The Best Man by Grace Livingston Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

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