THE KISS OF THE BRIDE
For a quarter of an hour the Governor sat and talked with Lucy,
waiting the arrival of Gordon and Ruth. The warden arranged that
they should meet in the adjoining room alone.
No eye save God's saw their meeting. Those who waited only heard
through the heavy curtains half articulate cries like the soft
crooning of a mother over her babe.
When they entered the room and Lucy had clung passionately for
a moment to the neck of the tall, gaunt figure, the Governor took
his hand.
"I have accepted Ruth's word and yours for the truth in this case,
Frank Gordon. I have grown to know that she is the soul of truth.
I heard you preach once from the text, 'He saved others, himself he
could not save.' I did not know then what you were talking about.
I know now--"
"Oh, Morris," Ruth broke in, "we will always love you as the nearest
and dearest friend on earth."
"As for you, Frank Gordon," he went on. "I could no longer hate you
if I tried. In the presence of a love so pure, so divine as that
which hallows your life, I uncover my head. I am on holy ground--I
am in the presence of the living God."
He turned away, and Ruth broke into a sob, while the man by her
side hung his head and sat down as though too weak to stand.
The Governor lifted Gordon from the seat, seized Ruth's hand and
placed it in his.
"I know your heart's desire, Ruth," he said, slowly, "I have an
officer of the law here to perform a marriage ceremony. Holding
your first marriage a divine sacrament, you once planned a civil
one in this grim prison. No matter how I learned this: it shall be
so to-day."
The magistrate advanced and pronounced them husband and wife, sat
down by a desk, and made out the record.
The Governor rose and handed the official pardon to Gordon.
"To you I give life."
He tore the other paper into two parts by its dotted lines, handed
Ruth one half and held the other in his trembling fingers.
"This, Ruth, is your marriage certificate"--he paused--"and my
death warrant. Frank Gordon, we have changed places."
Again the woman sobbed.
"You have forgotten something, Morris," she answered, wistfully.
"Yes, I know: myself."
"It is your right to kiss the bride," she said, softly, "and I wish
it."
He stooped and reverently touched her forehead. And when he turned
away Lucy stood before him, her soft young bosom, neck and face
crimson, her eyes dancing, and the sweet little mouth quivering.
"May I kiss you, Governor?" she cried, tremblingly. "You are my
hero!"
Her bare arms flashed around his neck, and her warm lips met his.
In the mansion on the hill at Albany, the Governor sat that night
in his magnificent room alone until the dawn of day, holding in his
hand an old battered tintype picture of a laughing girl standing
beside a poor young lawyer.
THE END