"That's very strange. That's just the reason I wanted to tell you that I hadn't been honest—I never wrote the letters that you got! It was my room-mate, Annie Squires."
"So? That's funny, ain't it? Some folks has funny idees of jokes. I reckon they thought this was a joke. It ain't."
"Your letters seemed like you seem now," she broke in. "It seems to me you must have written every word."
"Ma'am——" said Sim Gage; and broke down.
"Yes, sir?"
"Them is the finest words I ever heard in my life! I ain't been much. If I could only live up to them words, now——
"Besides," he went on, a rising happiness in his tones, "seems like you and me was one just as honest as the other, and both meaning fair. That makes me feel a heap easier. If it does you, you're welcome."
Blind as she was, Mary Warren knew now the gulf between this man's life and hers. But his words were so kind. And she so much needed a friend.
"You're a forgiving man, Mr. Gage," said she.
"No, I ain't. I'm a awful man. When you learn more about me you'll think I'm the worst man you ever seen."