13 - The Best Man by Grace Livingston Hill.

13 - The Best Man by Grace Livingston Hill.  
Cyril Gordon, a young and handsome secret service agent is running from pursuers who desperately want the information he holds. He hides out from them in a church, and then finds himself married to a woman he’s never seen before. A sweet and sometimes, funny, romance, with several exciting chases.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter thirteen of the Best Man. This LibriVox recording is
in the public domain. Recording by Gale Mattern The Best
Man by Grace livingstone Hill, chapter thirteen. Glancing through the window,
he saw that they were in front of a railroad
track upon which a long freight train was rushing madly

(00:20):
along at a giddy pace for a mere freight. The
driver had evidently hoped to pass this point before the
train got there, but had failed. The train had an
exultant sound, as if it knew it had outwitted the driver.
On one side of the street were high buildings, and
on the other a great lumber yard, between which in

(00:40):
their carriage there stood a team of horses hitched to
a covered wagon, from the back of which some boards protruded.
And this was on the side next to Celia where
the door would open. Gordon's heart leaped up with hope
and wonder over the miracle of their opportunity. The best
thing about their situation was that their driver had stopped

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just a little back of the covered wagon, so that
their door would open to the street directly behind the
covered wagon. It made it possible for the carriage door
to swing wide and for them to slip across behind
the wagon without getting too near to the driver. Nothing
could have been better arranged for their escape, and the
clatter of the empty freight cars drowned all sounds. Without delay,

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Gordon softly unlatched the door and swung it open, whispering
to Celia, go quick, over there by the fence, in
the shadow. Don't look around, nor speak quick. I'll come.
Trembling in every limb, Yet with brave, starry eyes, Celia
slipped like a wraith from the carriage, stole behind the boards,

(01:44):
and melted into the shadow of the great fence of
the lumber yard, her purple plumes mere depths of shadow
against the smoky planks. Gordon, grasping the suit cases, moved
instantly after her, deftly and silently, closing the carriage door
and dropping into the shadows behind the big wagon, scarcely
able to believe as yet that they had really escaped.

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Ten feet back along the sidewalk was a gateway, the
posts being tall and thick. The gate itself was closed,
but it hung a few inches inside the line of
the fence, and into this depression, the two stepped softly
and stood, flattening themselves back against the gate as closely
as possible, scarcely daring to breathe, while the long freight

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clattered and rambled its way by, like a lot of
jolly washer women, running and laughing in a line and
spatting their tired, noisy feet as they went. Then the
vehicles impatiently took up their onward course. Gordon saw the
driver look down at the window below him and glanced
back hastily over his shoulder, and the man on the

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other side of the box looked down on his side.
The glitter of something in his hand shone for an
instant in the glare of the signal light over the track.
Then the horse lurched forward, and the cab began its
crazy gait over the track and up the cobbled street.
They had started onward without getting down to look in
the carriage and see if all were safe with their prisoners,

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and they had not even looked back to see if
they had escaped. They evidently trusted in the means they
had used to lock the carriage doors, and had heard
no sounds off they were escaping. It was incredible, but
it was true. Gordon drew a long breath of relief
and relaxed from his strained position. The next thing was
to get out of that neighborhood as swiftly as possible

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before those men had time to discover that their birds
had flown. They would of course know at once where
their departure had taken place, and come back swiftly to
search for them, with perhaps more men to help, and
a second time escape would be impossible. Gordon snatched up
the suit cases with one hand, and with the other
drew Celia's arm within his. Now we must hurry with

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all our might, he said, softly. Are you all right? Yes,
Her breath was coming in a sob, but her eyes
were shining bravely, poor child, His voice was very tender.
Were you much frightened? A little? She answered more bravely.
Now I shall have hard work to forgive myself for

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all this, he said tenderly. But we mustn't talk. We
have to get out of this quickly, or they may
come back after us. Lean on me and walk as
fast as you can. Celia bent her efforts to take long,
springing strides, and together they fairly skimmed the pavements, turning
first this corner, then that, in the general direction from

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which Gordon thought they had come until at last three
blocks away they caught the welcome whir of a trolley,
and breathless flew onward, just catching a car, they cared
not where it went, so that they were safe in
a bright light, with other people. No diamonds on any
gentleman's neck scarf ever shown to Celia's eyes was so friendly,

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welcome as the dull brass buttons on that trolley conductor's coat.
As he rang up their fears and answered Gordon's questions
about how to get to East Liberty's Station and their
pleasant homely gleam almost were her undoing, for now that
they were safe, at last, the tears would come to
her eyes. Gordon watched her lovingly, tenderly, glad that she

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did not know how terrible had been her danger. His
heart was still beating wildly with the thought of their
marvelous escape and his own present responsibility. He must run
no further risks. They would keep to crowded trolleys and
trust to hiding in the open. The main thing was
to get out of the city on the first train
they could manage to board. When they reached East Liberty's Station,

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a long train was just coming in all sleepers, and
they could hear the echo of a stentorian voice special
for Harrisburg, Baltimore and Washington all board. And up at
the further end of the platform, Gordon saw the lank
form of the detective whom he had tried to avoid
an hour before at the other station. Without taking time

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for thought, he hurried Celia forward and they sprang breathlessly aboard.
Not until they were fairly in the cars and the
wheels moving under them did it occur to him that
his companion had had nothing to eat since about twelve o'clock.
She must be famished and in a fair way to
be ill. Again. What a fool he was not to
have thought. They could have stopped in some obscure restaurant

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along the way as well as not and taken a
later train. And yet it was safer to get away
at once. Without doubt, there were waters at East Liberty too,
and he was lucky to have gone on the train
without a challenge. He was sure that Detective's face lighted
strangely as he looked his way. Perhaps there was a
buffet attached to the train. At least he would investigate

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if there wasn't they must get off at the next stop. Up.
There must be another stop, surely somewhere near the city.
He could not remember, but this surely must be. They
had to wait some time to get the attention of
the conductor. He was having much trouble with some disgruntled
passengers who each claimed to have the same berth. Gordon

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finally got his ear, and, showing his stateroom tickets, inquired
if they could be used on this train. No, growled
the wared conductor. You're on the wrong train. This is Especial,
and every berth in the train is taken now but
one upper. Then we'll have to get off at the
next stop. I suppose and take the other train, said
Gordon dismally. There isn't any other stop till somewhere in

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the middle of the night. I tell you this is Especial,
and we're scheduled to go straight through East Liberty's the
last stop. Then what shall we do? Asked Gordon inanely.
I'm sure I don't know, snapped the conductor. I've enough
to do without mending other people's mistakes. Stay aboard, I suppose,
unless you want to jump off and commit suicide. But

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I have a lady with me who isn't at all well,
said Gordon, with dignity. So much the worse for the lady,
replied the conductor, inhumanly, there's one upper berth. I told
you an upper berth wouldn't do for her, said Gordon decidedly.
She isn't well. I tell you suit yourself, snapped the
harassed official. I reckon, it's better than nothing. You may

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not have it long. I'm likely to be asked for
it the next half minute. Is that so? And is
it absolutely nothing else? Young man? I can't waste words
on you. I haven't time take it or let it alone.
It's all one to me. There's some standing room left
in the day, coach. Perhaps I'll take it, said Gordon, meekly,

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wishing he could go back and undo the last half hour.
How in the world was he to go and tell
Celia that he could provide her nothing better than an
upper berth. She was sitting with her back to him,
her face resting wearily on her hand against the window.
Two men with largely checked suits, big seal rings, and
diamond scarf pins sat in the opposite seat. He knew

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it was most unpleasant for her. A nondescript woman with
a very large hat and thick powder on her face
shared Celia's seat. He reflected that specials did not always
bear a select company. Is there nothing you can do,
he pleaded with the conductor as he took the bit
of pasteboard, entitling him to the last vacant berth. Don't

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you suppose you could get some man to change and
give her a lower berth. It'll be very hard for her,
she isn't used to upper berths. His eyes rested wistfully
on the bowed head. Celia had taken off her plumed hat,
and the fitful light of the car played with the
gold of her hair. The conductor's grim eyes softened as
he looked that the lady. I'll see what I can do,

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he said briefly, and stuff umped off to the next car.
The miracle of her presence had worked its change upon him.
Gordon went over to Celia and told her in a
low tone that he hoped to have arrangements made for
her soon so that she could be comfortable. She must
be fearfully tired with the excitement and fright and hurry.
He added that he had made a great blunder in

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getting on this train, and now there was no chance
to get off for several hours perhaps, and probably no
supper to be had. Oh it doesn't matter in the least,
said Celia wearily. I'm not all that hungry. She almost
smiled when she said it. He knew that what she
wanted was to have her mind relieved about the letters,
but she readily saw that there was no opportunity now.

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She even seemed sorry at his troubled look, and tried
to smile again. Through the settled sadness in her eyes.
He could see she was very weary, and he felt
like a great brute in care of a child, and
mentally berated himself for his own thoughtlessness. Gordon started off
to search for something to eat for her, and was
more successful than he had dared. Hope the newsboy had

(11:07):
two chicken sandwiches left, and these, with the addition of
a fine orange, a box of chocolates, and a glass
of ice water, he presently brought to her and was
rewarded by a smile, this time almost as warm and
intimate as though she had given him during their beautiful day.
But he could not sit beside her, for the places

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were all taken, and he could not stand in the
aisle and talk, for the porter was constantly running back
and forth making up the berths. There seemed to be
a congested state of things in the whole train, every
seat being full and men standing in the aisles. He
noticed now that they all wore badges of some fraternal order.
It was doubtless a delegation to some great convention upon

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which they had intruded. There were a good natured, noisy,
happy crowd, but not anywhere among them was to be
found a quiet spot where he and Celia could go
on with this suddenly interrupted conversation. Presently, the conductor came
to him and said he had found a gentleman who
would give the lady his lower berth and take her
up a one. It was already made up, and the

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lady might take possession at once. Gordon made the exchange
of tickets and immediately escorted Celia to it. He found
her most glad to go, for she was now unutterably
weary and was longing to get away from the light
and noise about her. He led the way with the
suit cases, hoping that in the other car there would

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be some spot where they could talk for a few minutes,
but he was disappointed. It was even fuller than in
the first car. He arranged everything for her comfort as
far as possible, disposed of her hat and fixed her
suitcase so that she could open it. But even while
he was doing it there were people crowning by, and
no private conversation could be had. He stepped back when

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all was arranged and held the curtain aside that she
might sit on the edge of her berth. Then, stooping over,
he whispered, try to trust me until morning. I'll explain
it all to you then, so that you will understand
how I have nothing to do with those letters. Forget
it and try to rest, will you. His tone was wistful.

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He had never wanted to do anything so much in
all his life as to stoop and kiss those sweet
lips and the lovely eyes that looked up at him
out of the dusky shadows of the berth. Filled with
fear and longing. They looked more than ever like the blue,
tired flowers that drooped from her gown wearily. But he
held himself with a firm hand. She was not his

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to kiss. When she knew how he had deceived her
she would probably never give him the right to kiss her.
I will try, she murmured in answer to his question,
and then added, but where will you be? Is your
berth near by? Not far away? That is? I had
to take a place in another car. They are so crowded, Oh,

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she said a little anxiously. Are you sure you have
a good comfortable place? Oh? Yes, I shall be all right,
he answered joyously. It was so wonderful to have her
care whether he was comfortable or not. The porter was
making up the opposite berth, and there was no room
to stand longer, so he bade her good night. She

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putting out her hand for a farewell. For an instant
he held it close with gentle pressure, as if to
reassure her. Then he went away to the day coach
and settled down into a hard corner at the very
back of the car, drawing his traveling cap over his
eyes and letting his heart beat out wild joy over
that little touch of her dear hand. Wave after wave

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of sweetness went over him, thrilling his very soul with
a joy he had never known before. And this was love?
And what kind of a wretch was he presuming to
love like this? A woman who was the promised bride
of another man. Ah, But such a man, a villain,
a brute, who had used his power over her to

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make her suffer torches. Had a man like that a
right to claim her? His whole being answered No. Then
the memory of the look in her eyes, the turn
of her head, the soft touch of her fingers as
they lay for that instant in his the inflection of
her voice would send that wave of sweetness over his senses.
His heart would thrill anew, and he would forget the

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wretch who stood between him and this lovely girl, whom
he knew now he loved as he had never dreamed
a man could love. Gradually, his mind steadied itself under
the sweet intoxication, and he began to wonder just what
he should say to her in the morning. It was
a good thing he had not had further opportunity to

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talk with her that night, for he could not have
told her everything. And now, if all went well, they
would be in Washington in the morning, and he might
make some excuse till f he had delivered his message.
Then he would be free to tell the whole story
and lay his case before her for decision. His heart
throbbed with ecstasy as he thought of the possibility of

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her forgiving him, And yet it seemed most unlikely. Sometimes
he would let his wild longings fancy for just an instant,
what joy it would be if she could be induced
to let the marriage stand. But he told himself at
the same time that that could never be. It was
very likely that there was some one else in New

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York to whom her heart would turn if she were
free from the scoundrel who had threatened her into a
compulsory marriage. He would promise to help her, protect her,
defend her from the man who was evidently using blackmail
to get her into his power for some purpose, most
likely for the sake of having control of her property.

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At least, it would be some comfort to be able
to help her out of her trouble. And yet would
she ever trust a man who had even unwidoedly allowed
her to be bound by the sacred tie of marriage
to an utter stranger. And thus, amid hope and fear,
the night whirled itself away forward. In the sleeper, the

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girl lay wide awake for a long time. In the
middle of the night, a thought suddenly evolved itself out
of the blackness of her curtained couch. She sat upright, alertly,
and stared into the darkness, as if it were a
thing that she could catch and handle and examine. The
thought was borne out of a dreamy vision of the
crisp brown waves almost curls, if they had not been

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so short and thick, that covered the head of the
man who had lain sleeping outside her curtains in the
early morning. It came to her with sudden force that
not so had been the hair of the boy George Hayne,
who used to trouble her girlish days. His was thin
and black and oily, collecting naturally into little isolated strings

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with the least warm arm, and giving him the appearance
of a kitten who had been out in the rain.
One lock, how well she remembered that lock, one lock,
on the very crown of his head, had always refused
to lie down, no matter how much persuasion was brought
to bear upon it. It had been the one point
on which the self satisfied George had been pregnable, his hair,

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that scalp lock that would always rise stiffly, oily from
the top of his head. The hair she had looked
at admiringly that morning in the darning crimson of the
rising sun had not been that way. It had curved
clingingly to the shape of the fine head, as if
it loved to go that way. It was beautiful and
fine and burnished, with a sense of life and vigor

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in its every wave. Could hair change in ten years?
Could it grow brown where it had been black? Could
it become glossy instead of dull and oily? Could it
take on the signs of natural wave where it had
been as straight as a dye? Could grow like fur
where it had been so thin? The girl could not

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solve the problem, but the thought was most startling and
brought with it many suggestive possibilities that were most disturbing.
Yet gradually, out of the darkness she drew a sort
of comfort in her dawning enlightenment. Two things she had
to go on in her strange premises. He had said
he did not write the letters, and his hair was

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not the same. Who then? Was he her husband now? Undoubtedly?
But who? And if deeds and hair could change so materially,
why not spirits? At least he was not the same,
as she had feared and dreaded. There was so much comfort,
and at last she lay down and slept. End of

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Chapter thirteen.