p against it now. Says she ain't
well, and ain't happy, and--well, here she is."

"My good God A'mighty!" said Sim Gage, his voice awed as he looked at
the high-bred, clear-featured face of Mary Warren.

CHAPTER VIII

RIVAL CONSCIENCES

The transcontinental train from the East rarely made its great climb up
the Two Forks divide on time, and to-day it was more than usually late.
A solitary figure long since had begun to pace the station platform,
looking anxiously up and down the track.

It was Sim Gage; and this was the first time he ever had come to meet a
train at Two Forks.

Sim Gage, but not the same. He now was in stiff, ill-fitting and
exclaimingly new clothing. A new dark hat oppressed his perspiring
brow, new and pointed shoes agonized his feet, a new white collar and a
tie tortured his neck. He had been owner of these things no longer
than overnight. He did not feel acquainted with himself.

He was to meet a woman! Her picture was in his pocket, in his brain,
in his blood. A vast shyness, coming to consternation, seized him. He
felt a sense of personal guilt; and yet a feeling of indignity and
injustice claimed him. But all this and all his sullen anger was wiped
out in this great shyness of a man not used to facing women. Sim Gage
was product of a womanless land. This was the closest his orbit ever
had come to that of the great mystery. And he had been alone so long.
A sudden surging longing came to his heart. Sim Gage was shy always,
and he was frightened now; but now he felt a longing--a longing to be
human.

Sim Gage never in all his life had seen a young woman looking back at
him over his shoulder. And now there came accession of all his ancient
dread, joined with this growing sense of guilt. A few passengers from
the resort hotel back in the town began to appear, lolling at the
ticket window or engaged at the baggage room. Sim Gage found a certain
comfort in the presence of other human beings. All the time he gazed
furtively down the railway tracks.

A long-drawn scream of the laboring engines told of the approaching
train at last. Horses and men pricked up their ears. The blood of Sim
Gage's heart seemed to go to his brain. He was seized with a panic,
but, fascinated by some agency he could not resist, he stood
uncertainly until the train came in. He began to tremble in the
unadulterated agony of a shy man about to meet the woman to whom he has
made love only in his