it up."

"Gage," said Doctor Barnes suddenly, "I've got to talk to you."

"Well, all right, all right, Doc. That'll be all right. I wish't you
would."

"See here, man. Don't you realize what that woman is? She's too good
for men like you and me."

"Yes, Doc. But I wouldn't never raise hand nor voice to her, the least
way in the world. I allowed she could live along as my housekeeper,
but seems not. You can shoot me, Doc, if you don't think I'm a-doing
the right thing by her in every way, shape and manner."

"She's too _good_--it's an impossible thing."

Sim Gage's face was lifted, seriously. "Doc, you know mighty well
that's true, and so do I--she's plumb too good for me. But it ain't me
done all the thinking."

"Didn't you ask her about it?"

"It kind of come around."

Doctor Barnes rose and paced rapidly up and down within the narrow
confines of his office. "You _do_ love her, don't you?"

Sim Gage for the first time in his life felt the secret quick of his
simple, sensitive soul cut open and exposed to gaze. Not even the
medical man before him could fail of sudden pity at witnessing what was
written on his face---all the dignity, the simplicity, the reticence,
all the bashfulness of a man brought up helplessly against the knife.
He could not--or perhaps would not--answer such a question even from
the man before him, whom he suddenly had come to trust and respect as a
being superior to himself.

But Allen Barnes was the pitiless surgeon now. "I don't care a damn
about you, of course, Gage. You're not fit for her to wipe her shoes
on, and you know it. But _she_ can't see it and doesn't know it. If
she could see you--what do you suppose she'd think? Gage--_she mustn't
ever know_!"

Sim Gage looked at him quietly. "Every one of them words you said to
me, Doc, is plumb true, and it ain't enough. I told her my own self,
that first day, and since then, it was a blessing she was blind. But
look-a-here, I reckon you don't understand how things is. You say
you're going to build a house up there, and help me get a start.
That's fine. Because hers is the other one, my old house. I wish't I
could get some sheets and pillow cases down here while I'm right here
now--I'd like to fix her up in there better'n what she is. I'd even
like to have a tablecloth, like. But you understand, that's for _her_,
not me. That's _her_ house, and not mine. She can't see. It's a
God's blessing she can't. An