The Best Man. Grace Livingston Hill
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 vows upon himself! The thing had passed from an adventure of little moment into the 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 any one understand and 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, anticipate 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 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