 16 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 everyone. 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 surprised 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 brood 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. 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 sob 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 are under great stress of mind. You were in no eyes 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 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 Hain 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 fiber 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 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 tonight, but it can't be helped. Good-bye. 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 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 someone 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 reigned 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 clothes 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. Eyes very glad to hear it, sir, and I offer you my congratulations, sir, and a lady too. She can't find no better man in the whole United States than Mars Gordon. I's mighty glad you done got mad, sir, and I hope you both 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 stirred 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, impitiful, 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-sellers and the celery he was arranging. Then he hurried out to a florist next door, and returned with a dozen white roses, which he arranged in a queer little crystal picture, 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 Hain. Do you suppose he means to try to make trouble? Silly's hands flooded 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 mama 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, will 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. I 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 mama, poor mama, 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 hard at rest. Then we can find out just what ought to be done, said Gordon Soothingly. It was unforgivably thoughtless of me not to have done it before. Silly'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 mama, 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 realising 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. Mama 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 Hain hasn't turned up yet, perhaps you can wait until you can write. 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 Mama. 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 tomorrow for a little visit. I want to see you, too. We have 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 Mama, 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, Mama? With a happy smile she turned back to the phone. Dear Mama, 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 got something to tell you, a surprise, Mama. I did not marry George Hain at all. No, I say I did not marry George Hain at all. George Hain is a wicked man. I can't tell you about it over the phone, but that was why I looked so 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's just as dear. He'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 tomorrow. We'll come up and see you and explain everything, and you're not to worry about George Hain if he comes. Let's 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's 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. Goodbye, Mother, dear, till tomorrow. But you'll promise not to worry about anything. All right. Here's 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 her flying visit up to see you tomorrow. 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 was 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 in 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 us 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 Hain, 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 News Boy. 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 News Boy 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-congratulation 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 worthwhile 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 particularly 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 lifejoy, and entered into the beautiful miracle of acquaintancehip. CHAPTER XVII The next morning, quite early, the phone called Gordon to the office. The chief 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 a whole-man 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 whole-men 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 today?' 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, marveling 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 whole-men 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. "'Poo-poo,' 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 someone has got to run across the water to look after that stand-hope matter. That will fall to you, I'm afraid. Sorry to keep you trotting around the globe, but perhaps you will like to make a little vacation of it. The department will 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 stand-hope 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 hardiness, 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 days 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 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 Mama and Jeff have a right to know, don't you? I certainly do, and I was casting about my mind as I went into the office how I could manage not to tell the chief when what did he do but bring 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 in myrmid. Oh, I'm 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 whole man 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 Gailey. 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 did to remain in the country when he found out 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 in 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 mothers. 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 a 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 jeweled 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, shopping to look at this and that picture, or bit of brick-a-brack 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 those 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, she said 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 said 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 hinted 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 Keenley. 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. She 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 am a graduate of Harvard, and I've traveled 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 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 seems 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 Hain 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, Mama, if I had met him then I'm sure George Hain 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 Hain 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 Hain. 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 amid 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 gladded him from a cell window as he passed along the corridor of the prison, whether he had gone in search of George Hain. Gordon, in his search for the Lost Broadgroom, whom for many reasons he decided 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 Hain, 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 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 Hain, 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 beautiful new 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. End of Chapter 18 of The Best Man.