiant morning. - -The sun was in one of its most charming moods, when it touches -everything with a sort of unnatural glory after the long winter of -darkness and cold. Every tree trunk in the distance seemed to stand out -clearly, every little grass-blade was set with a glowing jewel, and the -winding stream across a narrow valley fairly blazed with brightness. -The very road with its deep, clean wheel-grooves seemed like a -well-taken photograph. - -The air had an alluring softness mingled with its tang of winter that -made one long to take a walk anywhere out into the world, just for -the joy of being and doing. A meadow-lark shot up from somewhere to a -telegraph pole, let go a blithe note, and hurried on. It was glorious. -The exhilaration filled Gordon’s blood. - -And here was the chance he craved to slip away from the train before -it reached a place where he could be discovered. If he had but thought -to bring his suit-case! He could slip back now without being noticed -and get it! He could even go without it! But--he could not leave her -that way--could he? Ought he? Perhaps he ought---- But it would not do -to leave his suit-case with her, for it contained letters addressed to -his real name. An explanation would of course be demanded, and he could -never satisfy a loving mother and brother for having left a helpless -girl in such a situation--even if he could satisfy his own conscience, -which he knew he never could. He simply could not leave her, and yet he -_must_ get away from that train as soon as possible. Perhaps this was -the only opportunity he would have before reaching Buffalo, and it was -very risky, indeed dangerous, to dare enter Buffalo. It was a foregone -conclusion that there would be private detectives ready to meet the -train in Buffalo with full descriptions and particulars and only too -ready to make way with him if they could do so without being found out. -He looked nervously back at the door of the car. Dared he attempt to -waken her and say that they had made a mistake and must change cars? -Was she well enough? And where could they go? - -He looked off toward the landscape for answer to his question. - -They were decidedly in the country. The train stood at the top of -a high embankment of cinders, below which was a smooth country road -running parallel to the railroad for some distance till it met another -road at right angles to it, which stretched away between thrifty -meadow-lands to a nestling village. The glorified stream he had first -noticed far up the valley glinted narrower here in the morning light, -with a suggestion of watercress and forget-me-nots in its fringes as -it veered away under a bridge toward the village and hid itself in a -tangle of willows and cat-tails. - -How easy it would be to slide down that embankment, and walk out that -road over the bridge to the village, where of course a conveyance of -some sort could be hired to bear him to another railroad town and -thence to--Pittsburgh, perhaps, where he could easily get a train to -Washington. How easy if only he were not held by some invisible hands -to care for the sweet sleeper inside the car! And yet, for her sake as -well as his own, he must do something, and that right speedily. - -He was standing thus in deep meditation, looking off at the little -village which seemed so near and yet would be so far for her to walk, -when he was pervaded with that strange sense of some one near. For an -instant he resisted the desire to lift his eyes and prove to himself -that no one was present in a doorway which a moment before he knew had -been unoccupied. Then, frowning at his own nervousness, he turned. - -She stood there in all the beauty of her fresh young girlhood, a -delicate pallor on her cheeks, and a deep sadness in her great dark -eyes, which were fixed upon him intently, in a sort of puzzled study. -She was fully dressed, even to her hat and gloves. Every wave of her -golden hair lay exquisitely in place under the purple hat, as though -she might have taken an hour or two at her toilet; yet she had made it -with excited haste, and with trembling fingers, determined to have it -accomplished before the return of her dreaded liege lord. - -She had sprung from her berth the instant he closed the door upon her, -and fastened the little catch to bar him out. She had dashed cold water -into her face, fastened her garments hurriedly, and tossed the glory -of her hair into place with a few touches and what hairpins she could -find on the floor. Then putting on her hat, coat, and gloves, she had -followed him into the outer air. She had a feeling that she must have -air to breathe or she would suffocate. A wild desire filled her to go -alone into the great out-of-doors. Oh, if she but dared to run away -from him! But that she might not do, for all his threats would then -probably be made good by him upon her dear mother and brother. No, -she must be patient and bear to the end all that was set down for her. -But she would get out and breathe a little before he returned. He had -very likely gone into the smoker. She remembered that the George of -old had been an inveterate smoker of cigarettes. She would have time -for a taste of the morning while he had his smoke. And if he returned -and found her gone what mattered it? The inevitable beginning of -conversations which she so dreaded would be put off for a time. - -She never thought to come upon him standing thus alone, looking off at -the beauty of the morning as if he enjoyed it. The sight of him held -her still, watching, as his sleeping face had held her gaze earlier -in the morning. How different he was from what she had expected! How -the ten years had changed him! One could almost fancy it might have -changed his spirit also--but for those letters--those terrible letters! -The writer of those letters could not change, except for the worse! -And yet, he was handsome, intellectual looking, kindly in his bearing, -appreciative of the beauty about him--she could not deny it. It was -most astonishing. He had lost that baggy look under his eyes, and the -weak, selfish, cruel pout of lip she remembered so keenly. - -Then he turned, and a smile of delight and welcome lit up his face. In -spite of herself, she could not keep an answering smile from glimmering -faintly in her own. - -“What! You up and out here?” he said, hastening closer to the step. -“How are you feeling this morning? Better, I’m sure, or you would not -be here so early.” - -“Oh, I had to get out to the air,” she said. “I couldn’t stand the car -another minute. I wish we could walk the rest of the way.” - -“Do you?” he said, with a quick, surprised appreciation in his voice. -“I was just wishing something like that myself. Do you see that -beautiful straight road down there? I was longing to slide down this -bank and walk over to that little village for breakfast. Then we could -get an auto, perhaps, or a carriage, to take us on to another train. If -you hadn’t been so ill last night, I might have proposed it.” - -“Could we?” she asked, earnestly. “I should like it so much;” and there -was eagerness in her voice. “What a lovely morning!” Her eyes were -wistful, like the eyes of those who weep and wonder why they may not -laugh, since sunshine is still yellow. - -“Of course we could,” he said, “if you were only able.” - -“Oh, I’m able enough. I should much rather do that than to go back into -that stuffy car. But wouldn’t they think it awfully queer of us to run -away from the train this way?” - -“They needn’t know anything about it,” he declared, like a boy about -to play truant. “I’ll slip back in the car and get our suit-cases. Is -there anything of yours I might be in danger of leaving behind?” - -“No, I put everything in my suit-case before I came out,” she said, -listlessly, as though she had already lost her desire to go. - -“I’m afraid you are not able,” he said, pausing solicitously as he -scaled the steps. - -She was surprised at his interest in her welfare. - -“Why, of course I am,” she said, insistently. “I have often taken -longer walks than that looks to be, and I shall feel much better for -being out. I really feel as if I couldn’t stand it any longer in there.” - -“Good! Then, we’ll try it!” - -He hurried in for the baggage and left her standing on the cinder -roadbed beside the train looking off at the opening morning. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -It was just at that instant that the thick-set man in his berth not ten -feet away became broadly conscious of the unwonted stillness of the -train and the cessation of motion that had lulled him to such sound -repose. So does a tiny, sharp sound strike upon our senses and bring -them into life again from sleep, making us aware of a state of things -that has been going on for some time perhaps without our realization. -The sound that roused him may have been the click of the stateroom -latch as Gordon opened the door. - -The shades were down in the man’s berth and the curtains drawn close. -The daylight had not as yet penetrated through their thickness. But -once awake his senses were immediately on the alert. He yawned, -stretched and suddenly arrested another yawn to analyze the utter -stillness all about him. A sonorous snore suddenly emphasized the -quiet of the car, and made him aware of all the occupants of all those -curtained apartments. His mind went over a quick résumé of the night -before, and detailed him at once to duty. - -Another soft clicking of the latch set him to listening and his bristly -shocked head was stuck instantly out between the curtains into the -aisle, eyes toward the stateroom door, just in time to see that a man -was stealing quietly down the passageway out of the end door, carrying -two suit-cases and an umbrella. It was his man. He was sure instantly, -and his mind grew frantic with the thought. Almost he had outdone -himself through foolish sleep. - -He half sprang from his berth, then remembered that he was but partly -dressed, and jerked back quickly to grab his clothes, stopping in -the operation of putting them on to yank up his window shade with an -impatient click and flatten his face against the window-pane! - -Yes, there they were down on the ground outside the train, both of -them; man, woman, baggage and all slipping away from him while he slept -peacefully and let them go! The language of his mind at that point was -hot with invectives. - -Gordon had made his way back to the girl’s side without meeting any -porters or wakeful fellow-passengers. But a distant rumbling greeted -his ears. The waited-for express was coming. If they were to get away, -it must be done at once or their flight would be discovered, and -perhaps even prevented. It certainly was better not to have it known -where they got off. He had taken the precaution to close the stateroom -door behind him and so it might be some time before their absence -would be discovered. Perhaps there would be other stops before the -train reached Buffalo, in which case their track would not easily be -followed. He had no idea that the evil eye of his pursuer was even then -upon him. - -Celia was already on the ground, looking off toward the little village -wistfully. Just how it was to make her lot any brighter to get out -of the train and run away to a strange little village she did not -quite explain to herself, but it seemed to be a relief to her pent-up -feelings. She was half afraid that George might raise some new -objection when he returned. - -Gordon swung himself down on the cinder path, scanning the track -either way. The conductor and brakemen were not in sight. Far in the -distance a black speck was rushing down upon them. Gordon could hear -the vibration of the rail of the second track, upon which he placed his -foot as he helped Celia across. In a moment more the train would pass. -It was important that they should be down the embankment, out of sight. -Would the delicate girl not be afraid of the steep incline? - -She hesitated for just an instant at the top, for it was very steep. -Then, looking up at him, she saw that he expected her to go down with -him. She gave a little frightened gasp, set her lips, and started. - -He held her as well as he could with two suit-cases and an umbrella -clutched in his other hand, and finally, as the grade grew steeper, -he let go the baggage altogether, and it slid briskly down by itself, -while he devoted himself to steadying the girl’s now inevitable and -swift descent. - -It certainly was not an ideal way of travelling, this new style of -“gravity” road, but it landed them without delay, though much shaken -and scratched, and divested of every vestige of dignity. It was -impossible not to laugh, and Celia’s voice rang out merrily, showing -that she had not always wept and looked sorrowful. - -“Are you much hurt?” asked Gordon anxiously, holding her hands and -looking down at her tenderly. - -Before she could reply, the express train roared above them, drowning -their voices and laughter; and when it was past they saw their own -train take up its interrupted way grumblingly, and rapidly move off. -If the passengers on those two trains had not been deeply wrapped in -slumber, they might have been surprised to see two fashionably attired -young persons, with hats awry and clasped hands, laughing in a country -road at five o’clock of a May morning. But only one was awake, and by -the time the two in the road below remembered to look up and take -notice, the trains were rapidly disappearing. - -The girl had been deeply impressed with Gordon’s solicitude for her. -It was so out of keeping with his letters. He had never seemed to care -whether she suffered or not. In all the arrangements, he had said what -_he_ wanted, indeed what he _would have_, with an implied threat in -the framing of his sentence in case she dared demur. Never had there -been the least expression of desire for her happiness. Therefore it was -something of a surprise to find him so gentle and thoughtful of her. -Perhaps, after all, he would not prove so terrible to live with as she -had feared. And yet--how could anyone who wrote those letters have any -alleviating qualities? It could not be. She must harden herself against -him. Still, if he would be outwardly decent to her, it would make her -lot easier, of course. - -But her course of mental reasoning was broken in upon by his stout -denunciations of himself. - -“I ought not to have allowed you to slide down there,” he declared. “It -was terrible, after what you went through last night. I didn’t realize -how steep and rough it was. Indeed I didn’t. I don’t see how you ever -can forgive me.” - -“Why, I’m not hurt,” she said gently, astonished at his solicitation. -There was a strange lump in her throat brought by his kindness, which -threatened tears. Just why should kindness from an unexpected quarter -bring tears? - -“I’m only a little shaken up,” she went on as she saw a real anxiety -in his brown eyes, “and I don’t mind it in the least. I think it was -rather fun, don’t you?” - -A faint glimmer of a smile wavered over the corners of her mouth, and -Gordon experienced a sudden desire to take her in his arms and kiss -her. It was a strange new feeling. He had never had any such thought -about Julia Bentley. - -“Why, I--why, yes, I guess so, if you’re sure you’re not hurt.” - -“Not a bit,” she said, and then, for some unexplained reason, they both -began to laugh. After that they felt better. - -“If your shoes are as full of these miserable cinders as mine are, they -need emptying,” declared Gordon, shaking first one well-shod foot and -then the other, and looking ruefully at the little velvet boots of the -lady. - -“Suppose you sit down”--he looked about for a seat, but the dewy grass -was the only resting place visible. He pitched upon the suit-cases and -improvised a chair. “Now, sit down and let me take them off for you.” - -He knelt in the road at her feet as she obeyed, protesting that she -could do it for herself. But he overruled her, and began clumsily to -unbutton the tiny buttons, holding the timid little foot firmly, almost -reverently, against his knee. - -He drew the velvet shoe softly off, and, turning it upside down, shook -out the intruding cinders, put a clumsy finger in to make sure they -were all gone; then shyly, tenderly, passed his hand over the sole of -the fine silk-stockinged foot that rested so lightly on his knee, to -make sure no cinders clung to it. The sight and touch of that little -foot stirred him deeply. He had never before been called upon to render -service so intimate to any woman, and he did it now with half-averted -gaze and the utmost respect in his manner. As he did it he tried to -speak about the morning, the departing train, the annoying cinders, -anything to make their unusual position seem natural and unstrained. He -felt deeply embarrassed, the more so because of his own double part in -this queer masquerade. - -Celia sat watching him, strangely stirred. Her wonder over his kindness -grew with each moment, and her prejudices almost dissolved. She could -not understand it. There must be something more he wanted of her, for -George Hayne had never been kind in the past unless he wanted something -of her. She dreaded lest she should soon find it out. Yet he did not -look like a man who was deceiving her. She drew a deep sigh. If only -it were true, and he were good and kind, and had never written those -awful letters! How good and dear it would be to be tenderly cared for -this way! Her lips drooped at the corners, and her eyelids drooped in -company with the sigh; then Gordon looked up in great distress. - -“You are tired!” he declared, pausing in his attempt to fasten the -little pearl buttons. “I have been cruel to let you get off the train!” - -“Indeed I’m not,” said the girl, brightening with sudden effort. At -least, she would not spoil the kindness while it lasted. It was surely -better than what she had feared. - -“You never can button those shoes with your fingers,” she laughed, -as he redoubled his efforts to capture a tiny disc of pearl and set -it into its small velvet socket. “Here! I have a button-hook in my -hand-bag. Try this.” - -She produced a small silver instrument from a gold-link bag on her arm -and handed it to him. He took it helplessly, trying first one end and -then the other, and succeeding with neither. - -“Here, let me show you,” she laughed, pulling off one glove. Her white -fingers grasped the silver button-hook, and flashed in and out of -the velvet holes, knitting the little shoe to the foot in no time. He -watched the process in humble wonder, and she would not have been a -human girl not to have been flattered with his interest and admiration. -For the minute she forgot who and what he was, and let her laugh ring -out merrily; and so with shy audacity he assayed to take off the other -shoe. - -They really felt quite well acquainted and as if they were going on -a day’s picnic, when they finally gathered up their belongings and -started down the road. Gordon summoned all his ready wit and intellect -to brighten the walk for her, though he found himself again and again -on the brink of referring to his Washington life, or some other -personal matter that would have brought a wondering question to her -lips. He had decided that he must not tell her who he was until he -could put her in an independent position, where she could get away -from him at once if she chose. He was bound to look after her until -he could place her in good hands, or at least where she could look -after herself, and it was better to carry it out leaving her to think -what she pleased until he could tell her everything. If all went well, -they might be able to catch a Pittsburgh train that night and be in -Washington the next day. Then, his message delivered, he would tell -her the whole story. Until then he must hold his peace. - -They went gaily down the road, the girl’s pale cheeks beginning -to flush with the morning and the exercise. She was not naturally -delicate, and her faint the night before had been the result of a -series of heavy strains on a heart burdened with terrible fear. The -morning and his kindness had made her forget for the time that she was -supposed to be walking into a world of dread and sacrifice. - - “The year’s at the spring, - The day’s at the morn,” - -quoted Gordon gaily, - - “Morning’s at seven; - The hill-side’s dew-pearled----” - -He waved an umbrella off to where a hill flashed back a thousand lights -from its jewelled grass-blades thickly set. - - “The lark’s on the wing; - The snail’s on the thorn,” - -went on Celia suddenly catching his spirit, and pointing to a lark that -darted up into the blue with a trill of the morning in his throat. - -Gordon turned appreciative eyes upon her. It was good to have her take -up his favorite poet in that tone of voice--a tone that showed she too -knew and loved Browning. - - “God’s in his heaven, - All’s right with the world,” - -finished Gordon in a quieter voice, looking straight into her eyes. -“That seems very true, to-day, doesn’t it?” - -The blue eyes wavered with a hint of shadow in them as they looked back -into the brown ones. - -“Almost--perhaps,” she faltered wistfully. - -The young man wished he dared go behind that “almost--perhaps” and find -out what she meant, but concluded it were better to bring back the -smile and help her to forget for a little while at least. - -Down by the brook, they paused to rest, under a weeping willow, whose -green-tinged plumes were dabbling in the brook. Gordon arranged the -suit-cases for her to sit upon, then climbed down to the brookside and -gathered a great bunch of forget-me-nots, blue as her eyes, and brought -them to her. - -She looked at them in wonder, to think they grew out here, wild, -untended. She had never seen them before, except in pots in the -florist’s windows. She touched them delicately with the tips of her -fingers, as if they were too ethereal for earth; then fastened them in -the breast of her gown. - -“They exactly match your eyes!” he exclaimed involuntarily, and then -wished he had not spoken, for she flushed and paled under his glance, -until he felt he had been unduly bold. He wondered why he had said -that. He never had been in the habit of saying pretty things to girls, -but this girl somehow called it from him. It was genuine. He sat a -moment abashed, not knowing what to say next, as if he were a shy boy, -and she did not help him, for her eyelashes drooped in a long becoming -sweep over her cheeks, and she seemed for the moment not to be able to -carry off the situation. He was not sure if she were displeased or not. - -Her heart had thrilled strangely as he spoke, and she was vexed with -herself that it should be so. A man who had bullied and threatened her -for three terrible months and forced her to marry him had no right to -a thrill of her heart nor a look from her eyes, be he ever so kind for -the moment. He certainly was nice and pleasant when he chose to be; -she must watch herself, for never, never, must she yield weakly to his -smooth overtures. Well did she know him. He had some reason for all -this pleasantness. It would surely be revealed soon. - -She stiffened her lips and tried to look away from him to the -purply-green hills; but the echo of his words came upon her again, -and again her heart thrilled at them. What if--oh what if he were all -right, and she might accept the admiration in his voice? And yet how -could that be possible? The sweet color came into her cheeks again, -and the tears flew quickly to her eyes, till they looked all sky and -dew, and she dared not turn back to him. - -The silence remained unbroken, until a lark in the willow copse behind -them burst forth into song and broke the spell that was upon them. - -“Are you offended at what I said?” he asked earnestly. “I am sorry if -you did not like it. The words said themselves without my stopping to -think whether you might not like it. Will you forgive me?” - -“Oh,” she said, lifting her forget-me-not eyes to his, “I am not -offended. There is nothing to forgive. It was--beautiful!” - -Then his eyes spoke the compliment over again, and the thrill started -anew in her heart, till her cheeks grew quite rosy, and she buried her -face in the coolness of the tiny flowers to hide her confusion. - -“It was very true,” he said in a low, lover-like voice that sounded -like a caress. - -“Oughtn’t we to hurry on to catch our train?” said Celia, suddenly -springing to her feet. “I’m quite rested now.” She felt if she stayed -there another moment she would yield to the spell he had cast upon her. - -With a dull thud of consciousness the man got himself to his feet and -reminded himself that this was another man’s promised wife to whom he -had been letting his soul go out. - -“Don’t let anything hinder you! Don’t let anything hinder you!” -suddenly babbled out the little brook, and he gathered up his -suit-cases and started on. - -“I am going to carry my suit-case,” declared a very decided voice -behind him, and a small hand seized hold of its handle. - -“I beg your pardon, you are not!” declared Gordon in a much more -determined voice. - -“But they are too heavy for you--both of them--and the umbrella too,” -she protested. “Give me the umbrella then.” - -But he would not give her even the umbrella, rejoicing in his strength -to shield her and bear her burdens. As she walked beside him, she -remembered vividly a morning when George Hayne had made her carry two -heavy baskets, that his hands might be free to shoot birds. Could this -be the same George Hayne? - -Altogether, it was a happy walk, and far shorter than either had -expected it to be, though Gordon worried not a little about his frail -companion before they came to the outskirts of the village, and kept -begging her to sit down and rest again, but she would not. She was -quite eager and excited about the strange village to which they were -coming. Its outlying farm-houses were all so clean and white, with -green blinds folded placidly over their front windows, and only their -back doors astir. The cows all looked peaceful, and the dogs all seemed -friendly. - -They walked up the village street, shaded in patches with flecks of -sunshine through the young leaves. If anyone had told Celia Hathaway -the night before that she would have walked and talked thus to-day -with her bridegroom she would have laughed him to scorn. But now all -unconsciously she had drifted into an attitude of friendliness with the -man whom she had thought to hate all the rest of her life. - -One long, straight, maple-lined street, running parallel to the stream, -comprised the village. They walked to the centre of it, and still saw -no signs of a restaurant. A post-office, a couple of stores and a -bakery made up the business portion of the town, and upon enquiry it -appeared that there was no public eating house, the one hotel of the -place having been sold at auction the week before on account of the -death of the owner. The early village loungers stared disinterestedly -at the phenomenal appearance in their midst of a couple of city folks -with their luggage and no apparent means of transit except their two -delicately shod feet. It presented a problem too grave to be solved -unassisted, and there were solemn shakings of the head over them. At -last one who had discouragingly stated the village lack of a public inn -asked casually: - -“Hed a runaway?” - -“Oh, no!” laughed Gordon pleasantly. “We didn’t travel with horses.” - -“Hed a puncture, then,” announced the village wiseacre, shifting from -one foot to the other. - -“Wal, you come the wrong direction to git help,” said another languid -listener. “Thur ain’t no garridge here. The feller what uset to keep it -skipped out with Sam Galt’s wife a month ago. You’d ought to ’a’ turned -back to Ashville. They got a good blacksmith there can tinker ye up.” - -“Is that so?” said Gordon interestedly. “Well now that’s too bad, but -perhaps as it can’t be helped we’ll have to forget it. What’s the next -town on ahead and how far?” - -“Sugar Grove’s two mile further on, and Milton’s five. They’ve got a -garridge and a rest’rant to Milton, but that’s only sence the railroad -built a junction there.” - -“Has anyone here a conveyance I could hire to take us to Milton?” -questioned Gordon, looking anxiously about the indolent group. - -“I wouldn’t want to drive to Milton for less’n five dollars,” declared -a lazy youth after a suitable pause. - -“Very well,” said Gordon. “How soon can you be ready, and what sort of -a rig have you? Will it be comfortable for the lady?” - -The youth eyed the graceful woman in her dainty city dress scornfully. -His own country lass was dressed far prettier to his mind; but the eyes -of her, so blue, like the little weed-flowers at her breast, went to -his head. His tongue was suddenly tied. - -“It’s all right! It’s as good’s you’ll get!” volunteered a sullen-faced -man half sitting on a sugar barrel. He was of a type who preferred to -see fashionable ladies uncomfortable. - -The youth departed for his “team” and after some enquiries Gordon -found that he might be able to persuade the owner of the tiny white -colonial cot across the street to prepare a “snack” for himself and -his companion, so they went across the street and waited fifteen -minutes in a dank little hair-cloth parlor adorned in funeral wreaths -and knit tidies, for a delicious breakfast of poached eggs, coffee, -home-made bread, butter like roses, and a comb of amber honey. To each -the experience was a new one, and they enjoyed it together like two -children, letting their eyes speak volumes of comments in the midst of -the old lady’s volubility. Unconsciously by their experiences they -were being brought into sympathy with each other. - -The “rig” when it arrived at the door driven by the blushing youth -proved to be a high spring wagon with two seats. In the front one the -youth lounged without a thought of assisting his passengers. Gordon -swung the baggage up, and then lifted the girl into the back seat, -himself taking the place beside her, and planting a firm hand and arm -behind the backless seat, that she might feel more secure. - -That ride, with his arm behind her, was just one more link in the -pretty chain of sympathy that was being welded about these two. -Unconsciously more and more she began to droop, until when she grew -very tired he seemed to know at once. - -“Just lean against my arm,” he said. “You must be very tired and it -will help you bear the jolting.” He spoke as if his arm were made of -wood or iron, and was merely one of his belongings, like an umbrella -or suit-case. He made it seem quite the natural thing for her to -lean against him. If he had claimed it as her right and privilege -as wife, she would have recoiled from him for recalling to her the -hated relation, and would have sat straight as a bean-pole the rest -of the way, but, as it was, she sank back a trifle deprecatingly, and -realized that it was a great help. In her heart she thanked him for -making it possible for her to rest without entirely compromising her -attitude toward him. There was nothing about it that suggested anything -lover-like; it seemed just a common courtesy. - -Yet the strong arm almost trembled as he felt the precious weight -against it, and he wished that the way were ten miles instead of five. -Once, as Celia leaned forward to point to a particularly lovely bit of -view that opened up as they wound around a curve in the road, they ran -over a stone, and the wagon gave an unexpected jolt. Gordon reached -his hand out to steady her, and she settled back to his arm with a -sense of safety and being cared for that was very pleasant. Looking up -shyly, she saw his eyes upon her, with that deep look of admiration -and something more, and again that strange thrill of joy that had -come when he gave her the forget-me-nots swept through her. She felt -almost as if she were harboring a sinful thought when she remembered -the letters he had written; but the joy of the day, and the sweetness -of happiness for even a moment, when she had been for so long a time -sad, was so pleasant that she let herself enjoy it and drift, refusing -to think evil of him now, here, in this bright day. Thus like children -on a picnic, they passed through Sugar Grove and came to the town of -Milton, and there they bade their driver good-by, rewarding him with -a crisp five-dollar bill. He drove home with a vision of smiles in -forget-me-not eyes, and a marked inability to tell anything about his -wonderful passengers who had filled the little village with awe and -amazement, and had given no clue to anyone as to who or what they were. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -But to go back to the pursuer, in his berth, baffled and frantic and -raging. With hands that fumbled because of their very eagerness he -sought to get into his garments, and find his shoes from the melée of -blankets and other articles in the berth, all the time keeping one eye -out of the window, for he must not let his prey get away from him now. -He must watch and see what they were going to do. How fortunate that he -had wakened in time for that. At least he would have a clue. Where was -this? A station? - -He stopped operations once more to gaze off at the landscape, a -desolate country scene to his city hardened eyes. Not a house in sight, -nor a station. The spires of the distant village seemed like a mirage -to him. This couldn’t be a station. What were those two doing down -there anyway? Dared he risk calling the conductor and having him hold -them? No, this affair must be kept absolutely quiet. Mr. Holman had -said that if a breath of the matter came out it was worse than death -for all concerned. He must just get off this train as fast as he could -and follow them if they were getting away. It might be he could get the -man in a lonely place--it would be easy enough to watch his chance -and gag the lady--he had done such things before. He felt far more -at home in such an affair than he had the night before at the Holman -dinner-table. What a pity one of the others had not come along. It -would be mere child’s play for two to handle those two who looked as -if they would turn frightened at the first threat. However, he felt -confident that he could manage the affair alone. - -He panted with haste and succeeded in getting the wrong legs into -his trousers and having to begin all over again, his efforts greatly -hampered by the necessity for watching out the window. - -Then came the distant rumble of an oncoming train, and an answering -scream from his own engine. The two on the ground had crossed quickly -over the second track and were looking down the steep embankment. -Were they going down there? What fate that he was not ready to follow -them at once! The train that was coming would pass--their own would -start--and he could not get out. His opportunity was going from him and -he could not find his shoes! - -Well what of it? He would go without! What were shoes in a time like -this? Surely he could get along barefoot, and beg a pair at some -farmhouse, or buy a pair at a country store. He must get out at any -cost, shoes or no shoes. Grasping his coat which contained his money -and valuables he sprang from his berth straight into the arms of the -porter who was hurrying back to his car after having been out to gossip -with a brakeman over the delay. - -“What’s de mattah, sah?” asked the astonished porter, rallying quickly -from the shock and assuming his habitual courtesy. - -“My shoes!” roared the irate traveller. “What have you done with my -shoes?” - -“Quiet, sah, please sah, you’ll wake de whole cyah,” said the porter. -“I put yoh shoes under de berth sah, right whar I allus puts ’em aftah -blackin’ sah.” - -The porter stooped and extracted the shoes from beneath the curtain and -the traveller, whose experience in Pullmans was small, grabbed them -furiously and made for the door, shoes in hand, for with a snort and a -lurch and a preliminary jar the train had taken up its motion, and a -loud rushing outside proclaimed that the other train was passing. - -The porter, feeling that he had been treated with injustice, stood -gazing reproachfully after the man for a full minute before he followed -him to tell him that the wash-room was at the other end of the car and -not down past the drawing-room as he evidently supposed. - -He found his man standing in stocking feet on the cold iron platform, -his head out of the opening left in the vestibuled train, for when the -porter came in he had drawn shut the outer door and slammed down the -movable platform, making it impossible for anyone to get out. There was -only the little opening the size of a window above the grating guard, -and the man clung to it as if he would jump over it if he only dared. -He was looking back over the track and his face was not good to see. - -He turned wildly upon the porter. - -“I want you to stop this train and let me off,” he shouted. “I’ve lost -something valuable back there on the track. Stop the train quick, I -tell you, or I’ll sue the railroad.” - -“What was it you lost?” asked the porter respectfully. He wasn’t sure -but the man was half asleep yet. - -“It was a--my--why it was a very valuable paper. It means a fortune to -me and several other people and I must go back and get it. Stop the -train, I tell you, at once or I’ll jump out.” - -“I can’t stop de train sah, you’ll hev to see de conductah sah, ’bout -dat. But I specks there’s mighty little prospec’ o’ gettin’ dis train -stopped foh it gits to its destinashun sah. We’s one hour a’hind time -now, sah, an’ he’s gotta make up foh we gits to Buff’lo.” - -The excited passenger railed and stormed until several sleepers were -awakened and stuck curious sleepy countenances out from the curtains -of their berths, but the porter was obdurate, and would not take any -measures to stop the train, nor even call the conductor until the -passenger promised to return quietly to his berth. - -The thick-set man was not used to obeying but he saw that he was only -hindering himself and finally hurried back to his berth where he -hastily parted the curtains, craning his neck to see back along the -track and over the green valley growing smaller and smaller now in -the distance. He could just make out two moving specks on the white -winding ribbon of the road. He felt sure he knew the direction they -were taking. If he only could get off that train he could easily catch -them, for they would have no idea he was coming, and would take no -precautions. If he had only wakened a few seconds sooner he would have -been following them even now. - -Fully ten minutes he argued with the conductor, showing a wide -incongruity between his language and his gentlemanly attire, but the -conductor would do nothing but promise to set him down at a water -tower ten miles ahead where they had to slow up for water. He said sue -or no sue he had his orders, and the thick-set man did not inspire him -either to sympathy or confidence. The conductor had been many years on -the road and generally knew when to stop his train and when to let it -go on. - -Sullenly the thick-set man accepted the conductor’s decision and -prepared to leave the train at the water tower, his eye out for the -landmarks along the way as he completed his hasty toilet. - -He was in no pleasant frame of mind, having missed a goodly amount of -his accustomed stimulants the night before, and seeing little prospect -of either stimulants or breakfast before him. He was not built for a -ten-mile walk over the cinders and his flabby muscles already ached at -the prospect. But then, of course he would not have to go far before -he found an automobile or some kind of conveyance to help him on his -way. He looked eagerly from the window for indications of garages or -stables, but the river wound its silver way among the gray green willow -fringes, and the new grass shone a placid emerald plain with nothing -more human than a few cows grazing here and there. Not even a horse -that might be borrowed without his owner’s knowledge. It was a strange, -forsaken spot, ten whole miles and no sign of any public livery! Off -to the right and left he could see villages, but they were most of them -too far away from the track to help him any. It began to look as if -he must just foot it all the way. Now and then a small shanty or tiny -dwelling whizzed by near at hand, but nothing that would relieve his -situation. - -It occurred to him to go into the dining-car for breakfast, but even as -he thought of it the conductor told him that the train would stop in -two minutes and he must be ready to get off, for they did not stop long. - -He certainly looked a harmless creature, that thick-set man as he stood -alone upon the cinder elevation and surveyed the landscape o’er. Ten -miles from his quarry, alone on a stretch of endless ties and rails -with a gleaming river mocking him down in the valley, and a laughing -sky jeering overhead. He started down the shining track his temper a -wreck, his mind in chaos, his soul at war with the world. The worst -of it all was that the whole fault was his own for going to sleep. He -began to fear that he had lost his chance. Then he set his ugly jaw and -strode ahead. - -The morning sun poured down upon the thick-set man on his pilgrimage, -and waxed hotter until noon. Trains whizzed mercilessly by and gave him -no succor. Weary, faint, and fiercely thirsty he came at last to the -spot where he was satisfied his quarry had escaped. He could see the -marks of their rough descent in the steep cinder bank, and assaying the -same himself came upon a shred of purple silk caught on a bramble at -the foot. - -Puffing and panting, bruised and foot-sore, he sat down at the very -place where Celia had stopped to have her shoes fastened, and mopped -his purple brow, but there was triumph in his ugly eye, and after a few -moment’s rest he trudged onward. That town over there ought to yield -both conveyance and food as well as information concerning those he -sought. He would catch them. They could never get away from him. He was -on their track again, though hours behind. He would get them yet and no -man should take his reward from him. - -Almost spent he came at last to the village, and ate a surprisingly -large dish of beef and vegetable stew at the quaint little house where -Celia and Gordon had breakfasted, but the old lady who served it to -them was shy about talking, and though admitting that a couple of -people had been there that morning she was non-committal about their -appearance. They might have been young and good-looking and worn -feathers in their hats, and they might not. She wasn’t one for noticing -people’s appearance if they treated her civilly and paid their bills. -Would he have another cup of coffee? He would, and also two more -pieces of pie, but he got very little further information. - -It was over at the corner store where he finally went in search -of something stronger than coffee that he further pursued his -investigations. - -The loungers were still there. It was their only business in life -and they were most diligent in it. They eyed the newcomer with a -relish and settled back on their various barrels and boxes to enjoy -whatever entertainment the gods were about to provide to relieve their -monotonous existence. - -A house divided against itself cannot stand. This man’s elegant -garments assumed for the nonce did not fit the rest of his general -appearance which had been accentuated by his long, hot, dusty tramp. -The high evening hat was jammed on the back of his head and bore a -decided dent where it had rolled down the cinder embankment, his collar -was wilted and lifeless, his white laundered tie at half mast, his coat -awry, and his fine patent leather shoes which pinched were covered -with dust and had caused a limp like the hardest tramp upon the road. -Moreover, again the speech of the man betrayed him, and the keen-minded -old gossips who were watching him suspiciously sized him up at once the -minute he opened his mouth. - -“Saw anything of a couple of young folks walking down this way?” -he enquired casually, pausing to light a cigar with which he was -reinforcing himself for further travel. - -One man allowed that there might have passed such people that day. He -hardly seemed willing to commit himself, but another vouchsafed the -information that “Joe here driv two parties of thet description to -Milton this mornin’--jes’ got back. Mebbe he could answer fer ’em.” - -Joe frowned. He did not like the looks of the thick-set man. He still -remembered the forget-me-not eyes. - -But the stranger made instant request to be driven to Milton, offering -ten dollars for the same when he found that his driver was reluctant, -and that Milton was a railroad centre. A few keen questions had made -him sure that his man had gone to Milton. - -Joe haggled, allowed his horse was tired, and he didn’t care about the -trip twice in one day, but finally agreed to take the man for fifteen -dollars, and sauntered off to get a fresh horse. He had no mind to be -in a hurry. He had his own opinion about letting those two “parties” -get out of the way before the third put in an appearance, but he had -no mind to lose the fifteen dollars. It would help to buy the ring he -coveted for his girl. - -In due time Joe rode leisurely up and the impatient traveller climbed -into the high spring wagon and was driven away from the apathetic gaze -of the country loungers, who unblinkingly took in the fact that Joe -was headed toward Ashville, and evidently intended taking his fare to -Milton by way of that village, a thirty-mile drive at least. The man -would get the worth of his money in ride. A grim twinkle sat in their -several eyes as the spring wagon turned the curve in the road and was -lost to sight, and after due silence an old stager spoke: - -“Do you reckon that there was their sho-fur?” he requested languidly. - -“Naw!” replied a farmer’s son vigorously. “He wouldn’t try to showf all -dolled up like that. He’s the rich dad comin’ after the runaways. Joe -don’t intend he shell get ’em yet awhile. I reckon the ceremony’ll be -over ’fore he steps in to interfere.” This lad went twice a month to -Milton to the “movies” and was regarded as an authority on matters of -romance. A pause showed that his theory had taken root in the minds of -his auditors. - -“Wal, I reckon Joe thinks the longest way round is the shortest way -home,” declared the old stager. “Joe never did like them cod-fish -swells--but how do you ’count fer the style o’ that gal? She wan’t -like her dad one little bit.” - -“Oh, she’s ben to collidge I ’spose,” declared the youth. “They get all -that off’n collidge.” - -“Serves the old man right fer sendin’ his gal to a fool collidge when -she ought to a ben home learnin’ to house-keep. I hope she gits off -with her young man all right,” said a grim old lounger, and a cackle -of laughter went round the group, which presently broke up, for this -had been a strenuous day and all felt their need of rest; besides they -wanted to get home and tell the news before some neighbor got ahead of -them. - -All this time Celia and Gordon were touring Milton, serenely -unconscious of danger near, or guardian angel of the name of Joe. - -Investigation disclosed the fact that there was a train for Pittsburgh -about three in the afternoon. Gordon sent a code telegram to his chief, -assuring him of the safety of the message, and of his own intention -to proceed to Washington as fast as steam could carry him. Then he -took the girl to a restaurant, where they mounted two high stools, and -partook with an unusually ravenous appetite of nearly everything on the -menu--corn soup, roast beef, baked trout, stewed tomatoes, cold slaw, -custard, apple, and mince pies, with a cup of good country coffee and -real cream--all for twenty-five cents apiece. - -It was a very merry meal. Celia felt somehow as if for the time all -memory of the past had been taken from her, and she were free to think -and act happily in the present, without any great problems to solve or -decisions to make. Just two young people off having a good time, they -were, at least until that afternoon train came. - -After their dinner, they took a short walk to a tiny park where two -white ducks disported themselves on a seven-by-nine pond, spanned by a -rustic bridge where lovers had cut their initials. Gordon took out his -knife and idly cut C. H. in the rough bark of the upper rail, while -his companion sat on the little board seat and watched him. She was -pondering over the fact that he had cut her initials, and not his own. -It would have been like the George of old to cut his own and never once -think of hers. And he had put but one H. Probably he thought of her now -as Celia Hayne, without the Hathaway, or else he was so used to writing -her name Celia Hathaway, that he was not thinking at all. - -Those letters! How they haunted her and clouded every bright experience -that she fain would have grasped and held for a little hour. - -They were silent now, while he worked and she thought. He had finished -the C. H., and was cutting another C, but instead of making another -H, he carefully carved out the letter G. What was that for? C. G.? -Who was C. G.? Oh, how stupid! George, of course. He had started a C -by mistake. But he did not add the expected H. Instead he snapped his -knife shut, laid his hand over the carving, and leaned over the rail. - -“Some time, perhaps, we’ll come here again, and remember,” he said, -and then bethought him that he had no right to hope for any such -anniversary. - -“Oh!” She looked up into his eyes, startled, troubled, the haunting of -her fears in the shadows of the blue. - -He looked down into them and read her trouble, read and understood, and -looked back his great desire to comfort her. - -His look carried further than he meant it should. For the third time -that day a thrill of wonder and delight passed over her and left her -fearful with a strange joy that she felt she should put from her. - -It was only an instant, that look, but it brought the bright color to -both faces, and made Gordon feel the immediate necessity of changing -the subject. - -“See those little fishes down there,” he said pointing to the tiny lake -below them. - -Through a blur of tears, the girl looked down and saw the tiny, -sharp-finned creatures darting here and there in a beam of sun like a -small search-light set to show them off. - -She moved her hand on the rail to lean further over, and her soft -fingers touched his hand for a moment. She would not draw them away -quickly, lest she hurt him; why, she did not know, but she could -not--would not--hurt him. Not now! The two hands lay side by side for -a full minute, and the touch to Gordon was as if a roseleaf had kissed -his soul. He had never felt anything sweeter. He longed to gather the -little hand into his clasp and feel its pulses trembling there as he -had felt it in the church the night before, but she was not his. He -might not touch her till she had her choice of what to do, and she -would never choose him, never, when she knew how he had deceived her. - -That one supreme moment they had of perfect consciousness, -consciousness of the drawing of soul to soul, of the sweetness of that -hovering touch of hands, of the longing to know and understand each -other. - -Then a sharp whistle sounded, and a farmer’s boy with a new rake and a -sack of corn on his shoulder came sauntering briskly down the road to -the bridge. Instantly they drew apart, and Celia felt that she had been -on the verge of disloyalty to her true self. - -They walked silently back to the station, each busy with his own -thoughts, each conscious of that one moment when the other had come so -near. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -There were a lot of people at the station. They had been to a family -gathering of some sort from their remarks, and they talked loudly and -much, so that the two stood apart--for the seats were all occupied--and -had no opportunity for conversation, save a quiet smiling comment now -and then upon the chatter about them, or the odd remarks they heard. - -There had come a constraint upon them, a withdrawing of each into his -shell, each conscious of something that separated. Gordon struggled to -prevent it, but he seemed helpless. Celia would smile in answer to his -quiet remarks, but it was a smile of distance, such as she had worn -early in the morning. She had quite found her former standing ground, -with its fence of prejudice, and she was repairing the breaks through -which she had gone over to the enemy during the day. She was bracing -herself with dire reminders, and snatches from those terrible letters -which were written in characters of fire in her heart. Never, never, -could she care for a man who had done what this man had done. She had -forgotten for a little while those terrible things he had said of her -dear dead father. How could she have forgotten for an instant! How -could she have let her hand lie close to the hand that had defiled -itself by writing such things! - -By the time they were seated in the train, she was freezing in her -attitude, and poor Gordon sat miserably beside her and tried to think -what he had done to offend her. It was not his fault that her hand -had lain near his on the rail. She had put it there herself. Perhaps -she expected him to put his over it, to show her that he cared as a -bridegroom should care--as he did care, in reality, if he only had the -right. And perhaps she was hurt that he had stood coolly and said or -done nothing. But he could not help it. - -Much to Gordon’s relief, the train carried a parlor-car, and it -happened on this particular day to be almost deserted save for a deaf -old man with a florid complexion and a gold knobbed cane who slumbered -audibly at the further end from the two chairs Gordon selected. He -established his companion comfortably, disposed of the baggage, and -sat down, but the girl paid no heed to him. With a sad, set face, -she stared out of the window, her eyes seeming to see nothing. For -two hours she sat so, he making remarks occasionally, to which she -made little or no reply, until he lapsed into silence, looking at her -with troubled eyes. Finally, just as they neared the outskirts of -Pittsburgh, he leaned softly forward and touched her coat-sleeve, to -attract her attention. - -“Have I offended--hurt--you in any way?” he asked gently. She turned -toward him, and her eyes were brimming full of tears. - -“No,” she said, and her lips were trembling. “No, you have -been--most--kind--but--but I cannot forget _those letters_!” She ended -with a sob and put up her handkerchief quickly to stifle it. - -“Letters?” he asked helplessly. “What letters?” - -“The letters you wrote me. All the letters of the last five months. I -cannot forget them. I can _never_ forget them! How could you _think_ I -could?” - -He looked at her anxiously, not knowing what to say, and yet he must -say something. The time had come when some kind of an understanding, -some clearing up of facts, must take place. He must go cautiously, but -he must find out what was the matter. He could not see her suffer so. -There must be some way to let her know that so far as he was concerned -she need suffer nothing further and that he would do all in his power -to set her right with her world. - -But letters! He had written no letters. His face lighted up with the -swift certainty of one thing about which he had not dared to be sure. -She still thought him the man she had intended to marry. She was not -therefore troubled about that phase of the question. It was strange, -almost unbelievable, but it was true that he personally was not -responsible for the trouble in her eyes. What trouble she might feel -when she knew all, he had yet to find out, but it was a great relief to -be sure of so much. Still, something must be said. - -“Letters!” he repeated again stupidly, and then added with perplexed -tone: “Would you mind telling me just what it was in the letters that -hurt you?” - -She turned eyes of astonishment on him. - -“How can you ask?” she said almost bitterly. “You surely must know how -terrible they were to me! You could not be the man you have seemed to -be to-day if you did not know what you were doing to me in making all -those terrible threats. You must know how cruel they were.” - -“I am afraid I don’t understand,” he said earnestly, the trouble -still most apparent in his eyes, “Would you mind being a little more -explicit? Would you mind telling me exactly what you think I wrote you -that sounded like a threat?” - -He asked the question half hesitatingly, because he was not quite sure -whether he was justified in thus obtaining private information under -false pretenses, and yet he felt that he must know just what troubled -her or he could never help her; and he was sure that if she knew he was -an utter stranger, even a kindly one, those gentle lips would never -open to inform him upon her torturer. As it was she could tell him her -trouble with a perfectly clear conscience, thinking she was telling it -to the man who knew all about it. But his hesitation about prying into -an utter stranger’s private affairs even with a good motive, gave him -an air of troubled dignity, and real anxiety to know his fault that -puzzled the girl more than all that had gone before. - -“I cannot understand how you can ask such a question, since it has been -the constant subject of discussion in all our letters!” she replied, -sitting up with asperity and drying her tears. She was on the verge of -growing angry with him for his petty, wilful misunderstanding of words -whose meaning she felt he must know well. - -“I do ask it,” he said quietly, “and, believe me, I have a good motive -in doing so.” - -She looked at him in surprise. It was impossible to be angry with those -kindly eyes, even though he did persist in a wilful stupidity. - -“Well, then, since you wish it stated once more I will tell you,” she -declared, the tears welling again into her eyes. “You first demanded -that I marry you--demanded--without any pretense whatever of caring -for me--with a hidden threat in your demand that if I did not, you -would bring some dire calamity upon me by means that were already in -your power. You took me for the same foolish little girl whom you had -delighted to tease for years before you went abroad to live. And when -I refused you, you told me that you could not only take away from my -mother all the property which she had inherited from her brother, by -means of a will made just before my uncle’s death, and unknown except -to his lawyer and you; but that you could and would blacken my dear -dead father’s name and honor, and show that every cent that belonged to -Mother and Jefferson and myself was stolen property. When I challenged -you to prove any such thing against my honored father, you went still -further and threatened to bring out a terrible story and prove it with -witnesses who would swear to anything you said. You knew my father’s -white life, you as much as owned your charges were false, and yet you -dared to send me a letter from a vile creature who pretended that she -was his first wife, and who said she could prove that he had spent much -of his time in her company. You knew the whole thing was a falsehood, -but you dared to threaten to make this known through the newspapers -if I did not marry you. You realized that I knew that, even though few -people and no friends would believe such a thing of my father, such a -report in the papers--false though it was--would crush my mother to -death. You knew that I would give my life to save her, and so you had -me in your power, as you have me now. You have always wanted me in your -power, just because you love to torture, and now you have me. But you -cannot make me forget what you have done. I have given my life but I -cannot give any more. If it is not sufficient you will have to do your -worst.” - -She dropped her face into the little wet handkerchief, and Gordon -sat with white, drawn countenance and clenched hands. He was fairly -trembling with indignation toward the villain who had thus dared impose -upon this delicate flower of womanhood. He longed to search the world -over for the false bridegroom; and, finding, give him his just dues. - -And what should he do or say? Dared he tell her at once who he was and -trust to her kind heart to forgive his terrible blunder and keep his -secret till the message was safely delivered? Dared he? Had he any -right? No, the secret was not his to divulge either for his own benefit -or for any other’s. He must keep that to himself. But he must help her -in some way. - -At last he began to speak, scarcely knowing what he was about to say: - -“It is terrible, _terrible_, what you have told me. To have written -such things to one like you--in fact, to anyone on earth--seems to me -unforgivable. It is the most inhuman cruelty I have ever heard of. You -are fully justified in hating and despising the man who wrote such -words to you.” - -“Then, why did you write them?” she burst forth. “And how can you sit -there calmly and talk that way about it, as if you had nothing to do -with the matter?” - -“Because I never wrote those letters,” he said, looking her steadily, -earnestly, in the eyes. - -“You never wrote them!” she exclaimed excitedly. “You dare to deny it?” - -“I dare to deny it.” His voice was quiet, earnest, convincing. - -She looked at him, dazed, bewildered, indignant, sorrowful. “But you -cannot deny it,” she said, her fragile frame trembling with excitement. -“I have the letters all in my suit-case. You cannot deny your own -handwriting. I have the last awful one--the one in which you threatened -Father’s good name--here in my hand-bag. I dared not put it with the -rest, and I had no opportunity to destroy it before leaving home. I -felt as if I must always keep it with me, lest otherwise its awful -secret would somehow get out. There it is. Read it and see your own -name signed to the words you say you did not write!” - -While she talked, her trembling fingers had taken a folded, crumpled -letter from her little hand-bag, and this she reached over and laid -upon the arm of his chair. - -“Read it,” she said. “Read it and see that you cannot deny it.” - -“I should rather not read it,” he said. “I do not need to read it to -deny that I ever wrote such things to you.” - -“But I insist that you read it,” said the girl. - -“If you insist I will read it,” he said, taking the letter reluctantly -and opening it. - -She sat watching him furtively through the tears while he read, saw -the angry flush steal into his cheeks as the villainy of a fellow man -was revealed to him through the brief, coarse, cruel epistle, and she -mistook the flush for one of shame. - -Then his true brown eyes looked up and met her tearful gaze steadily, a -fine anger burning in them. - -“And you think I wrote that!” he said, a something in his voice she -could not understand. - -“What else could I think? It bears your signature,” she answered coldly. - -“The letter is vile,” he said, “and the man who wrote it is a -blackguard, and deserves the utmost that the law allows for such -offences. With your permission, I shall make it my business to see that -he gets it.” - -“What do you mean?” she said, wide-eyed. “How could you punish -yourself? You cannot still deny that you wrote the letter.” - -“I still deny that I wrote it, or ever saw it until you handed it to me -just now.” - -The girl looked at him, nonplussed, more than half convinced, in spite -of reason. - -“But isn’t that your handwriting?” - -“It is not. Look!” - -He took out his fountain pen, and, holding the letter on the arm of her -chair, he wrote rapidly in his natural hand her own name and address -beneath the address on the envelope, then held it up to her. - -“Do they look alike?” - -The two writings were as utterly unlike as possible, the letter being -addressed in an almost unreadable scrawl, and the fresh writing -standing fine and clear, in a script that spoke of character and -business ability. Even a child could see at a glance that the two were -not written by the same hand--and yet of course, it might have been -practised for the purpose of deception. This thought flashed through -the minds of both even as he held it out for her to look. - -She looked from the envelope to his eyes and back to the letter, -startled, not knowing what to think. - -But before either of them had time for another word the conductor, the -porter, and several people from the car behind came hurriedly through, -and they realized that while they talked the train had come to a halt, -amid the blazing electric lights of a great city station. - -“Why,” said Gordon, startled, “we must have reached Pittsburgh. Is this -Pittsburgh?” he called out to the vanishing porter. - -“Yas sah!” yelled the porter, putting his head around the curve of the -passageway. “You bettah hurry sah, foh dis train goes on to Cincinnati -pretty quick. We’s late gittin’ in you see.” - -Neither of them had noticed a man in rough clothes with slouch hat and -hands in his pockets who had boarded the train a few miles back and -walked through the car several times eyeing them keenly. He stuck his -head in at the door now furtively and drew back quickly again out of -sight. - -Gordon hurriedly gathered up the baggage, and they went out of the car, -the porter rushing back as they reached the door, to assist them and -get a last tip. There was no opportunity to say anything more, as they -mingled with the crowd, until the porter landed their baggage in the -great station and hurried back to his train. The man with the slouch -hat followed and stood unobtrusively behind them. - -Gordon looked down at the white, drawn face of the girl, and his heart -was touched with compassion for her trouble. He must make her some -satisfactory explanation at once that would set her heart at rest, but -he could not do it here, for every seat about them was filled with -noisy chattering folk. He stooped and whispered low and tenderly: - -“Don’t worry, little girl! Just try to trust me, and I will explain it -all.” - -“Can you explain it?” she asked anxiously, as if catching at a rope -thrown out to save her life. - -“Perfectly,” he said, “if you will be patient and trust me. But we -cannot talk here. Just wait in this seat until I see if I can get the -stateroom on the sleeper.” - -He left her with his courteous bow, and she sat watching his tall, fine -figure as he threaded his way among the crowds to the Pullman window, -her heart filled with mingling emotions. In spite of her reason, a tiny -bit of hope for the future was springing up in her heart and without -her own will she found herself inclined to trust him. At least it was -all she could do at present. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Back at Milton an hour before, when the shades of dusk were falling and -a slender moon hung timidly on the edge of the horizon, a horse drawing -a spring wagon ambled deliberately into town and came to a reluctant -halt beside the railroad station, having made a wide détour through the -larger part of the county on the way to that metropolis. - -The sun had been hot, the road much of it rough, and the jolts over -stones and bumps had not added to the comfort of the thick-set man, -already bruised and weary from his travels. Joe’s conversation had not -ceased. He had given his guest a wide range of topics, discoursing -learnedly on the buckwheat crop and the blight that might be expected -to assail the cherry trees. He pointed out certain portions of land -infested with rattlesnakes, and told blood-curdling stories of -experiences with stray bears and wild cats in a maple grove through -which they passed till the passenger looked furtively behind him and -urged the driver to hurry a little faster. - -Joe, seeing his gullibility, only made his stories of country life the -bigger, for the thick-set man, though bold as a lion in his own city -haunts, was a coward in the unknown world of the country. - -When the traveler looking at his watch urged Joe to make haste and -asked how many miles further Milton was, Joe managed it that the horse -should stumble on a particularly stony bit of road. Then getting down -gravely from the wagon he examined the horse’s feet each in turn, -shaking his head sadly over the left fore foot. - -“Jes’ ’z I ’sposed,” he meditated dreamily. “Stone bruise! Lame horse! -Don’t believe I ought to go on. Sorry, but it’ll be the ruination of -the horse. You ain’t in a hurry I hope.” - -The passenger in great excitement promised to double the fare if the -young man would get another horse and hurry him forward, and after -great professions of doubt Joe gave in and said he would try the horse, -but it wouldn’t do to work him hard. They would have to let him take -his time. He couldn’t on any account leave the horse behind anywhere -and get a fresh one because it belonged to his best friend and he -promised to bring it back safe and sound. They would just take their -time and go slow and see if the horse could stand it. He wouldn’t think -of trying it if it weren’t for the extra money which he needed. - -So the impatient traveler was dragged fuming along weary hour after -weary hour through the monotonous glory of a spring afternoon of -which he saw nothing but the dust of the road as he tried to count -the endless miles. Every mile or two Joe would descend from the wagon -seat and fuss around the horse’s leg, the horse nothing loth at such -unprecedented attention dozing cozily by the roadside during the -process. And so was the traveler brought to his destination ten minutes -after the last train that stopped at Milton that night had passed the -station. - -The telegraph office was not closed however, and without waiting to -haggle, the passenger paid his thirty dollars for the longest journey -he ever took, and disappeared into the station, while Joe, whipping up -his petted animal, and whistling cheerily: - - “Where did you get that girl--?” - -went rattling down the short cut from Milton home at a surprising pace -for a lame horse. He was eating his supper at home in a little more -than an hour, and the horse seemed to have miraculously recovered from -his stone bruise. Joe was wondering how his girl would look in a hat -with purple plumes, and thinking of his thirty dollars with a chuckle. - -It was surprising how much that thick-set man, weary and desperate -though he was, could accomplish, when once he reached the telegraph -station and sent his messages flying on their way. In less than three -minutes after his arrival he had extracted from the station agent the -fact that two people, man and woman, answering the description he gave, -had bought tickets for Pittsburgh and taken the afternoon train for -that city. The agent had noticed them on account of their looking as -if they came from the city. He especially noticed the purple plumes, -the like of which he had never seen before. He had taken every minute -he could get off from selling tickets and sending telegrams to watch -the lady through his little cobwebby window. They didn’t wear hats like -that in Milton. - -In ten minutes one message was on its way to a crony in Pittsburgh with -whom the thick-set man kept in constant touch for just such occasions -as the present, stirring him to strenuous action; another message had -winged its mysterious way to Mr. Holman, giving him the main facts -in the case; while a third message caught another crony thirty miles -north of Pittsburgh and ordered him to board the evening express at his -own station, hunt up the parties described, and shadow them to their -destination, if possible getting in touch with the Pittsburgh crony -when he reached the city. - -The pursuer then ate a ham sandwich with liberal washings of liquid -fire while he awaited replies to some of his messages; and as soon -as he was satisfied that he had set justice in motion he hired an -automobile and hied him across country to catch a midnight express to -Pittsburgh. He had given orders that his man and accompanying lady -should be held in Pittsburgh until his arrival, and he had no doubt but -that the orders would be carried out, so sure was he that he was on the -right track, and that his cronies would be able and willing to follow -his orders. - -There was some kind of an excursion on at Pittsburgh, and the place was -crowded. The trainmen kept calling off specials, and crowds hurried out -of the waiting room, only to be replaced by other crowds, all eager, -pushing, talking, laughing. They were mostly men, but a good many -women and some children seemed to be of the number; and the noise and -excitement worried her after her own exciting afternoon. Celia longed -to lay her down and sleep, but the seat was narrow, and hard, and -people were pressing on every side. That disagreeable man in the slouch -hat would stand too near. He was most repulsive looking, though he did -not seem to be aware of her presence. - -Gordon had a long wait before he finally secured the coveted stateroom -and started back to her, when suddenly a face that he knew loomed up -in the crowd and startled him. It was the face of a private detective -who was well known about Washington, but whose headquarters were in New -York. - -Until that instant, it had not occurred to him to fear watchers so -far south and west as Pittsburgh. It was not possible that the other -bridegroom would think to track him here, and, as for the Holman -contingent, they would not be likely to make a public disturbance about -his disappearance, lest they be found to have some connection with -the first theft of government property. They could have watchers only -through private means, and they must have been wily indeed if they had -anticipated his move through Pittsburgh to Washington. Still, it was -the natural move for him to make in order to get home as quickly as -possible and yet escape them. And this man in the crowd was the very -one whom they would have been likely to pick out for their work. He was -as slippery in his dealings as they must be, and no doubt was in league -with them. He knew the man and his ways thoroughly, and had no mind to -fall into his hands. - -Whether he had been seen by the detective yet or not, he could not -tell, but he suspected he had, by the way the man stood around and -avoided recognizing him. There was not an instant to be lost. The fine -stateroom must go untenanted. He must make a dash for liberty. Liberty! -Ah, East Liberty! what queer things these brains of ours are! He knew -Pittsburgh just a little. He remembered having caught a train at East -Liberty Station once when he had not time to come down to the station -to take it. Perhaps he might get the same train at East Liberty. It was -nearly two hours before it left. - -Swooping down upon the baggage, he murmured in the girl’s ear: - -“Can you hurry a little? We must catch a car right away.” - -She followed him closely through the crowd, he stooping as if to -look down at his suit-case, so that his height might not attract the -attention of the man whose recognition he feared, and in a moment more -they were out in the lighted blackness of the streets. One glance -backward showed his supposed enemy stretching his neck above the -crowd, as if searching for some one, as he walked hurriedly toward -the very doorway they had just passed. Behind them shadowed the man -in the slouch hat, and with a curious motion of his hand signalled -another like himself, the Pittsburgh crony, who skulked in the darkness -outside. Instantly this man gave another signal and out of the gloom of -the street a carriage drew up at the curb before the door, the cabman -looking eagerly for patronage. - -Gordon put both suit-cases in one hand and taking Celia’s arm as gently -as he could in his haste hurried her toward the carriage. It was the -very refuge he sought. He placed her inside and gave the order for -East Liberty Station, drawing a long breath of relief at being safely -out of the station. He did not see the shabby one who mounted the box -beside the driver and gave his directions in guttural whispers, nor the -man with the slouch hat who watched from the doorway and followed them -to a familiar haunt on the nearest car. He only felt how good it was -to be by themselves once more where they could talk together without -interruption. - -But conversation was not easy under the circumstances. The noise of -wagons, trains and cars was so great at the station that they could -think of nothing but the din, and when they had threaded their way out -of the tangle and started rattling over the pavement the driver went -at such a furious pace that they could still only converse by shouting -and that not at all satisfactorily. It seemed a strange thing that any -cabman should drive at such a rapid rate within the city limits, but -as Gordon was anxious to get away from the station and the keen-eyed -detective as fast as possible he thought nothing of it at first. -After a shouted word or two they ceased to try to talk, and Gordon, -half shyly, reached out a reassuring hand and laid it on the girl’s -shrinking one that lay in her lap. He had not meant to keep it there -but a second, just to make her understand that all was well, and he -would soon be able to explain things, but as she did not seem to resent -it, nor draw her own away, he yielded to the temptation and kept the -small gloved hand in his. - -The carriage rattled on, bumpety-bump, over rough places, around -corners, tilting now and then sideways, and Celia, half-frightened, was -forced to cling to her protector to keep from being thrown on the floor -of the cab. - -“Oh, are we running away?” she breathed awesomely into his ear. - -“I think not,--dear,” he answered back, the last word inaudible. “The -driver thinks we are in a hurry but he has no need to go at this -furious pace. I will tell him.” - -He leaned forward and tapped on the glass, but the driver paid no -attention whatever save perhaps to drive faster. Could it be that he -had lost control of his horse and could not stop, or hadn’t he heard? -Gordon tried again, and accompanied the knocking this time with a -shout, but all to no purpose. The cab rattled steadily on. Gordon -discovered now that there were two men on the box instead of one, and a -sudden premonition sent a thrill of alarm through him. What if after -all the presence of that detective had been a warning, and he unheeding -had walked into a trap? What a fool he had been to get into a carriage -where he was at the mercy of the driver. He ought to have stayed in -open places where kidnapping would be impossible. Now that he had -thought of it he felt convinced that this was just what the enemy would -try to do,--kidnap him. The more fruitless he found his efforts to -make the driver hear him the more he felt convinced that something was -wrong. He tried to open the door next him and found it stuck. He put -all his strength forth to turn the catch but it held fast. Then a cold -sweat stood out upon him and horror filled his mind. His commission -with its large significance to the country was in imminent jeopardy. -His own life was in all probability hanging in the balance, but most -of all he felt the awful peril of the sweet girl by his side. What -terrible experiences might be hers within the next hour if his brain -and right arm could not protect her. Instinctively his hand went to -the pocket where he had kept his revolver ready since ever he had left -Washington. Danger should not find him utterly unprepared. - -He realized, too, that it was entirely possible, that his alarms were -unfounded; that the driver was really taking them to the East Liberty -station; that the door merely stuck, and he was needlessly anxious. -He must keep a steady head and not let his companion see that he was -nervous. The first thing was to find out if possible where they really -were, but that was a difficult task. The street over which they rattled -was utterly dark with the gloom of a smoky city added to the night. -There were no street lights except at wide intervals, and the buildings -appeared to be blank walls of darkness, probably great warehouses. The -way was narrow, and entirely unknown. Gordon could not tell if he had -ever been there before. He was sure from his knowledge of the stations -that they had gone much farther than to East Liberty, and the darkness -and loneliness of the region through which they were passing filled -him again with a vague alarm. It occurred to him that he might be able -to get the window sash down and speak to the driver, and he struggled -with the one on his own side for a while, with little result, for it -seemed to have been plugged up with wads of paper all around. This fact -renewed his anxiety. It began to look as if there was intention in -sealing up that carriage. He leaned over and felt around the sash of -the opposite door and found the paper wads there also. There certainly -was intention. Not to alarm Celia he straightened back and went to -work again at his own window sash cautiously pulling out the paper -until at last he could let down the glass. - -A rush of dank air rewarded his efforts, and the girl drew a breath of -relief. Gordon never knew how near she had been to fainting at that -moment. She was sitting perfectly quiet in her corner watching him, her -fears kept to herself, though her heart was beating wildly. She was -convinced that the horse was running away. - -Gordon leaned his head out of the window, but immediately he caught the -gleam of a revolver in a hand that hung at the side of the driver’s -box, pointed downward straight toward his face as if with intention to -be ready in case of need. The owner of the hand was not looking toward -him, but was talking in muffled tones to the driver. They evidently had -not heard the window let down, but were ready for the first sign of an -attempt on the part of their victims to escape. - -Quietly Gordon drew in his head speculating rapidly on the possibility -of wrenching that revolver out of its owner’s hand. He could do it from -where he sat, but would it be wise? They were probably locked in a -trap, and the driver was very likely armed also. What chance would he -have to save Celia if he brought on a desperate fight at this point? If -he were alone he might knock that revolver out of the man’s hand and -spring from the window, taking his chance of getting away, but now he -had Celia to think of and the case was different. Not for a universe of -governments could he leave a woman in such desperate straits. She must -be considered first even ahead of the message. This was life and death. - -He wondered at his own coolness as he sat back in the carriage and -quietly lifted the glass frame back into place. Then he laid a steady -hand on Celia’s again and stooping close whispered into her ear: - -“I am afraid there’s something wrong with our driver. Can you be a -little brave,--dear?” He did not know he had used the last word this -time, but it thrilled into the girl’s heart with a sudden accession of -trust. - -“Oh, yes,” she breathed close to his face. “You don’t think he has been -drinking, do you?” - -“Well, perhaps,” said Gordon relieved at the explanation. “But keep -calm. I think we can get out of this all right. Suppose you change -seats with me and let me try if that door will open easily. We might -want to get out in a hurry in case he slows up somewhere pretty soon.” - -Celia quietly and swiftly slipped into Gordon’s seat and he applied -himself with all his strength and ingenuity gently manipulating the -latch and pressing his shoulder against the door, until at last to -his joy it gave way reluctantly and he found that it would swing open. -He had worked carefully, else the sudden giving of the latch would -have thrown him out of the carriage and given instant alarm to his -driver. He was so thoroughly convinced by this time that he was being -kidnapped, perhaps to be murdered, that every sense was on the alert. -It was his characteristic to be exceedingly cool during a crisis. It -was the quality that the keen-eyed chief had valued most in him, and -the final reason why he had been selected for this difficult task in -place of an older and more experienced man who at times lost his head. - -The door to the outside world being open Gordon cautiously took a -survey of the enemy from that side. There was no gleaming weapon here. -The man set grimly enough, laying on the whip and muttering curses -to his bony horse who galloped recklessly on as if partaking of the -desperate desires of his master. In the distance Gordon could hear the -rumbling of an oncoming train. The street was still dark and scarcely -a vehicle or person to be seen. There seemed no help at hand, and no -opportunity to get out, for they were still rushing at a tremendous -pace. An attempt to jump now would very likely result in broken limbs, -which would only leave them in a worse plight than they were. He -slipped back to his own seat and put Celia next to the free door again. -She must be where she could get out first if the opportunity presented -itself. Also, he must manage to throw out the suit-cases if possible on -account of the letters and valuables they contained. - -Instinctively his hand sought Celia’s in the darkness again, and hers -nestled into it in a frightened way as if his strength gave her comfort. - -Then, before they could speak or realize, there came the rushing sound -of a train almost upon them and the cab came to a halt with a jerk, -the driver pulling the horse far back on his haunches to stop him. -The shock almost threw Celia to the floor, but Gordon’s arm about her -steadied her, and instantly he was on the alert. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Glancing through the window he saw that they were in front of a -railroad track upon which a long freight train was rushing madly along -at a giddy pace for a mere freight. The driver had evidently hoped to -pass this point before the train got there, but had failed. The train -had an exultant sound as if it knew and had outwitted the driver. - -On one side of the street were high buildings and on the other a great -lumber yard, between which and their carriage there stood a team of -horses hitched to a covered wagon, from the back of which some boards -protruded, and this was on the side next to Celia where the door would -open! Gordon’s heart leaped up with hope and wonder over the miracle -of their opportunity. The best thing about their situation was that -their driver had stopped just a little back of the covered wagon, so -that their door would open to the street directly behind the covered -wagon. It made it possible for the carriage door to swing wide and for -them to slip across behind the wagon without getting too near to the -driver. Nothing could have been better arranged for their escape and -the clatter of the empty freight cars drowned all sounds. - -Without delay Gordon softly unlatched the door and swung it open -whispering to Celia: - -“Go! Quick! Over there by the fence in the shadow. Don’t look around -nor speak! Quick! I’ll come!” - -Trembling in every limb yet with brave starry eyes Celia slipped like -a wraith from the carriage, stole behind the boards and melted into -the shadow of the great fence of the lumber yard, her purple plumes -mere depths of shadow against the smoky planks. Gordon, grasping the -suit-cases, moved instantly after her, deftly and silently closing -the carriage door and dropping into the shadows behind the big wagon, -scarcely able to believe as yet that they had really escaped. - -Ten feet back along the sidewalk was a gateway, the posts being tall -and thick. The gate itself was closed but it hung a few inches inside -the line of the fence, and into this depression the two stepped softly -and stood, flattening themselves back against the gate as closely as -possible, scarcely daring to breathe, while the long freight clattered -and rambled its way by like a lot of jolly washerwomen running and -laughing in a line and spatting their tired noisy feet as they went; -then the vehicles impatiently took up their onward course. Gordon -saw the driver look down at the window below him and glance back -hastily over his shoulder, and the man on the other side of the box, -looked down on his side. The glitter of something in his hand shone -for an instant in the glare of the signal light over the track. Then -the horse lurched forward and the cab began its crazy gait over the -track and up the cobbled street. They had started onward without -getting down to look in the carriage and see if all were safe with -their prisoners, and they had not even looked back to see if they had -escaped. They evidently trusted in the means they had used to lock -the carriage doors, and had heard no sounds of their escaping. It was -incredible, but it was true. Gordon drew a long breath of relief and -relaxed from his strained position. The next thing was to get out of -that neighborhood as swiftly as possible before those men had time to -discover that their birds had flown. They would of course know at once -where their departure had taken place and come back swiftly to search -for them, with perhaps more men to help; and a second time escape would -be impossible. - -Gordon snatched up the suit-cases with one hand, and with the other -drew Celia’s arm within his. - -“Now, we must hurry with all our might,” he said softly. “Are you all -right?” - -“Yes.” Her breath was coming in a sob, but her eyes were shining -bravely. - -“Poor child!” his voice was very tender. “Were you much frightened?” - -“A little,” she answered more bravely now. - -“I shall have hard work to forgive myself for all this,” he said -tenderly. “But we mustn’t talk. We have to get out of this quickly or -they may come back after us. Lean on me and walk as fast as you can.” - -Celia bent her efforts to take long springing strides, and together -they fairly skimmed the pavements, turning first this corner, then -that, in the general direction from which Gordon thought they had -come, until at last, three blocks away they caught the welcome whirr -of a trolley, and breathless, flew onward, just catching a car. They -cared not where it went so that they were safe in a bright light with -other people. No diamonds on any gentleman’s neckscarf ever shone to -Celia’s eyes with so friendly a welcome as the dull brass buttons on -that trolley conductor’s coat as he rang up their fares and answered -Gordon’s questions about how to get to East Liberty station; and their -pleasant homely gleam almost were her undoing, for now that they were -safe at last the tears would come to her eyes. - -Gordon watched her lovingly, tenderly, glad that she did not know how -terrible had been her danger. His heart was still beating wildly -with the thought of their marvellous escape, and his own present -responsibility. He must run no further risks. They would keep to -crowded trolleys, and trust to hiding in the open. The main thing was -to get out of the city on the first train they could manage to board. - -When they reached East Liberty station a long train was just coming in, -all sleepers, and they could hear the echo of a stentorian voice: - -“Special for Harrisburg, Baltimore and Washington! All aboard!” and -up at the further end of the platform Gordon saw the lank form of -the detective whom he had tried to avoid an hour before at the other -station. - -Without taking time for thought he hurried Celia forward and they -sprang breathlessly aboard. Not until they were fairly in the cars and -the wheels moving under them did it occur to him that his companion had -had nothing to eat since about twelve o’clock. She must be famished, -and in a fair way to be ill again. What a fool he was not to have -thought! They could have stopped in some obscure restaurant along the -way as well as not, and taken a later train, and yet it was safer to -get away at once. Without doubt there were watchers at East Liberty, -too, and he was lucky to have got on the train without a challenge. He -was sure that detective’s face lighted strangely as he looked his way. -Perhaps there was a buffet attached to the train. At least, he would -investigate. If there wasn’t, they must get off at the next stop--there -must be another stop surely somewhere near the city--he could not -remember, but there surely must be. - -They had to wait some time to get the attention of the conductor. He -was having much trouble with some disgruntled passengers who each -claimed to have the same berth. Gordon finally got his ear, and showing -his stateroom tickets inquired if they could be used on this train. - -“No,” growled the worried conductor. “You’re on the wrong train. This -is a special, and every berth in the train is taken now but one upper.” - -“Then, we’ll have to get off at the next stop, I suppose, and take the -other train,” said Gordon dismally. - -“There isn’t any other stop till somewhere in the middle of the night. -I tell you this is a special, and we’re scheduled to go straight -through. East Liberty’s the last stop.” - -“Then what shall we do?” asked Gordon inanely. - -“I’m sure I don’t know,” snapped the conductor. “I’ve enough to do -without mending other people’s mistakes. Stay aboard, I suppose, -unless you want to jump off and commit suicide.” - -“But I have a lady with me who isn’t at all well,” said Gordon, with -dignity. - -“So much the worse for the lady,” replied the conductor inhumanly. -“There’s one upper berth, I told you.” - -“An upper berth wouldn’t do for her,” said Gordon decidedly. “She isn’t -well, I tell you.” - -“Suit yourself!” snapped the harassed official. “I reckon it’s better -than nothing. You may not have it long. I’m likely to be asked for it -the next half minute.” - -“Is that so? And is there absolutely nothing else?” - -“Young man, I can’t waste words on you. I haven’t time. Take it or let -it alone. It’s all one to me. There’s some standing room left in the -day-coach, perhaps.” - -“I’ll take it,” said Gordon meekly, wishing he could go back and undo -the last half-hour. How in the world was he to go and tell Celia that -he could provide her nothing better than an upper berth? - -She was sitting with her back to him, her face resting wearily on her -hand against the window. Two men with largely checked suits, big seal -rings, and diamond scarf-pins sat in the opposite seat. He knew it -was most unpleasant for her. A nondescript woman with a very large hat -and thick powder on her face shared Celia’s seat. He reflected that -“specials” did not always bear a select company. - -“Is there nothing you can do?” he pleaded with the conductor, as he -took the bit of pasteboard entitling him to the last vacant berth. -“Don’t you suppose you could get some man to change and give her a -lower berth? It’ll be very hard for her. She isn’t used to upper -berths.” - -His eyes rested wistfully on the bowed head. Celia had taken off her -plumed hat, and the fitful light of the car played with the gold of her -hair. The conductor’s grim eye softened as he looked. - -“That the lady? I’ll see what I can do,” he said briefly, and stumped -off to the next car. The miracle of her presence had worked its change -upon him. - -Gordon went over to Celia and told her in a low tone that he hoped to -have arrangements made for her soon, so that she could be comfortable. -She must be fearfully tired with the excitement and fright and hurry. -He added that he had made a great blunder in getting on this train, -and now there was no chance to get off for several hours, perhaps, and -probably no supper to be had. - -“Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least,” said Celia wearily. “I’m not at -all hungry.” She almost smiled when she said it. He knew that what she -wanted was to have her mind relieved about the letters. But she readily -saw that there was no opportunity now. - -She even seemed sorry at his troubled look, and tried to smile again -through the settled sadness in her eyes. He could see she was very -weary, and he felt like a great brute in care of a child, and mentally -berated himself for his own thoughtlessness. - -Gordon started off to search for something to eat for her, and was -more successful than he had dared hope. The newsboy had two chicken -sandwiches left, and these, with the addition of a fine orange, a box -of chocolates, and a glass of ice-water, he presently brought to her, -and was rewarded by a smile this time, almost as warm and intimate as -those she had given him during their beautiful day. - -But he could not sit beside her, for the places were all taken, and he -could not stand in the aisle and talk, for the porter was constantly -running back and forth making up the berths. There seemed to be a -congested state of things in the whole train, every seat being full and -men standing in the aisles. He noticed now that they all wore badges -of some fraternal order. It was doubtless a delegation to some great -convention, upon which they had intruded. They were a good-natured, -noisy, happy crowd, but not anywhere among them was to be found -a quiet spot where he and Celia could go on with their suddenly -interrupted conversation. Presently the conductor came to him and said -he had found a gentleman who would give the lady his lower berth and -take her upper one. It was already made up, and the lady might take -possession at once. - -Gordon made the exchange of tickets, and immediately escorted Celia to -it. He found her most glad to go for she was now unutterably weary, and -was longing to get away from the light and noise about her. - -He led the way with the suit-cases, hoping that in the other car there -would be some spot where they could talk for a few minutes. But he was -disappointed. It was even fuller than in the first car. He arranged -everything for her comfort as far as possible, disposed of her hat and -fixed her suit-case so that she could open it, but even while he was -doing it there were people crowding by, and no private conversation -could be had. He stepped back when all was arranged and held the -curtain aside that she might sit on the edge of her berth. Then -stooping over he whispered: - -“Try to trust me until morning. I’ll explain it all to you then, so -that you will understand how I have had nothing to do with those -letters. Forget it, and try to rest. Will you?” - -His tone was wistful. He had never wanted to do anything so much in all -his life as to stoop and kiss those sweet lips, and the lovely eyes -that looked up at him out of the dusky shadows of the berth, filled -with fear and longing. They looked more than ever like the blue tired -flowers that drooped from her gown wearily. But he held himself with a -firm hand. She was not his to kiss. When she knew how he had deceived -her, she would probably never give him the right to kiss her. - -“I will try,” she murmured in answer to his question, and then added: -“But where will you be? Is your berth nearby?” - -“Not far away--that is, I had to take a place in another car, they are -so crowded.” - -“Oh!” she said a little anxiously. “Are you sure you have a good -comfortable place?” - -“Oh, yes, I shall be all right,” he answered joyously. It was so -wonderful to have her care whether he was comfortable or not. - -The porter was making up the opposite berth, and there was no room to -stand longer, so he bade her good night, she putting out her hand for a -farewell. For an instant he held it close, with gentle pressure, as if -to reassure her, then he went away to the day-coach, and settled down -into a hard corner at the very back of the car, drawing his travelling -cap over his eyes, and letting his heart beat out wild joy over that -little touch of her dear hand. Wave after wave of sweetness went over -him, thrilling his very soul with a joy he had never known before. - -And this was love! And what kind of a wretch was he, presuming to love -like this a woman who was the promised bride of another man! Ah, but -such a man! A villain! A brute, who had used his power over her to make -her suffer tortures! Had a man like that a right to claim her? His -whole being answered “no.” - -Then the memory of the look in her eyes, the turn of her head, the -soft touch of her fingers as they lay for that instant in his, the -inflection of her voice, would send that wave of sweetness over his -senses, his heart would thrill anew, and he would forget the wretch who -stood between him and this lovely girl whom he knew now he loved as he -had never dreamed a man could love. - -Gradually his mind steadied itself under the sweet intoxication, and he -began to wonder just what he should say to her in the morning. It was -a good thing he had not had further opportunity to talk with her that -night, for he could not have told her everything; and now if all went -well they would be in Washington in the morning, and he might make some -excuse till after he had delivered his message. Then he would be free -to tell the whole story, and lay his case before her for decision. His -heart throbbed with ecstasy as he thought of the possibility of her -forgiving him, and yet it seemed most unlikely. Sometimes he would let -his wild longings fancy for just an instant what joy it would be if she -could be induced to let the marriage stand. But he told himself at the -same time that that could never be. It was very likely that there was -some one else in New York to whom her heart would turn if she were free -from the scoundrel who had threatened her into a compulsory marriage. -He would promise to help her, protect her, defend her from the man -who was evidently using blackmail to get her into his power for some -purpose; most likely for the sake of having control of her property. -At least it would be some comfort to be able to help her out of her -trouble. And yet, would she ever trust a man who had even unwittingly -allowed her to be bound by the sacred tie of marriage to an utter -stranger? - -And thus, amid hope and fear, the night whirled itself away. Forward -in the sleeper the girl lay wide awake for a long time. In the middle -of the night a thought suddenly evolved itself out of the blackness -of her curtained couch. She sat upright alertly and stared into the -darkness, as if it were a thing that she could catch and handle and -examine. The thought was born out of a dreamy vision of the crisp -brown waves, almost curls if they had not been so short and thick, -that covered the head of the man who had lain sleeping outside her -curtains in the early morning. It came to her with sudden force that -not so had been the hair of the boy George Hayne, who used to trouble -her girlish days. His was thin and black and oily, collecting naturally -into little isolated strings with the least warmth, and giving him the -appearance of a kitten who had been out in the rain. One lock, how well -she remembered that lock!--one lock on the very crown of his head had -always refused to lie down, no matter how much persuasion was brought -to bear upon it. It had been the one point on which the self-satisfied -George had been pregnable, his hair, that scalp lock that would always -arise stiffly, oilily, from the top of his head. The hair she had -looked at admiringly that morning in the dawning crimson of the rising -sun had not been that way. It had curved clingingly to the shape of the -fine head as if it loved to go that way. It was beautiful and fine and -burnished with a sense of life and vigor in its every wave. Could hair -change in ten years? Could it grow brown where it had been black? Could -it become glossy instead of dull and oily? Could it take on the signs -of natural wave where it had been as straight as a die? Could it grow -like fur where it had been so thin? - -The girl could not solve the problem, but the thought was most -startling and brought with it many suggestive possibilities that were -most disturbing. Yet gradually out of the darkness she drew a sort of -comfort in her dawning enlightenment. Two things she had to go on in -her strange premises, he had said he did not write the letters, and his -hair was not the same. Who then was he? Her husband now undoubtedly, -but who? And if deeds and hair could change so materially, why not -spirits? At least he was not the same as she had feared and dreaded. -There was so much comfort. - -And at last she lay down and slept. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -They were late coming into Washington, for the Special had been -sidetracked in the night for several express trains, and the noisy -crowd who had kept one another awake till after midnight made up by -sleeping far into the morning. - -Three times did Gordon make the journey three cars front to see if his -companion of yesterday were awake and needed anything, but each time -found the curtains drawn and still, and each time he went slowly back -again to his seat in the crowded day-coach. - -It was not until the white dome of the capitol, and the tall needle -of the monument, were painted soft and vision-like against the sky, -reminding one of the pictures of the heavenly city in the story of -Pilgrim’s Progress, and faintly suggesting a new and visionary world, -that he sought her again, and found her fully ready, standing in the -aisle while the porter put up the berth out of the way. Beneath the -great brim of her purple hat, where the soft fronds of her plumes -trembled with the motion of the train, she lifted sweet eyes to him, as -if she were both glad and frightened to see him. And then that ecstasy -shot through him again, as he realized suddenly what it would be to -have her for his life-companion, to feel her looks of gladness were all -for him, and have the right to take all fright away from her. - -They could only smile at each other for good-morning, for everybody -was standing up and being brushed, and pushing here and there for -suit-cases and lost umbrellas; and everybody talked loudly, and laughed -a great deal, and told how late the train was. Then at last they were -there, and could get out and walk silently side by side in the noisy -procession through the station to the sidewalk. - -What little things sometimes change a lifetime, and make for our safety -or our destruction! That very morning three keen watchers were set to -guard that station at Washington to hunt out the government spy who had -stolen back the stolen message, and take him, message and all, dead -or alive, back to New York; for the man who could testify against the -Holman Combination was not to be let live if there was such a thing as -getting him out of the way. But they never thought to watch the Special -which was supposed to carry only delegates to the great convention. He -could not possibly be on that! They knew he was coming from Pittsburgh, -for they had been so advised by telegram the evening before by one of -their company who had seen him buying a sleeper ticket for Washington, -but they felt safe about that Special, for they had made inquiries -and been told no one but delegates could possibly come on it. They -had done their work thoroughly, and were on hand with every possible -plan perfected for bagging their game, but they took the time when the -Pittsburgh Special was expected to arrive for eating a hearty breakfast -in the restaurant across the street from the station. Two of them -emerged from the restaurant doorway in plenty of time to meet the next -Pittsburgh train, just as Gordon, having placed the lady in a closed -carriage, was getting in himself. - -If the carriage had stood in any other spot along the pavement in -front of the station, they never would have seen him, but, as it was, -they had a full view of him; and because they were Washington men, and -experts in their line, they recognized him at once, and knew their -plans had failed, and that only by extreme measures could they hope -to prevent the delivery of the message which would mean downfall and -disaster to them and their schemes. - -As Gordon slammed shut the door of the carriage, he caught a vision of -his two enemies pointing excitedly toward him, and he knew that the -bloodhounds were on the scent. - -His heart beat wildly. His anxiety was divided between the message and -the lady. What should he do? Drive at once to the home of his chief -and deliver the message, or leave the girl at his rooms, ’phone for -a faster conveyance and trust to getting to his chief ahead of his -pursuers? - -“Don’t let anything hinder you! Don’t let anything hinder you! Make it -a matter of life and death!” rang the little ditty in his ears, and now -it seemed as if he must go straight ahead with the message. And yet--“a -matter of life and death!” He could not, must not, might not, take the -lady with him into danger. If he must be in danger of death he did not -want to die having exposed an innocent stranger to the same. - -Then there was another point to be thought of. - -He had already told the driver to take him to his apartments, and to -drive as rapidly as possible. It would not do to stop him now and -change the directions, for a pistol-shot could easily reach him yet; -and, coming from a crowd, who would be suspected? His enemies were -standing on the threshold of a place where there were many of their -kind to protect them, and none of his friends knew of his coming. It -would be a race for life from now on to the finish. - -Celia was looking out with interest at the streets, recognizing -landmarks with wonder, and did not notice Gordon’s white, set face -and burning eyes as he strained his vision to note how fast the horse -was going. Oh, if the driver would only turn off at the next corner -into the side street they could not watch the carriage so far, but it -was not likely, for this was the most direct road, and yet--yes, he -had turned! Joy! The street here was so crowded that he had sought the -narrower, less crowded way that he might go the faster. - -It seemed an age to him before they stopped at his apartments. To -Celia, it had been but a short ride, in which familiar scenes had -brought her pleasure, for she recognized that she was not in strange -Chicago, but in Washington, a city often visited. Somehow she felt it -was an omen of a better future than she had feared. - -“Oh, why didn’t you tell me?” she smiled to Gordon. “It is Washington, -dear old Washington.” - -Somehow he controlled the tumult in his heart and smiled back, saying -in a voice quite natural: - -“I am so glad you like it.” - -She seemed to understand that they could not talk until they reached -a quiet place somewhere, and she did not trouble him with questions. -Instead--she looked from the window, or watched him furtively, -comparing him with her memory of George Hayne, and wondering in her -own thoughts. She was glad to have them to herself for just this -little bit, for now that the morning had come she was almost afraid of -revelation, what it might bring forth. And so it came about that they -took the swift ride in more or less silence, and neither thought it -strange. - -As the carriage stopped, he spoke with low, hurried voice, tense with -excitement, but her own nerves were on a strain also, and she did not -notice. - -“We get out here.” - -He had the fare ready for the driver, and, stepping out, hurried Celia -into the shelter of the hallway. It happened that an elevator had just -come down, so it was but a second more before they were up safe in the -hall before his own apartment. - -Taking a latch-key from his pocket, he applied it to the door, flung -it open, and ushered Celia to a large leather chair in the middle of -the room. Then, stepping quickly to the side of the room, he touched a -bell, and from it went to the telephone, with an “Excuse me, please, -this is necessary,” to the girl, who sat astonished, wondering at the -homelikeness of the room and at the “at-homeness” of the man. She had -expected to be taken to a hotel. This seemed to be a private apartment -with which he was perfectly acquainted. Perhaps it belonged to some -friend. But how, after an absence of years, could he remember just -where to go, which door and which elevator to take, and how to fit the -key with so accustomed a hand? Then her attention was arrested by his -voice: - -“Give me 254 L please,” he said.... “Is this 254 L?... Is Mr. Osborne -in?... You say he has _not_ gone to the office yet?... May I speak -with him?... Is this Mr. Osborne?... I did not expect you to know -my voice.... Yes, sir; just arrived, and all safe so far. Shall I -bring it to the house or the office?... The house?... All right, -sir. Immediately.... By the way, I am sure Hale and Burke are on my -track. They saw me at the station.... To your house?... You will wait -until I come?... All right, sir. Yes, immediately.... Sure, I’ll take -precaution.... Good-by.” - -With the closing words came a tap at the door. - -“Come, Henry,” he answered, as the astonished girl turned toward the -door. “Henry, you will go down, please, to the restaurant, and bring up -a menu card. This lady will select what she would like to have, and you -will serve breakfast for her in this room as soon as possible. I shall -be out for perhaps an hour, and, meantime, you will obey any orders she -may give you.” - -He did not introduce her as his wife, but she did not notice the -omission. She had suddenly become aware of a strange, distraught haste -in his manner, and when he said he was going out alarm seized her, she -could not tell why. - -The man bowed deferentially to his master, looked his admiration and -devotion to the lady, waited long enough to say: - -“I’se mighty glad to see you safe back, sah--” and disappeared to obey -orders. - -Celia turned toward Gordon for an explanation, but he was already at -the telephone again: - -“46!... Is this the Garage?... This is The Harris Apartments.... Can -you send Thomas with a closed car to the rear door immediately?... -Yes.... No, I want Thomas, and a car that can speed.... Yes, the rear -door, _rear_, and at once.... What?... What’s that?... But I _must_.... -It’s _official_ business.... Well, I thought so. Hurry them up. -Good-by.” - -He turned and saw her troubled gaze following him with growing fear in -her eyes. - -“What is the matter?” she asked anxiously. “Has something happened?” - -Just one moment he paused, and, coming toward her, laid his hands on -hers tenderly. - -“Nothing the matter at all,” he said soothingly. “At least nothing -that need worry you. It is just a matter of pressing business. I’m -sorry to have to go from you for a little while, but it is necessary. I -cannot explain to you until I return. You will trust me? You will not -worry?” - -“I will try!” - -Her lips were quivering, and her eyes were filled with tears. Again he -felt that intense longing to lay his lips upon hers and comfort her, -but he put it from him. - -“There is nothing to feel sad about,” he said, smiling gently. “It is -nothing tragic only there is need for haste, for if I wait, I may fail -yet---- It is something that means a great deal to me. When I come back -I will explain all.” - -“Go!” she said, putting out her hands in a gesture of resignation, as -if she would hurry him from her. And though she was burning to know -what it all meant there was that about him that compelled her to trust -him and to wait. - -Then his control almost went from him. He nearly took those hands in -his and kissed them, but he did not. Instead, he went with swift steps -to his bedroom door, threw open a chiffonier drawer, and took therefrom -something small and sinister. She could see the gleam of its polished -metal, and she sensed a strange little menace in the click as he did -something to it, she could not see what, because his back was to her. -He came out with his hand in his pocket, as if he had just hidden -something there. - -She was not familiar with firearms. Her mother had been afraid of them -and her brother had never flourished any around the house, yet she knew -by instinct that some weapon of defence was in Gordon’s possession; -and a nameless horror rose in her heart and shone from her blue eyes, -but she would not speak a word to let him know it. If he had not been -in such haste, he would have seen. Her horror would have been still -greater if she had known that he already carried one loaded revolver -and was taking a second in case of an emergency. - -“Don’t worry,” he called as he hurried out the door. “Henry will get -anything you need, and I shall soon be back.” - -The door closed and he was gone. She heard his quick step down the -hall, heard the elevator door slide and slam again, and then she knew -he was gone down. Outside an automobile sounded and she seemed to hear -again his words at the phone, “The rear door.” Why had he gone to the -rear door? Was he in hiding? Was he flying from some one? What, oh -what, did it mean? - -Without stopping to reason it out, she flew across the room and opened -the door of the bedroom he had just left, then through it passed -swiftly to a bath-room beyond. Yes, there was a window. Would it be the -one? Could she see him? And what good would it do her if she could? - -She crowded close to the window. There was a heavy sash with stained -glass, but she selected a clear bit of yellow and put her eye close. -Yes, there was a closed automobile just below her, and it had started -away from the building. He had gone, then. Where? - -Her mind was a blank for a few minutes. She went slowly, mechanically -back to the other room without noticing anything about her, sat down in -the chair, putting her hands to her temples, and tried to think. Back -to the moment in the church where he had appeared at her side and the -service had begun. Something had told her then that he was different, -and yet there had been those letters, and how could it possibly be -that he had not written them? He was gone on some dangerous business. -Of that she felt sure. There had been some caution given him by the -man to whom he first ’phoned. He had promised to take precaution--that -meant the little, wicked, gleaming thing in his pocket. Perhaps some -harm would come to him, and she would never know. And then she stared -at the opposite wall with wonder-filled eyes. Well, and suppose it -did? Why did she care? Was he not the man whose power over her but two -short days ago would have made her welcome death as her deliverer? Why -was all changed now? Just because he had smiled upon her and been kind? -Had given her a few wild flowers and said her eyes were like them? Had -hair that waved instead of being straight and thin? And where was all -her loyalty to her dear dead father’s memory? How could she mind that -danger should come to one who had threatened to tell terrible lies that -should blacken him in the thoughts of people who had loved him? Had -she forgotten the letters? Was she willing to forgive all just because -he had declared that he did not write them? How foolish! He said he -could prove that he did not, but of course that was all nonsense. He -must have written them. And yet there was the wave in his hair, and the -kindness in his eyes. And he had looked--oh, he had looked terrible -things when he had read that letter; as if he would like to wreak -vengeance on the man who had written it. Could a man masquerade that -way? - -And then a new solution to the problem came to her. Suppose -this--whoever he was--this man who had married her, had gone out to -find and punish George Hayne? Suppose---- But then she covered her eyes -with her hands and shuddered. Yet why should she care? But she did. -Suppose he should be killed, himself! Who was he if not George Hayne -and how did he come to take his place? Was it just another of George’s -terrible tricks upon her? - -A quick vision came of their bringing him back to her. He would lie, -perhaps, on that great crimson leather couch over there, just as he had -lain in the dawning of the morning in the stateroom of the train, with -his hands hanging limp, and one perhaps across his breast, as if he -were guarding something, and his bright waves of brown hair lying heavy -about his forehead--only, his forehead would be white, so white and -cold, with a little blue mark in his temple perhaps. - -The footsteps of the man Henry brought her back to the present again. -She smiled at him pleasantly as he entered, and answered his questions -about what she would have for breakfast; but it was he who selected the -menu, not she, and after he had gone she could not have told what she -had ordered. She could not get away from the vision on the couch. She -closed her eyes and pressed her cold fingers against her eyeballs to -drive it away, but still her bridegroom seemed to lie there before her. - -The colored man came back presently with a loaded tray, and set it down -on a little table which he wheeled before her, as though he had done -it many times before. She thanked him, and said there was nothing else -she needed, so he went away. - -She toyed with the cup of delicious coffee which he had poured for her, -and the few swallows she took gave her new heart. She broke a bit from -a hot roll, and ate a little of the delicious steak, but still her mind -was at work at the problem, and her heart was full of nameless anxiety. - -He had gone away without any breakfast himself, and he had had no -supper the night before, she was sure. He probably had given to her -everything he could get on the train. She was haunted with regret -because she had not shared with him. She got up and walked about the -room, trying to shake off the horror that was upon her, and the dread -of what the morning might bring forth. Ordinarily she would have -thought of sending a message to her mother and brother, but her mind -was so troubled now that it never occurred to her. - -The walls of the room were tinted a soft greenish gray, and above the -picture moulding they blended into a woodsy landscape with a hint -of water, greensward, and blue sky through interlacing branches. It -reminded her of the little village they had seen as they started from -the train in the early morning light. What a beautiful day they had -spent together and how it had changed her whole attitude of heart -toward the man she had married! - -Two or three fine pictures were hung in good lights. She studied them, -and knew that the one who had selected and hung them was a judge of -true art; but they did not hold her attention long, for as yet, she had -not connected the room with the man for whom she waited. - -A handsome mahogany desk stood open in a broad space by the window. She -was attracted by a little painted miniature of a woman. She took it up -and studied the face. It was fine and sweet, with brown hair dressed -low, and eyes that reminded her of the man who had just gone from her. -Was this, then, the home of some relative with whom he had come to stop -for a day or two, and, if so, where was the relative? The dress in the -miniature was of a quarter of a century past, yet the face was young -and sweet, as young, perhaps, as herself. She wondered who it was. She -put the miniature back in place with caressing hand. She felt that she -would like to know this woman with the tender eyes. She wished her here -now, that she might tell her all her anxiety. - -Her eye wandered to the pile of letters, some of them official-looking -ones, one or two in square, perfumed envelopes, with high, angular -writing. They were all addressed to Mr. Cyril Gordon. That was -strange! Who was Mr. Cyril Gordon? What had they--what had she--to do -with him? Was he a friend whom George--whom they--were visiting for a -few days? It was all bewildering. - -Then the telephone rang. - -Her heart beat wildly and she looked toward it as if it had been a -human voice speaking and she had no power to answer. What should she do -now? Should she answer? Or should she wait for the man to come? Could -the man hear the telephone bell or was she perhaps expected to answer? -And yet if Mr. Cyril Gordon--well, somebody ought to answer. The ’phone -rang insistently once more, and still a third time. What if _he_ should -be calling her! Perhaps he was in distress. This thought sent her -flying to the ’phone. She took down the receiver and called: - -“Hello!” and her voice sounded far away to herself. - -“Is this Mr. Gordon’s apartment?” - -“Yes,” she answered, for her eyes were resting on the pile of letters -close at hand. - -“Is Mr. Gordon there?” - -“No, he is not,” she answered, growing more confident now and almost -wishing she had not presumed to answer a stranger’s ’phone. - -“Why, I just ’phoned to the office and they told me he had returned,” -said a voice that had an imperious note in it. “Are you sure he isn’t -there?” - -“Quite sure,” she replied. - -“Who is this, please?” - -“I beg your pardon,” said Celia trying to make time and knowing not -how to reply. She was not any longer Miss Hathaway. Who was she? Mrs. -Hayne? She shrank from the name. It was filled with horror for her. -“Who is this, I said,” snapped the other voice now. “Is this the -chambermaid? Because if it is I’d like you to look around and inquire -and be quite sure that Mr. Gordon isn’t there. I wish to speak with him -about something very important.” - -Celia smiled. - -“No, this is not the chambermaid,” she said sweetly, “and I am quite -sure Mr. Gordon is not here.” - -“How long before he will be there?” - -“I don’t know really, for I have but just come myself.” - -“Who is this to whom I am talking?” - -“Why--just a friend,” she answered, wondering if that were the best -thing to say. - -“Oh!” there was a long and contemplative pause at the other end. - -“Well, could you give Mr. Gordon a message when he comes in?” - -“Why certainly, I think so. Who is this?” - -“Miss Bentley. Julia Bentley. He’ll know,” replied the imperious one -eagerly now. “And tell him please that he is expected here to dinner -to-night. We need him to complete the number, and he simply mustn’t -fail me. I’ll excuse him for going off in such a rush if he comes early -and tells me all about it. Now you won’t forget, will you? You got the -name, Bentley, did you? B, E, N, T, L, E, Y, you know. And you’ll tell -him the minute he comes in?” - -“Yes.” - -“Thank you! What did you say your name was?” - -But Celia had hung up. Somehow the message annoyed her, she could not -tell why. She wished she had not answered the ’phone. Whoever Mr. Cyril -Gordon was what should she do if he should suddenly appear? And as for -this imperious lady and her message she hoped she would never have to -deliver it. On second thought why not write it and leave it on his desk -with the pile of letters? She would do it. It would serve to pass away -a few of these dreadful minutes that lagged so distressfully. - -She sat down and wrote: “Miss Bentley wishes Mr. Gordon to dine with -her this evening. She will pardon his running away the other day if he -will come early.” She laid it beside the high angular writing on the -square perfumed letters and went back to the leather chair too restless -to rest yet too weary to stand up. - -She went presently to the back windows to look out, and then to the -side ones. Across the housetops she could catch a glimpse of domes and -buildings. There was the Congressional Library, which usually delighted -her with its exquisite tones of gold and brown and white. But she had -no eyes for it now. Beyond were more buildings, all set in the lovely -foliage which was much farther developed than it had been in New York -State. From another window she could get a glimpse of the Potomac -shining in the morning sun. - -She wandered to the front windows and looked out. There were people -passing and repassing. It was a busy street, but she could not make out -whether it was one she knew or not. There were two men walking back and -forth on the opposite side. They did not go further than the corner of -the street either way. They looked across at the windows sometimes and -pointed up, when they met, and once one of them took something out of -his pocket and flashed it under his coat at his side, as if to have it -ready for use. It reminded her of the thing her husband had held in his -hand in the bedroom and she shuddered. She watched them, fascinated, -not able to draw herself away from the window. - -Now and then she would go to the rear window, to see if there was any -sign of the automobile returning, and then hurry back to the front, to -see if the men were still there. Once she returned to the chair, and, -lying back, shut her eyes, and let the memory of yesterday sweep over -her in all its sweet details, up to the time when they had got into the -way train and she had seemed to feel her disloyalty to her father. But -now her heart was all on the other side, and she began to feel that -there had been some dreadful mistake, somewhere, and he was surely all -right. He could not, could not have written those terrible letters. -Then again the details of their wild carriage ride in Pittsburgh -and miraculous escape haunted her. There was something strange and -unexplained about that which she must understand. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Meantime, Gordon was speeding away to another part of the city by the -fastest time an experienced chauffeur dared to make. About the time -they turned the first corner into the avenue, two burly policemen -sauntered casually into the pretty square in front of the house where -lived the chief of the Secret Service. There was nothing about their -demeanor to show that they had been detailed there by special urgency, -and three men who hurried to the little park just across the street -from the house could not possibly know that their leisurely and -careless stroll was the result of a hurried telephone message from the -chief to police headquarters immediately after his message from Gordon. - -The policemen strolled by the house, greeted each other, and walked -on around the square across the little park. They eyed the three men -sitting idly on a bench, and passed leisurely on. They disappeared -around a corner, and to the three men were out of the way. The latter -did not know the hidden places where the officers took up their watch, -and when an automobile appeared, and the three stealthily got up from -their park bench and distributed themselves among the shrubbery near -the walk, they knew not that their every movement was observed with -keen attention. But they did wonder how it happened that those two -policemen seemed to spring out of the ground suddenly, just as the auto -came to a halt in front of the chief’s house. - -Gordon sprang out and up the steps with a bound, the door opening -before him as if he were expected. The two grim and apparently -indifferent policemen stood outside like two stone images on guard, -while up the street with rhythmic sound rode two mounted police, also -coming to a halt before the house as if for a purpose. The three men in -the bushes hid their instruments of death, and would have slunk away -had there been a chance; but, turning to make a hasty flight, they were -met by three more policemen. There was the crack of a revolver as one -of the three desperadoes tried a last reckless dash for freedom--and -failed. The wretch went to justice with his right arm hanging limp by -his side. - -Inside the house Gordon was delivering up his message, and as he -laid it before his chief, and stood silent while the elder man read -and pondered its tremendous import, it occurred to him for the first -time that his chief would require some report of his journey, and -the hindrances that had made him a whole day late in getting back to -Washington. His heart stood still with sudden panic. What was he to -do? How could he tell it all? What right had he to tell of his marriage -to an unknown woman? A marriage that perhaps was not a marriage. He -could not know what the outcome would be until he had told the girl -everything. As far as he himself was concerned he knew that the great -joy of his life had come to him in her. Yet he could not hope that it -would be so with her. And he must think of her and protect her good -name in every way. If there should be such a thing ever as that she -should consent to remain with him and be his wife he must never let a -soul know but what the marriage had been planned long ago. It would not -be fair to her. It would make life intolerable for them both either -together or apart. And while he might be and doubtless was perfectly -safe in confiding in his chief, and asking him to keep silence about -the matter, still he felt that even that would be a breach of faith -with Celia. He must close his lips upon the story until he could talk -with her and know her wishes. He drew a sigh of weariness. It was a -long, hard way he had come, and it was not over. The worst ordeal would -be his confession to the bride who was not his wife. - -The chief looked up. - -“Could you make this out, Gordon?” he asked, noting keenly the young -man’s weary eyes, the strained, tense look about his mouth. - -“Oh, yes sir; I saw it at once. I was almost afraid my eyes might -betray the secret before I got away with it.” - -“Then you know what you have saved the country, and what you have been -worth to the Service.” - -The young man flushed with pleasure. - -“Thank you, sir,” he said, looking down. “I understood it was -important, and I am glad I was able to accomplish the errand without -failing.” - -“Have you reason to suppose you were followed, except for what you saw -at the station in this city?” - -“Yes, sir; I am sure there were detectives after me as I was leaving -New York. They were suspicious of me. I saw one of the men who had -been at the dinner with me watching me. The disguise--and--some -circumstances--threw him off. He wasn’t sure. Then, there was a -man--you know him, Balder--at Pittsburgh?----” - -“Pittsburgh!” - -“Yes, you wonder how I got to Pittsburgh. You see, I was shadowed -almost from the first I suspect, for when I reached the station in -New York I was sure I recognized this man who had sat opposite me a -few minutes before. I suppose my disguise, which you so thoughtfully -provided, bothered him, for though he followed me about at a little -distance he didn’t speak to me. I had to get on the first train that -circumstances permitted, and perhaps the fact that it was a Chicago -train made him think he was mistaken in me. Anyhow I saw no more of him -after the train left the station. Rather unexpectedly I found I could -get the drawing-room compartment, and went into immediate retirement, -leaving the train at daylight where it was delayed on a side track, -and walked across country till I found a conveyance that took me to a -Pittsburgh train. It didn’t seem feasible to get away from the Chicago -train any sooner as the train made no further stops, and it was rather -late at night by the time I boarded it. I thought I would run less risk -by making a détour. I never dreamed they would have watchers out for -me at Pittsburgh, and I can’t think yet how they managed to get on my -track, but almost the first minute I landed I spied Balder stretching -his neck over the crowds. I bolted from the station at once and finding -a carriage drawn up before the door just ready for me I got in and -ordered them to drive me to East Liberty station. - -“I am afraid I shall always be suspicious of handy closed carriages -after this experience. I certainly have reason to be. The door was no -sooner closed on me than the driver began to race like mad through the -streets. I didn’t think much of it at first until he had been going -some time, fully long enough to have reached East Liberty, and the -horse was still rushing like a locomotive. Then I saw that we were in a -lonely district of the city that seemed unfamiliar. That alarmed me and -I tapped on the window and called to the driver. He paid no attention. -Then I found the doors were fastened shut, and the windows plugged so -they wouldn’t open. - -“I discovered that an armed man rode beside the driver. I managed to -get one of the doors open after a good deal of work, and escaped when -we stopped for a freight train to pass; but I’m satisfied that I was -being kidnapped and if I hadn’t got away just when I did you would -never have heard of me again or the message either. I finally managed -to reach East Liberty station and jumped on the first train that came -in, but I caught a glimpse of Balder stretching his neck over the -crowd. He must have seen me and had Hale and Burke on the watch when I -got here. They just missed me by a half second. They went over to the -restaurant--didn’t expect me on a special, but I escaped them, and I’m -mighty glad to get that little paper into your possession and out of -mine. It’s rather a long story to tell the whole, but I think you have -the main facts.” - -There was a suspicious glitter in the keen eyes of the kind old chief -as he put out his hand and grasped Gordon’s in a hearty shake; but all -he said was: - -“And you are all worn out--I’ll guarantee you didn’t sleep much last -night.” - -“Well, no,” said Gordon; “I had to sit up in a day-coach and share the -seat with another man. Besides, I was somewhat excited.” - -“Of course, of course!” puffed the old chief, coughing vigorously, and -showing by his gruff attitude that he was deeply affected. “Well, young -man, this won’t be forgotten by the Department. Now you go home and -take a good sleep. Take the whole day off if you wish, and then come -down to-morrow morning and tell me all about it. Isn’t there anything -more I need to know at once that justice may be done?” - -“I believe not,” said Gordon, with a sigh of relief. “There’s a list -of the men who were at the dinner with me. I wrote them down from -memory last night when I couldn’t sleep. I also wrote a few scraps of -conversation, which will show you just how deep the plot had gone. If -I had not read the message and known its import, I should not have -understood what they were talking about.” - -“H-m! Yes. If there had been more time before you started I might have -told you all about it. Still, it seemed desirable that you should -appear as much at your ease as possible. I thought this would be best -accomplished by your knowing nothing of the import of the writing when -you first met the people.” - -“I suppose it was as well that I did not know any more than I did. You -are a great chief, sir! I was deeply impressed anew with that fact as -I saw how wonderfully you had planned for every possible emergency. It -was simply great, sir.” - -“Pooh! Pooh! Get you home and to bed,” said the old chief quite -brusquely. - -He touched a bell and a man appeared. - -“Jessup, is the coast clear?” he asked. - -“Yessah,” declared the darky. “Dey have jest hed a couple o’ shots in -de pahk, an’ now dey tuk de villains off to der p’lice station. De -officers is out der waitin’ to ’scort de gemman.” - -“Get home with you, Gordon, and don’t come to the office till ten in -the morning. Then come straight to my private room.” - -Gordon thanked him, and left the room preceded by the gray-haired -servant. He was surprised to find the policemen outside, and wondered -still more that they seemed to be going one in front and the other -behind him as he rode along. He was greatly relieved that he had not -been called upon to give the whole story. His heart was filled with -anxiety now to get back to the girl, and tell her everything, and yet -he dreaded it more than anything he had ever had to face in all his -life. He sat back on the cushions, and, covering his face with his -hands, tried to think how he should begin, but he could see nothing but -her sweet eyes filled with tears, think of nothing but the way she had -looked and smiled during the beautiful morning they had spent together -in the little town of Milton. Beautiful little Milton. Should he ever -see it again? - -Celia at her window grew more and more nervous as an hour and then -another half-hour slipped slowly away, and still he did not come. -Then two mounted policemen rode rapidly down the street following an -automobile, in which sat the man for whom she waited. - -She had no eyes now for the men who had been lurking across the way, -and when she thought to look for them again she saw them running in the -opposite direction as fast as they could go, making wild gestures for a -car to stop for them. - -She stood by the window and saw Gordon get out of the car, and -disappear into the building below, saw the car wheel and curve away -and the mounted police take up their stand on either corner; heard the -clang of the elevator as it started up, and the clash of its door as -it stopped at that floor; heard steps coming on toward the door, and -the key in the latch. Then she turned and looked at him, her two hands -clasped before her, and her two eyes yearning, glad and fearful all at -once. - -“Oh, I have been so frightened about you! I am so glad you have come!” -she said, and caught her voice in a sob as she took one little step -toward him. - -He threw his hat upon the floor, wherever it might land, and went -to meet her, a great light glowing in his tired eyes, his arms -outstretched to hers. - -“And did you care?” he asked in a voice of almost awe. “Dear, did you -_care_ what became of _me_?” - -He had come quite close to her now. - -“Oh yes, I _cared_! I could not help it.” There was a real sob in her -voice now, though her eyes were shining. - -His arms went around her hungrily, as if he would draw her to him in -spite of everything; yet he kept them so encircling, without touching -her, like a benediction that would enwrap the very soul of his beloved. -Looking down into her face he breathed softly: - -“Oh, my dear, it seems as if I must hold you close and kiss you!” - -She looked up with bated breath, and thought she understood. Then, -with a lovely gesture of surrender, she whispered, “I can trust you.” -Her lashes were drooping now over her eyes. - -“Not until you know all,” he said, and put her gently from him into the -great arm-chair, with a look of reverence and self-abnegation she felt -she never would forget. - -“Then, tell me quickly,” she said, a swift fear making her weak from -head to foot. She laid her hand across her heart, as if to help steady -its beating. - -He wheeled forward the leather couch opposite her chair, and sat down, -his head drooping, his eyes down. He dreaded to begin. - -She waited for the revelation, her eyes upon his bowed head. - -Finally he lifted his eyes and saw her look, and a tender light came -into his face. - -“It is a strange story,” he said. “I don’t know what you will think of -me after it is told, but I want you to know that, blundering, stupid, -even criminal, though you may think me, I would sooner die this minute -than cause you one more breath of suffering.” - -Her eyes lit up with a wonderful light, and the ready tears sprang into -them, tears that sparkled through the sunshine of a great joy that -illumined her whole face. - -“Please go on,” she said softly, and added very gently, “I believe you.” - -But even with those words in his ears the beginning was not easy. -Gordon drew a deep breath and launched forth. - -“I am not the man you think,” he said, and looked at her to see how she -would take it. “My name is not George Hayne. My name is Cyril Gordon.” - -As one might launch an arrow at a beloved victim and long that it may -not strike the mark, so he sent his truth home to her understanding, -and waited in breathless silence, hoping against hope that this might -not turn her against him. - -“Oh!” she breathed softly, as if some puzzle were solving itself. -“Oh!”--this time not altogether in surprise, nor as if the fact were -displeasing. She looked at him expectantly for further revelation, and -he plunged into his story headlong. - -“I’m a member of the Secret Service,--headquarters here in -Washington,--and day before yesterday I was sent to New York on an -important errand. A message of great import written in a private code -had been stolen from one of our men. I was sent to get it before they -could decipher it. The message involved matters of such tremendous -significance that I was ordered to go under an assumed name, and on -no account to let anyone know of my mission. My orders were to get the -message, and let nothing hinder me in bringing it with all haste to -Washington. I went with the full understanding that I might even be -called upon to risk my life.” - -He looked up. The girl sat wide-eyed, with hands clasped together at -her throat. - -He hurried on, not to cause her any needless anxiety. - -“I won’t weary you with details. There were a good many annoying -hindrances on the way, which served to make me nervous, but I carried -out the programme laid down by my chief, and succeeded in getting -possession of the message and making my escape from the house of the -man who had stolen it. As I closed the door behind me, knowing that it -could be but a matter of a few seconds at longest before six furious -men would be on my track, who would stop at nothing to get back what -I had taken from them, I saw a carriage standing almost before the -house. The driver took me for the man he awaited, and I lost no time in -taking advantage of his mistake. I jumped in, telling him to drive as -fast as he could. I intended to give him further directions, but he had -evidently had them from another quarter, and I thought I could call to -him as soon as we were out of the dangerous neighborhood. To add to -my situation I soon became sure that an automobile and a motor-cycle -were following me. I recognized one of the men in the car as the man -who sat opposite to me at the table a few minutes before. My coachman -drove like mad, while I hurried to secure the message so that if I were -caught it would not be found, and to put on a slight disguise--some -eyebrows and things the chief had given me. Before I knew where I was, -the carriage had stopped before a building. At first I thought it was -a prison--and the car and motor-cycle came to a halt just behind me. I -felt that I was pretty well trapped.” - -The girl gave a low moan, and Gordon, not daring to look up, hurried on -with his story. - -“There isn’t much more to tell that you do not already know. I soon -discovered the building was a church, not a prison. What happened -afterward was the result of my extreme perturbation of mind, I suppose. -I cannot account for my stupidity and subsequent cowardice in any other -way. Neither was it possible for me to explain matters satisfactorily -at any time during the whole mix-up, on account of the trust which I -carried, and which I could on no account reveal even in confidence, -or put in jeopardy in the slightest degree. Naturally at first my -commission and how to get safely through it all was the only thing of -importance to me. If you keep this in mind perhaps you will be able -to judge me less harshly. My only thought when the carriage came to a -halt was how to escape from those two pursuers, and that more or less -pervaded my mind during what followed so that ordinary matters which at -another time would have been at once clear to me, meant nothing at all. -You see, the instant that carriage came to a standstill some one threw -open the door, and I heard a voice call ‘Where is the best man?’ Then -another voice said, ‘Here he is!’ I took it that they thought I was -best man, but would soon discover that I wasn’t when I came into the -light. There wasn’t any chance to slip away, or I should have done so, -and vanished in the dark, but everybody surrounded me, and seemed to -think I was all right. The two men who had followed were close behind -eyeing me keenly. I’m satisfied that they were to blame for that wild -ride we took in Pittsburgh! I soon saw by the remarks that the man -I was supposed to be had been away from this country for ten years, -and of course then they would not be very critical. I tried twice to -explain that there was a mistake, but both times they misunderstood -me and thought I was saying I couldn’t go in the procession because -I hadn’t practised. I don’t just know how I came to be in such a -dreadful mess. It would seem as if it ought to have been a very easy -thing to say I had got into the wrong carriage and they must excuse me, -that I wasn’t their man, but, you see, they gave me no time to think -nor to speak. They just turned me over from one man to another and took -everything for granted, and I, finding that I would have to break loose -and flee before their eyes if I wished to escape, reflected that there -would be no harm in marching down the aisle as best man in a delayed -wedding, if that was all there was to do. I could disappear as soon as -the ceremony was over, and no one would be the wiser. The real best man -would probably turn up and then they might wonder as they pleased for I -would be far away and perhaps this was as good a place as any in which -to hide for half an hour until my pursuers were baffled and well on -their way seeking elsewhere for me. I can see now that I made a grave -mistake in allowing even so much deception, but I did not see any harm -in it then, and they all seemed in great distress for the ceremony to -go forward. Bear in mind also that I was at that time entirely taken up -with the importance of hiding my message until I could take it safely -to my chief. Nothing else seemed to matter much. If the real best man -was late to the wedding and they were willing to use me in his place -what harm could come from it? He certainly deserved it for being late -and if he came in during the ceremony he would think some one else had -been put in his place. They introduced me to your brother--Jefferson. -I thought he was the bridegroom, and I thought so until they laid your -hand in mine!” - -“Oh!” she moaned, and the little hand went to help its mate cover her -face. - -“I knew it!” he said bitterly. “I knew you would feel just that way -as soon as you knew. I don’t blame you. I deserve it! I was a fool, a -villain, a dumb brute--whatever you have a mind to call me! You can’t -begin to understand how I have suffered for you since this happened, -and how I have blamed myself.” - -He got up suddenly and strode over to the window, frowning down into -the sunlit street, and wondering how it was that everybody seemed to -be going on in exactly the same hurry as ever, when for him life had -suddenly come to a standstill. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -The room was very still. The girl did not even sob. He turned after -a moment and went back to that bowed golden head there in the deep -crimson chair. - -“Look here,” he said, “I know you can’t ever forgive me. I don’t expect -it! I don’t deserve it! But please don’t feel so awfully about it. I’ll -explain it all to every one. I’ll make it all right for you. I’ll take -every bit of blame on myself, and get plenty of witnesses to prove all -about it----” - -The girl looked up with sorrow and surprise in her wet eyes. - -“Why, I do not blame you,” she said, mournfully. “I cannot see how -you were to blame. It was no one’s fault. It was just an unusual -happening--a strange set of circumstances. I could not blame you. There -is nothing to forgive, and if there were I would gladly forgive it!” - -“Then what on earth makes you look so white and feel so distressed?” he -asked in a distracted voice, as a man will sometimes look and talk to -the woman he loves when she becomes a tearful problem of despair to his -obtuse eyes. - -“Oh, don’t you know?” - -“No, I don’t,” he said. “You’re surely not mourning for that brute of a -man to whom you had promised to sacrifice your life?” - -She shook her head, and buried her face in her hands again. He could -see that the tears were dropping between her fingers, and they seemed -to fall red hot upon his heart. - -“Then what is it?” His tone was almost sharp in its demand, but she -only cried the harder. Her slender shoulders were shaking with her -grief now. - -He put his hand down softly and touched her bowed head. - -“Won’t you tell me, Dear?” he breathed, and, stooping, knelt beside her. - -The sobs ceased, and she was quite still for a moment, while his hand -still lay on her hair with that gentle, pleading touch. - -“It is--because you married me--in--that way--without knowing---- Oh, -can’t you see how terrible----” - -Oh, the folly and blindness of love! Gordon got up from his knees as if -she had stung him. - -“You need not feel bad about that any more,” he said in a hurt tone. -“Did I not tell you I would set you free at once? Surely no one in his -senses could call you bound after such circumstances.” - -She was very still for an instant, as if he had struck her, and then -she raised her golden head, and a pair of sweet eyes suddenly grown -haughty. - -“You mean that _I_ will set _you_ free!” she said coldly. “I could not -think of letting you be bound by a misunderstanding when you were under -great stress of mind. You were in no wise to blame. _I_ will set _you_ -free.” - -“As you please,” he retorted bitterly, turning toward the window again. -“It all amounts to the same thing. There is nothing for you to feel bad -about.” - -“Yes, there is,” she answered, with a quick rush of feeling that broke -through her assumed haughtiness. “I shall always feel that I have -broken in upon your life. You have had a most trying experience with -me, and you never can quite forget it. Things won’t be the same----” - -She paused and the quiet tears chased each other eloquently down her -face. - -“No,” said Gordon still bitterly; “things will never be the same for -me. I shall always see you sitting there in my chair. I shall always be -missing you from it! But I am glad--glad. I would never have known what -I missed if it had not been for this.” He spoke almost savagely. - -He did not look around, but she was staring at him in astonishment, her -blue eyes suddenly alight. - -“What do you mean?” she asked softly. - -He wheeled round upon her. “I mean that I shall never forget you; that -I do not want to forget you. I should rather have had these two days of -your sweet company, than all my lifetime in any other companionship.” - -“Oh!” she breathed. “Then, why--why did you say what you did about -being free?” - -“I didn’t say anything about being free that I remember. It was you -that said that.” - -“I said I would set you free. I could not, of course, hold you to a -bond you did not want----” - -“But I did not say I did not want it. I said I would not hold you if -_you_ did not want to stay.” - -“Do you mean that if you had known me a little--that is, just as much -as you know me now--and had come in there and found out your mistake -before it was too late, that you would have _wanted_ to go on with it?” - -She waited for his answer breathlessly. - -“If you had known me just as much as you do now, and had looked up and -seen that it was I and not George Hayne you were marrying, would _you_ -have wanted to go on and be married?” - -Her cheeks grew rosy and her eyes confused. - -“I asked you first,” she said, with just a flicker of a smile. - -He caught the shimmer of light in her eyes, and came toward her -eagerly, his own face all aglow now with a dawning understanding. - -“Darling,” he said, “I can go farther than you have asked. From the -first minute my eyes rested upon your face under that mist of white -veil I wished with all my heart that I might have known you before any -other man had found and won you. When you turned and looked at me with -that deep sorrow in your eyes, you pledged me with every fibre of my -being to fight for you. I was yours from that instant. And when your -little hand was laid in mine, my heart went out in longing to have it -stay in mine forever. I know now, as I did not understand then, that -the real reason for my not doing something to make known my identity -at that instant was not because I was afraid of any of the things -that might happen, or any scene I might make, but because my heart -was fighting for the right to keep what had been given me out of the -unknown. You are my wife, by every law of heaven and earth, if your -heart will but say yes. I love you, as I never knew a man could love, -and yet if you do not want to stay with me I will set you free; but it -is true that I should never be the same, for I am married to you in my -heart, and always shall be. Darling, look up and answer my question -now.” - -He stood before her with outstretched arms, and for answer she rose and -came to him slowly, with downcast eyes. - -“I do not want to be set free,” she said. - -Then gently, tenderly, he folded his arms about her, as if she were too -precious to handle roughly, and laid his lips upon hers. - -It was the shrill, insistent clang of the telephone bell that broke in -upon their bliss. For a moment Gordon let it ring, but its merciless -clatter was not to be denied; so, drawing Celia close within his arm, -he made her come with him to the ’phone. - -To his annoyance, the haughty voice of Miss Bentley answered him from -the little black distance of the ’phone. - -His arm was about Celia, and she felt his whole body stiffen with -formality. - -“Oh, Miss Bentley! Good-morning! Your message? Why no! Ah! Well, I have -but just come in----” - -A pause during which Celia, panic-stricken, handed him the paper on -which she had written Julia’s message. - -“Ah! Oh, yes, I have the message. Yes, it is very kind of you--” he -murmured stiffly, “but you will have to excuse me. No, really. It -is utterly impossible! I have another engagement--” his arm stole -closer around Celia’s waist and caught her hand, holding it with a -meaningful pressure. He smiled, with a grimace toward the telephone -which gladdened her heart. “Pardon me, I didn’t hear that,” he went -on.... “Oh, give up my engagement and come?... Not possibly!” His -voice rang with a glad, decided force, and he held still closer the -soft fingers in his hand.... “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way about -it. I certainly am not trying to be disagreeable. No, I could not come -to-morrow night either.... I cannot make any plans for the next few -days.... I may have to leave town again.... It is quite possible I may -have to return to New York. Yes, business has been very pressing. I -hope you will excuse me. I am sorry to disappoint you. No, of course -I didn’t do it on purpose. I shall have some pleasant news to tell -you when I see you again--or--” with a glance of deep love at Celia, -“perhaps I shall find means to let you know of it before I see you.” - -The color came and went in Celia’s cheeks. She understood what he meant -and nestled closer to him. - -“No, no, I could not tell it over the ’phone. No, it will keep. Good -things will always keep if they are well cared for you know. No, really -I can’t. And I’m very sorry to disappoint you to-night, but it can’t -be helped.... Good-by.” - -He hung up the receiver with a sigh of relief. - -“Who is Miss Bentley?” asked Celia, with natural interest. She was -pleased that he had not addressed her as “Julia.” - -“Why, she is--a friend--I suppose you would call her. She has been -taking possession of my time lately rather more than I really enjoyed. -Still, she is a nice girl. You’ll like her, I think; but I hope you’ll -never get too intimate. I shouldn’t like to have her continually -around. She----” he paused and finished, laughing--“she makes me tired.” - -“I was afraid, from her tone when she ’phoned you, that she was a very -dear friend--that she might be some one you cared for. There was a sort -of proprietorship in her tone.” - -“Yes, that’s the very word, proprietorship,” he laughed. “I couldn’t -care for her. I never did. I tried to consider her in that light one -day, because I’d been told repeatedly that I ought to settle down, but -the thought of having her with me always was--well--intolerable. The -fact is, you reign supreme in a heart that has never loved another -girl. I didn’t know there was such a thing as love like this. I knew I -lacked something, but I didn’t know what it was. This is greater than -all the gifts of life, this gift of your love. And that it should come -to me in this beautiful, unsought way seems too good to be true!” - -He drew her to him once more and looked down into her lovely face, as -if he could not drink enough of its sweetness. - -“And to think you are willing to be my wife! My wife!” and he folded -her close again. - -A discreet tap on the door announced the arrival of the man Henry, and -Gordon roused to the necessity of ordering lunch. - -He stepped to the door with a happy smile and held it open. - -“Come in a minute, Henry,” he said. “This is my wife. I hope you will -henceforth take her wishes as your special charge, and do for her as -you have done so faithfully for me.” - -The man’s eyes shone with pleasure as he bowed low before the gentle -lady. - -“I is very glad to heah it, sah, and I offers you my -congratchumlations, sah, and de lady, too. She can’t find no bettah man -in the whole United States dan Mars’ Gordon. I’s mighty glad you done -got ma’ied, sah, an’ I hopes you bof have a mighty fine life.” - -The luncheon was served in Henry’s best style, and his dark face shone -as he stepped noiselessly about, putting silver and china and glass in -place, and casting admiring glances at the lady, who stood holding the -little miniature in her hand and asking questions with a gentle voice: - -“Your mother, you say? How dear she is! And she died so long ago! -You never knew her? Oh, how strange and sweet and pitiful to have a -beautiful girl-mother like that!” - -She put out her hand to his in the shelter of the deep window, and -they thought Henry did not see the look and touch that passed between -them; but he discreetly averted his eyes and smiled benignly at the -salt-cellars and the celery he was arranging. Then he hurried out to -a florist’s next door and returned with a dozen white roses, which he -arranged in a queer little crystal pitcher, one of the few articles -belonging to his mother that Gordon possessed. It had never been used -before, except to stand on the mantel. - -It was after they had finished their delightful luncheon, and Henry had -cleared the table and left the room, that Gordon remarked: - -“I wonder what has become of George Hayne. Do you suppose he means to -try to make trouble?” - -Celia’s hands fluttered to her throat with a little gesture of fear. - -“Oh!” she said. “I had forgotten him! How terrible! He will do -_something_, of course. He will do _everything_. He will probably carry -out all his threats. How could I have forgotten! Perhaps Mamma is now -in great distress. What can we do? What can _I_ do?” - -She looked up at him helplessly, and his heart bounded at the thought -that she was his to protect as long as life should last, and that she -already depended upon him. - -“Don’t be frightened,” he soothed her. “He cannot do anything very -dreadful, and if he tries we’ll soon silence him. What he has written -in those letters is blackmail. He is simply a big coward, who will run -and hide as soon as he is exposed. He thought you did not understand -law, and so took advantage of you. I’m sure I can silence him.” - -“Oh, do you think so? But Mamma! Poor Mamma! It will kill her! And -George will stop at nothing when he is crossed. I have known him too -long. It will be _terrible_ if he carries out his threat.” Tears were -in her eyes, agony was in her face. - -“We must telephone your mother at once and set her heart at rest. Then -we can find out just what ought to be done,” said Gordon soothingly. -“It was unforgivably thoughtless in me not to have done it before.” - -Celia’s face was radiant at the thought of speaking to her mother. - -“Oh, how beautiful! Why didn’t I think of that before! What perfectly -dear things telephones are!” - -With one accord, they went to the telephone table. - -“Shall you call them up, or shall I?” he asked. - -“You call, and then I will speak to Mamma,” she said, her eyes shining -with her joy in him. “I want them to hear your voice again. They can’t -help knowing you are all right when they hear your voice.” - -For that, he gave her a glance very much worth having. - -“Just how do you account for the fact that you didn’t think I was all -right yesterday afternoon? I have a very realizing sense that you -didn’t. I used my voice to the best of my ability, but it did no good -then.” - -“Well, you see, that was different! There were those letters to be -accounted for. Mamma and Jeff don’t know anything about the letters.” - -“And what are you going to tell them now?” - -She drew her brows down a minute and thought. - -“You’d better find out how much they already know,” he suggested. “If -this George Hayne hasn’t turned up yet, perhaps you can wait until -you can write, or we might be able to go up to-morrow and explain it -ourselves.” - -“Oh, could we? How lovely!” - -“I think we could,” said Gordon. “I’m sure I can make it possible. Of -course, you know a wedding journey isn’t exactly in the program of the -Secret Service, but I might be able to work them for one. I surely can -in a few days if this Holman business doesn’t hold me up. I may be -needed for a witness. I’ll have to talk with the chief first.” - -“Oh, how perfectly beautiful! Then you call them up, and just say -something pleasant--anything, you know--and then say I’ll speak to -Mamma.” - -She gave him the number, and in a few minutes a voice from New York -said, “Hello!” - -“Hello!” called Gordon. “Is this Mr. Jefferson Hathaway?... Well, this -is your new brother-in-law. How are you all?... Your mother recovered -from all the excitement and weariness?... That’s good.... What’s -that?... You’ve been trying to ’phone us in Chicago?... But we’re not -in Chicago. We changed our minds and came to Washington instead.... -Yes, we’re in Washington--The Harris Apartments. We have been very -selfish not to have communicated with you sooner. At least I have. -Celia hasn’t had any choice in the matter. I’ve kept her so busy. -Yes, she’s very well, and seems to look happy. She wants to speak for -herself. I’ll try to arrange to bring her up to-morrow for a little -visit. I want to see you too. We’ve a lot of things to explain to -you.... Here is Celia. She wants to speak to you.” - -Celia, her eyes shining, her lips quivering with suppressed excitement, -took the receiver. - -“Oh, Jeff dear, it’s good to hear your voice,” she said. “Is everything -all right? Yes, I’ve been having a perfectly beautiful time, and I’ve -something fine to tell you. All those nice things you said to me just -before you got off the train are true. Yes, he’s just as nice as -you said, and a great deal nicer besides. Oh, yes, I’m very happy, -and I want to speak to Mamma please. Jeff, is she all right? Is she -_perfectly_ well, and not fretting a bit? You know you promised to tell -me. What’s that? She thought I looked sad? Well, I did but that’s all -gone now. Everything is perfectly beautiful. Tell mother to come to the -’phone please--I want to make her understand.” - -“I’m going to tell her, dear,” she whispered, looking up at Gordon. -“I’m afraid George will get there before we do and make her worry.” - -For answer he stooped and kissed her, his arm encircling her and -drawing her close. “Whatever you think best, dearest,” he whispered -back. - -“Is that you, Mamma?” With a happy smile she turned back to the ’phone. -“Dear Mamma! Yes, I’m all safe and happy, and I’m so sorry you have -worried. We won’t let you do it again. But listen; I’ve something to -tell you, a surprise--Mamma, I did not marry George Hayne at all. No, -I say I _did not_ marry George Hayne at all. George Hayne is a wicked -man. I can’t tell you about it over the ’phone but that was why I -looked sad. Yes, I was _married_ all right, but not to George. He’s oh, -so different, Mother you can’t think. He’s right here beside me now, -and Mother, he is just as dear--you’d be very happy about him if you -could see him. What did you say? Didn’t I mean to marry George? Why -Mother, I never wanted to. I was awfully unhappy about it, and I knew I -made you feel so too, though I tried not to. But I’ll explain all about -it. You’ll be perfectly satisfied when you know all about it.... No, -there’s nothing whatever for you to worry about. Everything is right -now and life looks more beautiful to me than it ever did before. What’s -his name? Oh;” she looked up at Gordon with a funny little expression -of dismay. She had forgotten and he whispered it in her ear. - -“Cyril--” - -“It’s Cyril, Mother! Isn’t that a pretty name? Which name? Oh, the -first name of course. The last name?” - -“Gordon--” he supplied in her ear again. - -“Cyril Gordon, Mother,” she said, giggling in spite of herself at her -strange predicament.... “Yes, Mother. I am very, very happy. I couldn’t -be happier unless I had you and Jeff, too, and”--she paused, hesitating -at the unaccustomed name--“and Cyril says we’re coming to visit you -to-morrow. We’ll come up and see you and explain everything. And you’re -not to worry about George Hayne if he comes. Just let Jeff put him off -by telling him you have sent for me, or something of the sort, and -don’t pay any attention to what he says. What? You say he did come? How -strange--and he hasn’t been back? I’m so thankful. He is dreadful. Oh, -Mother, you don’t know what I’ve escaped! And Cyril is good and dear. -What? You want to speak to him? All right. He’s right here. Good-by, -Mother, dear, till to-morrow. And you’ll promise not to worry about -anything? All right. Here is--Cyril.” - -Gordon took the receiver. - -“Mother, I’m taking good care of her, just as I promised, and I’m going -to bring her for a flying visit up to see you to-morrow. Yes, I’ll take -good care of her. She is very dear to me. The best thing that ever -came into my life.” - -Then a mother’s blessing came thrilling over the wires, and touched the -handsome, manly face with tenderness. - -“Thank you,” he said. “I shall try always to make you glad you said -those words.” - -They returned to looking in each other’s eyes, after the receiver was -hung up, as if they had been parted a long time. It seemed somehow as -if their joy must be greater than any other married couple, because -they had all their courting yet to do. It was beautiful to think of -what was before them. - -There was so much on both sides to be told; and to be told over again -because only half had been told; and there were so many hopes and -experiences to be exchanged; so many opinions to compare, and to -rejoice over because they were alike on many essentials. Then there -were the rooms to be gone through, and Gordon’s pictures and favorite -books to look at and talk about, and plans for the future to be touched -upon--just barely touched upon. - -The apartment would do until they could look about and get a house, -Gordon said, his heart swelling with the proud thought that at last he -would have a real home, like his other married friends, with a real -princess to preside over it. - -Then Celia had to tell all about the horror of the last three months, -with the unpleasant shadows of the preceding years back of it. She told -this in the dusk of evening, before Henry had come in to light up, -and before they had realized that it was almost dinner-time. She told -it with her face hidden on her husband’s shoulder, and his arms close -about her, to give her comfort at each revelation of the story. They -tried also to plan what to do about George Hayne; and then there was -the whole story of Gordon’s journey and commission from the time the -old chief had called him into the office until he came to stand beside -her at the church altar and they were married. It was told in careful -detail with all the comical, exasperating and pitiful incidents of -white dog and little newsboy; but the strangest part about it all was -that Gordon never said one word about Julia Bentley and her imaginary -presence with him that first day, and he never even knew that he had -left out an important detail. - -Celia laughed over the white dog and declared they must bring him home -to live with them; and she cried over the story of the brave little -newsboy and was eager to visit him in New York, promising herself all -sorts of pleasure in taking him gifts and permanently bettering his -condition; and it was in this way that Gordon incidentally learned that -his wife had a fortune in her own right, a fact that for a time gave -him great uneasiness of mind until she had soothed him and laughed at -him for an hour or more; for Gordon was an independent creature and had -ideas about supporting his wife by his own toil. Besides it seemed an -unfair advantage to have taken a wife and a fortune as it were unaware. - -But Celia’s fortune had not spoiled her, and she soon made him see that -it had always been a mere incident in her scheme of living; comfortable -and pleasant incident to be sure, but still an incident to be kept -always in the background, and never for a moment to be a cause for -self-gratulation or pride. - -Gordon found himself dreading the explanation that would have to come -when he reached New York and faced his wife’s mother and brother. Celia -had accepted his explanations, because, somehow by the beautiful ways -of the spirit, her soul had found and believed in his soul before the -truth was made known to her, but would her mother and brother be able -also to believe? And he fell to planning with Celia just how he should -tell the story; and this led to his bringing out a number of letters -and papers that would be worth while showing as credentials, and every -step of the way, as Celia got glimpse after glimpse into his past, her -face shone with joy and her heart leaped with the assurance that her -lot had been cast in goodly places, for she perceived not only that -this man was honored and respected in high places, but that his early -life had been peculiarly pure and true. - -The strange loneliness that had surrounded his young manhood seemed -suddenly to have broken ahead of him, and to have opened out into the -glory of the companionship of one peculiarly fitted to fill the need -of his life. Thus they looked into one another’s eyes reading their -life-joy, and entered into the beautiful miracle of acquaintanceship. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -The next morning quite early the ’phone called Gordon to the office. -The chief’s secretary said the matter was urgent. - -He hurried away leaving Celia somewhat anxious lest their plans for -going to New York that day could not be carried out, but she made up -her mind not to fret even if the trip had to be put off a little, and -solaced herself with a short visit with her mother over the telephone. - -Gordon entered his chief’s office a trifle anxiously, for he felt that -in justice to his wife he ought to take her right back to New York and -get matters there adjusted; but he feared that there would be business -to hold him at home until the Holman matter was settled. - -The chief greeted him affably and bade him sit down. - -“I am sorry to have called you up so early,” he said, “but we needed -you. The fact is, they’ve arrested Holman and five other men, and you -are in immediate demand to identify them. Would it be asking too much -of an already overworked man to send you back to New York to-day?” - -Gordon almost sprang from his seat in pleasure. - -“It just exactly fits in with my plans, or, rather, my wishes,” he -said, smiling. “There are several matters of my own that I would like -to attend to in New York and for which of course I did not have time.” - -He paused and looked at his chief, half hesitating, marvelling that the -way had so miraculously opened for him to keep silence a little longer -on the subject of his marriage. Perhaps the chief need never be told -that the marriage ceremony took place on the day of the Holman dinner. - -“That is good,” said the chief, smiling. “You certainly have earned the -right to attend to your own affairs. Then we need not feel so bad at -having to send you back. Can you go on the afternoon train? Good! Then -let us hear your account of your trip briefly, to see if there are any -points we didn’t notice yesterday. But first just step here a moment. I -have something to show you.” - -He flung open the door to the next office. - -“You knew that Ferry had left the Department on account of his -ill-health? I have taken the liberty of having your things moved in -here. This will hereafter be your headquarters, and you will be next to -me in the Department.” - -Gordon turned in amazement and gazed at the kindly old face. Promotion -he had hoped for, but such promotion, right over the heads of his -elders and superiors, he had never dreamed of receiving. He could have -taken the chief in his arms. - -“Pooh! Pooh!” said the chief. “You deserve it, you deserve it!” when -Gordon tried to blunder out some words of appreciation. Then, as if to -cap the climax, he added: - -“And, by the way, you know some one has got to run across the water to -look after that Stanhope matter. That will fall to you, I’m afraid. -Sorry to keep you trotting around the globe, but perhaps you’ll like -to make a little vacation of it. The Department’ll give you some time -if you want it. Oh, don’t thank me! It’s simply the reward of doing -your duty, to have more duties given you, and higher ones. You have -done well, young man. I have here all the papers in the Stanhope case, -and full directions written out, and then if you can plan for it you -needn’t return, unless it suits your pleasure. You understand the -matter as fully as I do already. And now for business. Let’s hurry -through. There are one or two little matters we must talk over and I -know you will want to hurry back and get ready for your journey.” And -so after all the account of Gordon’s extraordinary escape and eventful -journey home became by reason of its hasty repetition a most prosaic -story composed of the bare facts and not all of those. - -At parting the chief pressed Gordon’s hand with heartiness and ushered -him out into the hall, with the same brusque manner he used to close -all business interviews, and Gordon found himself hurrying through the -familiar halls in a daze of happiness, the secret of his unexpected -marriage still his own--and hers. - -Celia was watching at the window when his key clicked in the lock and -he let himself into the apartment his face alight with the joy of -meeting her again after the brief absence. She turned in a quiver of -pleasure at his coming. - -“Well, get ready,” he said joyfully. “We are ordered off to New York on -the afternoon train, with a wedding trip to Europe into the bargain; -and I’m promoted to the next place to the chief. What do you think of -that for a morning’s surprise?” - -He tossed up his hat like a boy, came over to where she stood, and -stooping laid reverent lips upon her brow and eyes. - -“Oh, beautiful! lovely!” cried Celia, ecstatically, “come sit down on -the couch and tell me about it. We can work faster afterward if we -get it off our minds. Was your chief very much shocked that you were -married without his permission or knowledge?” - -“Why, that was the best of all. I didn’t have to tell him I was -married. And he is not to know until just as I sail. He need never know -how it all happened. It isn’t his business and it would be hard to -explain. No one need ever know except your mother and brother unless -you wish them to, dear.” - -“Oh, I am so glad and relieved,” said Celia, delightedly. “I’ve been -worrying about that a little,--what people would think of us,--for of -course we couldn’t possibly explain it all out as it is to us. They -would always be watching us to see if we really cared for each other; -and suspecting that we didn’t, and it would be horrid. I think it is -our own precious secret, and nobody but mamma and Jeff have a right to -know, don’t you?” - -“I certainly do, and I was casting about in my mind as I went into the -office how I could manage not to tell the chief, when what did he do -but spring a proposition on me to go at once to New York and identify -those men. He apologized tremendously for having to send me right back -again, but said it was necessary. I told him it just suited me for I -had affairs of my own that I had not had time to attend to when I was -there, and would be glad to go back and see to them. That let me out on -the wedding question for it would be only necessary to tell him I was -married when I got back. He would never ask when.” - -“But the announcements,” said Celia catching her breath laughingly, -“I never thought of that. We’ll just have to have some kind of -announcements or my friends will not understand about my new name; and -we’ll have to send him one, won’t we?” - -“Why, I don’t know. Couldn’t we get along without announcements? -You can explain to your intimate friends, and the others won’t -ever remember the name after a few months--we’ll not be likely to -meet many of them right away. I’ll write to my chief and tell him -informally leaving out the date entirely. He won’t miss it. If we have -announcements at all we needn’t send him one. He wouldn’t be likely -ever to see one any other way, or to notice the date. I think we can -manage that matter. We’ll talk it over with your--” he hesitated and -then smiling tenderly added, “we’ll talk it over with _mother_. How -good it sounds to say that. I never knew my mother you know.” - -Celia nestled her hands in his and murmured, “Oh, I am so happy,--so -happy! But I don’t understand how you got a wedding trip without -telling your chief about our marriage.” - -“Easy as anything. He asked me if I would mind running across the -water to attend to a matter for the service and said I might have extra -time while there for a vacation. He never suspects that vacation is to -be used as a wedding trip. I’ll write him, or ’phone him the night we -leave New York. I may have to stay in the city two or three days to get -this Holman matter settled, and then we can be off. In the meantime you -can spend the time reconciling your mother to her new son. Do you think -we’ll have a very hard time explaining matters to her?” - -“Not a bit,” said Celia, gaily. “She never did like George. It was the -only thing we ever disagreed about, my marrying him. She suspected -all the time I wasn’t happy and couldn’t understand why I insisted on -marrying him when I hadn’t seen him for ten years. She begged me to -wait until he had been back in the country for a year or two, but he -would not hear to such a thing and threatened to carry out his worst at -once.” - -Gordon’s heart suddenly contracted with righteous wrath over the -cowardliness of the man who sought to gain his own ends by intimidating -a woman,--and this woman, so dear, so beautiful, so lovely in her -nature. It seemed the man’s heart must indeed be black to have done -what he did. He mentally resolved to search him out and bring him to -justice as soon as he reached New York. It puzzled him to understand -how easily he seemed to have abandoned his purposes. Perhaps after -all he was more of a coward than they thought, and had not dared to -remain in the country when he found that Celia had braved his wrath and -married another man. He would find out about him and set the girl’s -heart at rest just as soon as possible, that any embarrassment at some -future time might be avoided. Gordon stooped and kissed his wife again, -a caress that seemed to promise all reparation for the past. - -But it suddenly occurred to the two that trains did not wait for -lovers’ long loitering, and with one accord they went to work. Celia -of course had very little preparation to make. Her trunk was probably -in Chicago and would need to be wired for. Gordon attended to that the -first thing, looking up the number of the check and ordering it back -to New York by telegraph. Turning from the telephone he rang for the -man and asked Celia to give the order for lunch while he got together -some things that he must take with him. A stay of several weeks would -necessitate a little more baggage than he had taken to New York. - -He went into the bedroom and began pulling out things to pack but when -Celia turned from giving her directions she found him standing in the -bedroom doorway with an old-fashioned velvet jewel case in his hand -which he had just taken from the little safe in his room. His face -wore a wonderful tender light as if he had just discovered something -precious. - -“Dear,” he said, “I wonder if you will care for these. They were -mother’s. Perhaps this ring will do until I can buy you a new one. See -if it will fit you. It was my mother’s.” - -He held out a ring containing a diamond of singular purity and -brilliance in quaint old-fashioned setting. - -Celia put out her hand with its wedding ring, the ring that he had put -upon her finger at the altar, and he slipped the other jewelled one -above it. It fitted perfectly. - -“It is a beauty,” breathed Celia, holding out her hand to admire it, -“and I would far rather have it than a new one. Your dear little -mother!” - -“There’s not much else here but a little string of pearls and a pin or -two. I have always kept them near me. Somehow they seemed like a link -between me and mother. I was keeping them for--” he hesitated and then -giving her a rare smile he finished: - -“I was keeping them for you.” - -Her answering look was eloquent, and needed no words which was well, -for Henry appeared at that moment to serve luncheon and remind his -master that his train left in a little over two hours. There was no -further time for sentiment. - -And yet, these two, it seemed, could not be practical that day. They -idled over their luncheon and dawdled over their packing, stopping to -look at this and that picture or bit of bric-a-brac that Gordon had -picked up in some of his travels; and Henry finally had to take things -in his own hands, pack them off and send their baggage after them. -Henry was a capable man and rejoiced to see the devotion of his master -and his new mistress, but he had a practical head and knew where his -part came in. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -The journey back to New York seemed all too brief for the two whose -lives had just been blended so unexpectedly, and every mile was filled -with a new and sweet discovery of delight in one another; and then, -when they reached the city they rushed in on Mrs. Hathaway and the -eager young Jeff like two children who had so much to tell they did not -know where to begin. - -Mrs. Hathaway settled the matter by insisting on their going to dinner -immediately and leaving all explanations until afterward; and with the -servants present of course there was little that could be said about -the matter that each one had most at heart. But there was a spirit of -deep happiness in the atmosphere and one couldn’t possibly entertain -any fears under the influence of the radiant smiles that passed between -mother and daughter, husband and wife, brother and sister. - -As soon as the meal was concluded the mother led them up to her private -sitting room, and closing the door she stood facing them all as half -breathless with the excitement of the moment they stood in a row before -her: - -“My three dear children!” she murmured. Gordon’s eyes lit with joy and -his heart thrilled with the wonder of it all. Then the mother stepped -up to him and placing her hand on his arm led him over to the couch and -made him sit beside her, while the brother and sister sat down together -close by. - -“Now, Cyril, my new son,” said she, deliberately, her eyes resting -approvingly upon his face, “you may tell me your story. I see my girl -has lost both head and heart to you and I doubt if she could tell it -connectedly.” - -And while Celia and Jeff were laughing at this Gordon set about his -task of winning a mother, and incidentally an eager-eyed young brother -who was more than half committed to his cause already. - -Celia watched proudly as her handsome husband took out his credentials, -and began his explanation. - -“First, I must tell you who I am, and these papers will do it better -than I could. Will you look at them, please?” - -He handed her a few letters and papers. - -“These papers on the top show the rank and position that my father -and my grandfather held with the government and in the army. This is -a letter from the president to my father congratulating him on his -approaching marriage with my mother. That paper contains my mother’s -family tree, and the letters with it will give you an idea of the -honor in which my mother’s family was held in Washington and in -Virginia, her old home. I know these matters are not of much moment, -and say nothing whatever about what I am myself, but they are things -you would have been likely to know about my family if you had known -me all my life; and at least they will tell you that my family was -respectable.” - -Mrs. Hathaway was examining the papers, and suddenly looked up -exclaiming: “My dear! My father knew your grandfather. I think I saw -him once when he came to our home in New York. It was years ago and I -was a young girl, but I remember he was a fine looking man with keen -dark eyes, and a heavy head of iron gray hair.” - -She looked at Gordon keenly. - -“I wonder if your eyes are not like his. It was long ago of course.” - -“They used to say I looked like him. I do not remember him. He died -when I was very young.” - -The mother looked up with a pleasant smile. - -“Now tell me about yourself,” she said and laid a gentle hand on his. - -Gordon looked down, an embarrassed flush spreading over his face. - -“There’s nothing great to tell,” he said. “I’ve always tried to live -a straight true life, and I’ve never been in love with any girl -before--” he flashed a wonderful, blinding smile upon Celia. - -“I was left alone in the world when quite young and have lived around -in boarding-schools and college. I’m a graduate of Harvard and I’ve -travelled a little. There was some money left from my father’s estate, -not much. I’m not rich. I’m a Secret Service man, and I love my work. -I get a good salary and was this morning promoted to the position next -in rank to my chief, so that now I shall have still more money. I shall -be able to make your daughter comfortable and give her some of the -luxuries, if not all, to which she has been accustomed.” - -“My dear boy, that part is not what I am anxious about--” interrupted -the mother. - -“I know,” said Gordon, “but it is a detail you have a right to be told. -I understand that you care far more what I am than how much money I can -make, and I promise you I am going to try to be all that you would want -your daughter’s husband to be. Perhaps the best thing I can say for -myself is that I love her better than my life, and I mean to make her -happiness the dearest thing in life to me.” - -The mother’s look of deep understanding answered him more eloquently -than words could have done, and after a moment she spoke again. - -“But I do not understand how you could have known one another and I -never have heard of you. Celia is not good at keeping things from her -mother, though the last three months she has had a sadness that I could -not fathom, and was forced to lay to her natural dread of leaving -home. She seemed so insistent upon having this marriage just as George -planned it--and I was so afraid she would regret not waiting. How could -you have known one another all this time and she never talked to me -about it, and why did George Hayne have any part whatever in it if you -two loved one another? Just how long have you known each other anyway? -Did it begin when you visited in Washington last spring, Celia?” - -With dancing eyes Celia shook her head. - -“No, Mamma. If I had met him then I’m sure George Hayne would never -have had anything to do with the matter, for Cyril would have known how -to help me out of my difficulty.” - -“I shall have to tell you the whole story from my standpoint, and from -the beginning,” said Gordon, dreading now that the crisis was upon him, -what the outcome would be. “I have wanted you to know who and what -I was before you knew the story, that you might judge me as kindly -as possible, and know that however I may have been to blame in the -matter it was through no intention of mine. My story may sound rather -impossible. I know it will seem improbable, but it is nevertheless -true, everything that I have to tell. May I hope to be believed?” - -“I think you may,” answered the mother searching his face anxiously. -“Those eyes of yours are not lying eyes.” - -“Thank you,” he said simply, and then gathering all his courage he -plunged into his story. - -Mrs. Hathaway was watching him with searching interest. Jeff had drawn -his chair up close and could scarcely restrain his excitement, and when -Gordon told of his commission he burst forth explosively: - -“Gee! But that was a great stunt! I’d have liked to have been along -with you! You must be simply great to be trusted with a thing like -that!” - -But his mother gently reproved him: - -“Hush, my son, let us hear the story.” - -Celia sat quietly watching her husband with pride, two bright spots of -color on her cheeks, and her hands clasping each other tightly. She was -hearing many details now that were new to her. Once more, when Gordon -mentioned the dinner at Holman’s Jeff interrupted with: - -“Holman! Holman! Not J. P.? Why of course--we know him! Celia was -one of his daughter’s bridesmaids last spring! The old lynx! I always -thought he was crooked! People hint a lot of things about him--” - -“Jeff, dear, let us hear the story,” again insisted his mother, and the -story continued. - -Gordon had been looking down as he talked. He dreaded to see their -faces as the truth should dawn upon them, but when he had told all he -lifted honest eyes to the white-faced mother and pleaded with her: - -“Indeed, indeed, I hope you will believe me, that not until they laid -your daughter’s hand in mine did I know that I was supposed to be the -bridegroom. I thought all the time her brother was the bridegroom. If I -had not been so distraught, and trying so hard to think how to escape, -I suppose I would have noticed that I was standing next to her, and -that everything was peculiar about the whole matter, but I didn’t. -And then when I suddenly knew that she and I were being married, what -should I have done? Do you think I ought to have stopped the ceremony -then and there and made a scene before all those people? What was the -right thing to do? Suppose my commission had been entirely out of the -question, and I had had no duty toward the government to keep entirely -quiet about myself, do you think I ought to have made a scene? Would -you have wanted me to for your daughter’s sake? Tell me please,” he -insisted, gently. - -And while she hesitated he added: - -“I did some pretty hard thinking during that first quarter of a second -that I realized what was happening, and I tell you honestly I didn’t -know what was the right thing to do. It seemed awful for her sake to -make a scene, and to tell you the truth I worshipped her from the -moment my eyes rested upon her. There was something sad and appealing -as she looked at me that seemed to pledge my very life to save her from -trouble. Tell me, do you think I ought to have stopped the ceremony -then at the first moment of my realization that I was being married?” - -The mother’s face had softened as she watched him and listened to his -tender words about Celia and now she answered gently: - -“I am not sure--perhaps not! It was a very grave question to face. I -don’t know that I can blame you for doing nothing. It would have been -terrible for her and us and everybody and have made it all so public. -Oh, I think you did right not to do anything publicly--perhaps--and -yet--it is terrible to me to think you have been forced to marry my -daughter in that way.” - -“Please do not say forced,--_Mother_--” said Gordon laying both hands -earnestly upon hers and looking into her eyes, “I tell you one thing -that held me back from doing anything was that I so earnestly desired -that what I was passing through might be real and lasting. I have -never seen one like her before. I know that if the mistake had been -righted and she had passed out of my life I should never have felt -the same again. I am glad, glad with all my heart that she is mine, -and--Mother!--I think she is glad too!” - -The mother turned toward her daughter, and Celia with starry eyes came -and knelt before them, and laid her hands in the hands of her husband, -saying with ringing voice: - -“Yes, dear little Mother, I am gladder than I ever was before in my -life.” - -And kneeling thus, with her husband’s arm about her, her face against -his shoulder, and both her hands clasped in his, she told her mother -about the tortures that George Hayne had put her through, until the -mother turned white with horror at what her beloved and cherished child -had been enduring, and the brother got up and stormed across the floor, -vowing vengeance on the luckless head of poor George Hayne. - -Then after the mother had given her blessing to the two, and Jeff -had added an original one of his own, there was the whole story of -the eventful wedding trip to tell, which they both told by solos and -choruses until the hour grew alarmingly late and the mother suddenly -sent them all off to bed. - -The next few days were both busy and happy ones for the two. They went -to the hospital and gladdened the life of the little newsboy with fruit -and toys and many promises; and they brought home a happy white dog -from his boarding place whom Jeff adopted as his own. Gordon had a -trying hour or two at court with his one-time host, the scoundrel who -had stolen the cipher message; and the thick-set man glared at him from -a cell window as he passed along the corridor of the prison whither he -had gone in search of George Hayne. - -Gordon in his search for the lost bridegroom, whom for many reasons he -desired to find as soon as possible, had asked the help of one of the -men at work on the Holman case, in searching for a certain George Hayne -who needed very much to be brought to justice. - -“Oh, you won’t have to search for him,” declared the man with a smile. -“He’s safely landed in prison three days ago. He was caught as neatly -as rolling off a log by the son of the man whose name he forged several -years ago. It was trust money of a big corporation and the man died in -his place in a prison cell, but the son means to see the real culprit -punished.” - -And so Gordon, in the capacity of Celia’s lawyer, went to the prison -to talk with George Hayne, and that miserable man found no excuse for -his sins when the searching talk was over. Gordon did not let the man -know who he was, and merely made it understood that Celia was married, -and that if he attempted to make her any further trouble the whole -thing would be exposed and he would have to answer a grave charge of -blackmail. - -The days passed rapidly, and at last the New York matter for which -Gordon’s presence was needed was finished, and he was free to sail away -with his bride. On the morning of their departure Gordon’s voice rang -out over the miles of telephone wires to his old chief in Washington: -“I am married and am just starting on my wedding trip. Don’t you want -to congratulate me?” And the old chief’s gruff voice sounded back: - -“Good work, old man! Congratulations for you both. She may or may not -be the best girl in all the world; I haven’t had a chance to see yet; -but she’s a lucky girl, for she’s got _the best man I know_. Tell her -that for me! Bless you both! I’m glad she’s going with you. It won’t be -so lonesome.” - -Gordon gave her the message that afternoon as they sailed straight -into the sunshine of a new and beautiful life together. - -“Dear,” he said, as he arranged her steamer rug more comfortably about -her, “has it occurred to you that you are probably the only bride who -ever married the best man at her wedding?” - -Celia smiled appreciatively and after a minute replied mischievously: - -“I suppose every bride _thinks_ her husband is the best man.” - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST MAN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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