It was when he returned from his disturbed stroll about the streets,after receiving the decisive note from McGregor, James and Hay, thatHurstwood found the letter Carrie had written him that morning. Hethrilled intensely as he noted the handwriting, and rapidly tore itopen.

"Then," he thought, "she loves me or she would not have written to me atall."

He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the first fewminutes, but soon recovered. "She wouldn't write at all if she didn'tcare for me."

This was his one resource against the depression which held him. Hecould extract little from the wording of the letter, but the spirit hethought he knew.

There was really something exceedingly human--if not pathetic--in hisbeing thus relieved by a clearly worded reproof. He who had for so longremained satisfied with himself now looked outside of himself forcomfort--and to such a source. The mystic cords of affection! How theybind us all.

The colour came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot the letter fromMcGregor, James and Hay. If he could only have Carrie, perhaps he couldget out of the whole entanglement--perhaps it would not matter. Hewouldn't care what his wife did with herself if only he might not loseCarrie. He stood up and walked about, dreaming his delightful dream ofa life continued with this lovely possessor of his heart.

It was not long, however, before the old worry was back forconsideration, and with it what weariness! He thought of the morrow andthe suit. He had done nothing, and here was the afternoon slipping away.It was now a quarter of four. At five the attorneys would have gonehome. He still had the morrow until noon. Even as he thought, the lastfifteen minutes passed away and it was five. Then he abandoned thethought of seeing them any more that day and turned to Carrie.

It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself to himself. Hewas not troubling about that. His whole thought was the possibility ofpersuading Carrie. Nothing was wrong in that. He loved her dearly. Theirmutual happiness depended upon it. Would that Drouet were only away!

While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wanted someclean linen in the morning.

This he purchased, together with a half-dozen ties, and went to thePalmer House. As he entered he thought he saw Drouet ascending thestairs with a key. Surely not Drouet! Then he thought, perhaps they hadchanged their abode temporarily. He went straight up to the desk.

"Is Mr. Drouet stopping here?" he asked of the clerk.

"I think he is," said the latter, consulting his private registry list."Yes."

"Is that so?" exclaimed Hurstwood, otherwise concealing hisastonishment. "Alone?" he added.

"Yes," said the clerk.

Hurstwood turned away and set his lips so as best to express and concealhis feelings.

"How's that?" he thought. "They've had a row."

He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed his linen. Ashe did so, he made up his mind that if Carrie was alone, or if she hadgone to another place, it behooved him to find out. He decided to callat once.

"I know what I'll do," he thought. "I'll go to the door and ask if Mr.Drouet is at home. That will bring out whether he is there or not andwhere Carrie is."

He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it. Hedecided to go immediately after supper.

On coming down from his room at six, he looked carefully about to see ifDrouet was present and then went out to lunch. He could scarcely eat,however, he was so anxious to be about his errand. Before starting hethought it well to discover where Drouet would be, and returned to hishotel.

"Has Mr. Drouet gone out?" he asked of the clerk.

"No," answered the latter, "he's in his room. Do you wish to send up acard?"

"No, I'll call around later," answered Hurstwood, and strolled out.

He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place, this time walkingboldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered his knock.

"Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood blandly.

"He is out of the city," said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell thisto Mrs. Hale.

"Is Mrs. Drouet in?"

"No, she has gone to the theatre."

"Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as ifburdened with something important, "You don't know to which theatre?"

The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not likingHurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered: "Yes, Hooley's."

"Thank you," returned the manager, and, tipping his hat slightly, wentaway.

"I'll look in at Hooley's," thought he, but as a matter of fact he didnot. Before he had reached the central portion of the city he thoughtthe whole matter over and decided it would be useless. As much as helonged to see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did notwish to intrude with his plea there. A little later he might do so--inthe morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before him.

This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his risingspirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the resortanxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were making theplace lively with their conversation. A group of Cook County politicianswere conferring about a round cherry-wood table in the rear portion ofthe room. Several young merry-makers were chattering at the bar beforemaking a belated visit to the theatre. A shabbily-genteel individual,with a red nose and an old high hat, was sipping a quiet glass of alealone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians andwent into his office.

About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a local sportand racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his officecame to the door.

"Hello, George!" he exclaimed.

"How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight ofhim. "Sit down," and he motioned him to one of the chairs in the littleroom.

"What's the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a little glum.Haven't lost at the track, have you?"

"I'm not feeling very well to-night. I had a slight cold the other day."

"Take whiskey, George," said Taintor. "You ought to know that."

Hurstwood smiled.

While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood'sfriends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out, someactors began to drop in--among them some notabilities.

Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common inAmerican resorts where the would-be _gilded_ attempt to rub off giltfrom those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, itwas toward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belongedamong them. He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly observethe plane he occupied when there were those present who did notappreciate him, but, in situations like the present, where he couldshine as a gentleman and be received without equivocation as a friendand equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was onsuch occasions, if ever, that he would "take something." When the socialflavour was strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of drinkingglass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turn topay as if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever approachedintoxication--or rather that ruddy warmth and comfortableness whichprecedes the more sloven state--it was when individuals such as thesewere gathered about him, when he was one of a circle of chattingcelebrities. To-night, disturbed as was his state, he was ratherrelieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered, helaid aside his troubles for the nonce, and joined in right heartily.

It was not long before the imbibing began to tell. Stories began to cropup--those ever-enduring, droll stories which form the major portion ofthe conversation among American men under such circumstances.

Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it the companytook leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially. He was veryroseate physically. He had arrived at that state where his mind, thoughclear, was, nevertheless, warm in its fancies. He felt as if histroubles were not very serious. Going into his office, he began to turnover certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and thecashier, who soon left.

It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were gone tosee that everything was safely closed up for the night. As a rule, nomoney except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept about theplace, and that was locked in the safe by the cashier, who, with theowners, was joint keeper of the secret combination, but, nevertheless,Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash drawers and thesafe in order to see that they were tightly closed. Then he would lockhis own little office and set the proper light burning near the safe,after which he would take his departure.

Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, butto-night, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried the safe.His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the door responded. He wasslightly surprised at that, and looking in found the money cases as leftfor the day, apparently unprotected. His first thought was, of course,to inspect the drawers and shut the door.

"I'll speak to Mayhew about this to-morrow," he thought.

The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hour before thathe had turned the knob on the door so as to spring the lock. He hadnever failed to do so before. But to-night Mayhew had other thoughts. Hehad been revolving the problem of a business of his own.

"I'll look in here," thought the manager, pulling out the money drawers.He did not know why he wished to look in there. It was quite asuperfluous action, which another time might not have happened at all.

As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such as banksissue, caught his eye. He could not tell how much they represented, butpaused to view them. Then he pulled out the second of the cash drawers.In that were the receipts of the day.

"I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way," hismind said to itself. "They must have forgotten it."

He looked at the other drawer and paused again.

"Count them," said a voice in his ear.

He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack,letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills of fifty and onehundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thought he countedten such.

"Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering. "Whatmakes me pause here?"

For answer there came the strangest words:

"Did you ever have ten thousand dollars in ready money?"

Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. All hisproperty had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife owned that. Hewas worth more than forty thousand, all told--but she would get that.

He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawers andclosed the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob, which might soeasily lock it all beyond temptation. Still he paused. Finally he wentto the windows and pulled down the curtains. Then he tried the door,which he had previously locked. What was this thing, making himsuspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly. He came back tothe end of the counter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went andunlocked his little office door and turned on the light. He also openedhis desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange thoughts.

"The safe is open," said a voice. "There is just the least little crackin it. The lock has not been sprung."

The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all theentanglement of the day came back. Also the thought that here was asolution. That money would do it. If he had that and Carrie. He rose upand stood stock-still, looking at the floor.

"What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his hand slowlyup and scratched his head.

The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errantproposition as this, but his situation was peculiar. Wine was in hisveins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warm view of thesituation. It also coloured the possibilities of ten thousand for him.He could see great opportunities with that. He could get Carrie. Oh,yes, he could! He could get rid of his wife. That letter, too, waswaiting discussion to-morrow morning. He would not need to answer that.He went back to the safe and put his hand on the knob. Then he pulledthe door open and took the drawer with the money quite out.

With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing to thinkabout leaving it. Certainly it would. Why, he could live quietly withCarrie for years.

Lord! what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if a stern handhad been laid upon his shoulder. He looked fearfully around. Not a soulwas present. Not a sound. Some one was shuffling by on the sidewalk. Hetook the box and the money and put it back in the safe. Then he partlyclosed the door again.

To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament of theindividual whose mind is less strongly constituted and who trembles inthe balance between duty and desire is scarcely appreciable, unlessgraphically portrayed. Those who have never heard that solemn voice ofthe ghostly clock which ticks with awful distinctness, "thou shalt,""thou shalt not," "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," are in no position tojudge. Not alone in sensitive, highly organised natures is such a mentalconflict possible. The dullest specimen of humanity, when drawn bydesire toward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which isproportionate in power and strength to his evil tendency. We mustremember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for no knowledge ofright is predicated of the animal's instinctive recoil at evil. Men arestill led by instinct before they are regulated by knowledge. It isinstinct which recalls the criminal--it is instinct (where highlyorganised reasoning is absent) which gives the criminal his feeling ofdanger, his fear of wrong.

At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mind wavers.The clock of thought ticks out its wish and its denial. To those whohave never experienced such a mental dilemma, the following will appealon the simple ground of revelation.

When Hurstwood put the money back, his nature again resumed its ease anddaring. No one had observed him. He was quite alone. No one could tellwhat he wished to do. He could work this thing out for himself.

The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as was hisbrow, tremble as did his hand once after the nameless fright, he wasstill flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcely noticed that thetime was passing. He went over his situation once again, his eye alwaysseeing the money in a lump, his mind always seeing what it would do. Hestrolled into his little room, then to the door, then to the safe again.He put his hand on the knob and opened it. There was the money! Surelyno harm could come from looking at it!

He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were so smooth,so compact, so portable. How little they made, after all. He decided hewould take them. Yes, he would. He would put them in his pocket. Thenhe looked at that and saw they would not go there. His hand satchel! Tobe sure, his hand satchel. They would go in that--all of it would. Noone would think anything of it either. He went into the little officeand took it from the shelf in the corner. Now he set it upon his deskand went out toward the safe. For some reason he did not want to fill itout in the big room.

First he brought the bills and then the loose receipts of the day. Hewould take it all. He put the empty drawers back and pushed the irondoor almost to, then stood beside it meditating.

The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almostinexplicable thing, and yet it is absolutely true. Hurstwood could notbring himself to act definitely. He wanted to think about it--to ponderover it, to decide whether it were best. He was drawn by such a keendesire for Carrie, driven by such a state of turmoil in his own affairsthat he thought constantly it would be best, and yet he wavered. He didnot know what evil might result from it to him--how soon he might cometo grief. The true ethics of the situation never once occurred to him,and never would have, under any circumstances.

After he had all the money in the hand bag, a revulsion of feelingseized him. He would not do it--no! Think of what a scandal it wouldmake. The police! They would be after him. He would have to fly, andwhere? Oh, the terror of being a fugitive from justice! He took out thetwo boxes and put all the money back. In his excitement he forgot whathe was doing, and put the sums in the wrong boxes. As he pushed the doorto, he thought he remembered doing it wrong and opened the door again.There were the two boxes mixed.

He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terror hadgone. Why be afraid?

While the money was in his hand the lock clicked. It had sprung! Did hedo it? He grabbed at the knob and pulled vigorously. It had closed.Heavens! he was in for it now, sure enough.

The moment he realised that the safe was locked for a surety, the sweatburst out upon his brow and he trembled violently. He looked about himand decided instantly. There was no delaying now.

"Supposing I do lay it on the top," he said, "and go away, they'll knowwho took it. I'm the last to close up. Besides, other things willhappen."

At once he became the man of action.

"I must get out of this," he thought.

He hurried into his little room, took down his light overcoat and hat,locked his desk, and grabbed the satchel. Then he turned out all but onelight and opened the door. He tried to put on his old assured air, butit was almost gone. He was repenting rapidly.

"I wish I hadn't done that," he said. "That was a mistake."

He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom heknew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and thatquickly.

"I wonder how the trains run?" he thought.

Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half-pastone.

At the first drug store he stopped, seeing a long-distance telephonebooth inside. It was a famous drug store, and contained one of the firstprivate telephone booths ever erected.

"I want to use your 'phone a minute," he said to the night clerk.

The latter nodded.

"Give me 1643," he called to Central, after looking up the MichiganCentral depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent.

"How do the trains leave here for Detroit?" he asked.

The man explained the hours.

"No more to-night?"

"Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too," he added. "There is a mailtrain out of here at three o'clock."

"All right," said Hurstwood. "What time does that get to Detroit?"

He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river intoCanada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He wasrelieved to learn that it would reach there by noon.

"Mayhew won't open the safe till nine," he thought. "They can't get onmy track before noon."

Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he gother at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest cabstanding by.

"To Ogden Place," he said sharply. "I'll give you a dollar more if youmake good time."

The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop, which wasfairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do. Reachingthe number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in wakingthe servant.

"Is Mrs. Drouet in?" he asked.

"Yes," said the astonished girl.

"Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in thehospital, injured, and wants to see her."

The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man's strained andemphatic manner.

"What!" said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.

"Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab'sdownstairs."

Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgettingeverything save the necessities.

"Drouet is hurt," said Hurstwood quickly. "He wants to see you. Comequickly."

Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.

"Get in," said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.

The cabby began to turn the horse around.

"Michigan Central depot," he said, standing up and speaking so low thatCarrie could not hear, "as fast as you can go."