ven in his waking moments he reached out to the space beside
him to find Sylvia, and the returning full realization of all that had
happened brought a groan to his throat.

He dressed in the morning with a feeling of guilt, mingled with a sense of
relief. He had slept where he had had no business to sleep. He had been
idle at a time when he should have been active. He had done nothing, and
there was much to be done. He had not even rested.

He put on an air of briskness, as one will don a garment, as he ordered
coffee and rolls in the dining-room. There were things to be attended to.
He must go over to the offices and write out his resignation. He must see
the General Manager and ask him for work on the road elsewhere. He must
transfer his holdings--his house and bank-account--to Sylvia. He had no
need of house or money, and she would need them badly now. And then ...
then he must begin life anew.

It was all plain; yet his feet refused to bear him in the direction of the
railroad offices; his mind refused to grapple with the details of the task
of transferring to Sylvia the things he owned. Something constructive,
static, in the man's nature stayed him.

He wandered away from the town during the day, an aimless impulse carrying
him quite out into the desert. He paused to inspect little irrigated spots
where humble gardens grew. He paused at mean _adobe_ huts and talked to
old people and to children. Again and again he came into contact with
conditions which annoyed and bewildered him. People were all bearing their
crosses. Some were hopelessly ill, waiting for death to relieve them, or
they were old and quite useless. And all were horribly poor, casting about
for meagre food and simple clothing which seemed beyond their reach. They
were lonely, overburdened, despondent, darkly philosophical.

What was the meaning of human life, he wondered? Were men and women
created to suffer, to bear crosses which were not of their own making, to
suffer injustices which seemed pointless?...

Late in the afternoon he was back in Piedras Negras again. He had eaten
nothing save a handful of figs which an old woman had given him, together
with a bowl of goat's milk. He had wished to pay for them, but the old
woman had shaken her head and turned away.

He encountered a tourist in clerical garb--a thin-chested man with a
colorless face, but with sad, benevolent eyes--sitting in the plaza near
the sinister old _cuartel_. He sat down a