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.