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.