"But I met him again. It was at the depot at Pocatello. I was seeing a man off--a stranger in the place, but a friend of my friends; we had dined at their house together. This other--I think he had been drinking--I suppose he must have included me in his stupid spite against the lady. He made his fool speech again. The man who was with me heard him, and looked astounded. I stepped up to him. I said--I don't know what. I ordered him to leave that name alone. He repeated it, and I struck him. He pulled a pistol on me. I grabbed him, and twisted it out of his hand. How it happened I cannot tell, but there in the smoke he lay at my feet. The train was moving out. My friend pulled me aboard. The papers said I ran away. I did not. I waited at Omaha for Mr. Burke. "And there I met you, three days ago; and all I care for now is just to know that you will not think of me always by that word." "What word?" "Never mind; spare me the word. Look at me! Do I seem to you at all the same man?" Phebe slowly lifted her eyes. "Is there nothing left of me? Answer me the truth. I have a right to be answered." "You are the same; but all the rest of it is strange. I do not see how such a thing could be." "Can you not conceive of one wild act in a man not inevitably always a sinner?" "Oh, yes; but not that act. I cannot understand the impulse to take a life." "I did not think of his miserable life; I only meant to stop his talking. He tried to take mine. I wish he had. But no, no; I should have missed this glimpse of you. Just when it is too late I learn what life is worth." "Do men truly do those things for the sake of women? Were you thinking of your friend's wife when you struck him?" "I was thinking of the man--what a foul-mouthed fool he was--not fit to"--He stopped, seeing the look on Phebe's face. "Oh, I'm impossible, I know, to one like you! It's rather hard I should have to be compared, in your mind, to a race of men like your father. Have you never known any other men?" "I have read of all the men other people read of. I have some imagination." "I suppose you read your Bible." "Yes: the men in the Bible were not all of the Spirit; but they worshiped the Spirit--they were humble when they did wrong." "Did women ever love them?" Phebe was silent. "Do not talk to me of the Spirit," Ludovic pleaded. "I am a long way from that. At least I am not a hypocrite--not yet. Wait till I am a 'trusty,' scheming for a pardon. Can you not give me one word of simple human comfort? There are just forty minutes more." "What can I say?" "Tell me this--and oh, be careful! Could you, if it were permitted a criminal like me to expiate his sin in the world among living men, in human relations with them--could we ever meet? Could you say 'thee' to me, not as to an afflicted person or a child? Am I to be only a text, another instance"--