The Best Man by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

a sleeping car provides. He kept his vigil well, but was rewarded with no sight of his prey that night, and at last with a sense of duty well done and the comfortable promise from the conductor that his deftly worded telegraphic message to Mr. Holman should be sent from a station they passed a little after midnight, he crept to his well-earned rest. He was not at home in a dress shirt and collar, being of the walks of life where a collar is mostly accounted superfluous, and he was glad to be relieved of it for a few hours. It had not yet occurred to him that his appearance in that evening suit would be a trifle out of place when morning came. It is doubtful if he had ever considered matters of dress. His profession was that of a human ferret of the lower order, and there were many things he did not know. It might have been the way he held his fork at dinner that had made Gordon decide that he was but a henchman of the other.
    Having put his mind and his body at rest he proceeded to sleep, and the train thundered on its way into the night.
    Gordon meanwhile had hurried back from his appeal to the conductor, and stood looking helplessly down at the delicate girl as she lay there so white and seemingly lifeless. Her pretty travelling gown set off the exquisite face finely; her glorious hair seemed to crown her. A handsome hat had fallen unheeded to the floor, and lay rolling back and forth in the aisle with the motion of the train. He picked it up reverently; as though it had been a part of her. His face in the few minutes had gone haggard.
    The conductor hurried in presently; followed by a grave elderly man with a professional air. He touched a practiced finger to the limp wrist, looked closely into the face, and then taking a little bottle from a case he carried called for a glass.
    The liquid was poured between the closed lips, the white throat reluctantly swallowed it, the eyelids presently fluttered a long breath that was scarcely more than a sigh hovered between the lips, and then the blue eyes opened.
    She looked about, bewildered, looking longest at Gordon, then closed her eyes wearily, as if she wished they had not brought her back, and lay still.
    The physician still knelt beside her, and Gordon, with time now to think, began to reflect on the possible consequences of his deeds. With anxious face, he stood watching, reflecting bitterly that he might not claim even a look of recognition from those sweet eyes, and wishing with all his heart that his marriage had been genuine. A passing memory of his morning ride to New York in company with Miss Bentley’s conjured vision brought wonder to his eyes. It all seemed so long ago, and so strange that he ever could have entertained for a moment the thought of marrying Julia. She was a good girl of course, fine and handsome and all that, - but – and here his eyes sought the sweet sad face on the couch, and his heart suffered in a real agony for the trouble he saw; and for the trouble he must yet give her when he told her who he was, or rather who he was not; for he must tell her and that soon. It would not do to go in her company – nor to Chicago! And yet, how was he possibly to leave her in this condition?
    But no revelations were to be given that night.
    The physician administered another draught, and ordered the porter to make up the berth immediately. Then with skillful hands and strong arms he laid the young girl upon the pillows and made her comfortable, Gordon meanwhile standing awkwardly by with averted eyes and troubled mien.
    “She’d better not be disturbed any more than is necessary to-night,” said the doctor, as he pulled the pretty cloth travelling-gown smoothly down about the girl’s ankles and patted it with professional hands. “Don’t let her yield to any nonsense about putting up her hair, or taking off that frock for fear she’ll rumple it. She needs to lie perfectly quiet. It’s a case of utter exhaustion, and I should say a long strain of some