go forward. Bear in mind also that I was at that time entirely taken up with the importance of hiding my message until I could take it safely to my chief. Nothing else seemed to matter much. If the real best man was late to the wedding and they were willing to use me in his place what harm could come from it? He certainly deserved it for being late and if he came in during the ceremony he would think some one else had been put in his place. They introduced me to your brother--Jefferson. I thought he was the bridegroom, and I thought so until they laid your hand in mine!” “Oh!” she moaned, and the little hand went to help its mate cover her face. “I knew it!” he said bitterly. “I knew you would feel just that way as soon as you knew. I don’t blame you. I deserve it! I was a fool, a villain, a dumb brute--whatever you have a mind to call me! You can’t begin to understand how I have suffered for you since this happened, and how I have blamed myself.” He got up suddenly and strode over to the window, frowning down into the sunlit street, and wondering how it was that everybody seemed to be going on in exactly the same hurry as ever, when for him life had suddenly come to a standstill. CHAPTER XVI 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 every one. 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 surprise 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 brute 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. “Then 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 sobs ceased, and she was quite still for a moment, while his hand still lay on her hair with that gentle, pleading touch.