To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath isinvariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the one thing which solacesand delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind,which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the floodof objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hiddenfrom view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the tritedramatic expression--"I am going away."

As Carrie looked out upon the flying scenery she almost forgot that shehad been tricked into this long journey against her will and that shewas without the necessary apparel for travelling. She quite forgotHurstwood's presence at times, and looked away to homely farmhouses andcosey cottages in villages with wondering eyes. It was an interestingworld to her. Her life had just begun. She did not feel herself defeatedat all. Neither was she blasted in hope. The great city held much.Possibly she would come out of bondage into freedom--who knows? Perhapsshe would be happy. These thoughts raised her above the level of erring.She was saved in that she was hopeful.

The following morning the train pulled safely into Montreal and theystepped down, Hurstwood glad to be out of danger, Carrie wondering atthe novel atmosphere of the northern city. Long before, Hurstwood hadbeen here, and now he remembered the name of the hotel at which he hadstopped. As they came out of the main entrance of the depot he heard itcalled anew by a busman.

"We'll go right up and get rooms," he said.

At the clerk's office Hurstwood swung the register about while the clerkcame forward. He was thinking what name he would put down. With thelatter before him he found no time for hesitation. A name he had seenout of the car window came swiftly to him. It was pleasing enough. Withan easy hand he wrote, "G. W. Murdock and wife." It was the largestconcession to necessity he felt like making. His initials he could notspare.

When they were shown their room Carrie saw at once that he had securedher a lovely chamber.

"You have a bath there," said he. "Now you can clean up when you getready."

Carrie went over and looked out the window, while Hurstwood looked athimself in the glass. He felt dusty and unclean. He had no trunk, nochange of linen, not even a hair-brush.

"I'll ring for soap and towels," he said, "and send you up a hair-brush.Then you can bathe and get ready for breakfast. I'll go for a shave andcome back and get you, and then we'll go out and look for some clothesfor you."

He smiled good-naturedly as he said this.

"All right," said Carrie.

She sat down in one of the rocking-chairs, while Hurstwood waited forthe boy, who soon knocked.

"Soap, towels, and a pitcher of ice-water."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll go now," he said to Carrie, coming toward her and holding out hishands, but she did not move to take them.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked softly.

"Oh, no!" she answered, rather indifferently.

"Don't you care for me at all?"

She made no answer, but looked steadily toward the window.

"Don't you think you could love me a little?" he pleaded, taking one ofher hands, which she endeavoured to draw away. "You once said you did."

"What made you deceive me so?" asked Carrie.

"I couldn't help it," he said, "I wanted you too much."

"You didn't have any right to want me," she answered, striking cleanlyhome.

"Oh, well, Carrie," he answered, "here I am. It's too late now. Won'tyou try and care for me a little?"

He looked rather worsted in thought as he stood before her.

She shook her head negatively.

"Let me start all over again. Be my wife from to-day on."

Carrie rose up as if to step away, he holding her hand. Now he slippedhis arm about her and she struggled, but in vain. He held her quiteclose. Instantly there flamed up in his body the all-compelling desire.His affection took an ardent form.

"Let me go," said Carrie, who was folded close to him.

"Won't you love me?" he said. "Won't you be mine from now on?"

Carrie had never been ill-disposed toward him. Only a moment before shehad been listening with some complacency, remembering her old affectionfor him. He was so handsome, so daring!

Now, however, this feeling had changed to one of opposition, which rosefeebly. It mastered her for a moment, and then, held close as she was,began to wane. Something else in her spoke. This man, to whose bosom shewas being pressed, was strong; he was passionate, he loved her, and shewas alone. If she did not turn to him--accept of his love--where elsemight she go? Her resistance half dissolved in the flood of his strongfeeling.

She found him lifting her head and looking into her eyes. What magnetismthere was she could never know. His many sins, however, were for themoment all forgotten.

He pressed her closer and kissed her, and she felt that furtheropposition was useless.

"Will you marry me?" she asked, forgetting how.

"This very day," he said, with all delight.

Now the hall-boy pounded on the door and he released his hold upon herregretfully.

"You get ready now, will you," he said, "at once?"

"Yes," she answered.

"I'll be back in three-quarters of an hour."

Carrie, flushed and excited, moved away as he admitted the boy.

Below stairs, he halted in the lobby to look for a barber shop. For themoment, he was in fine feather. His recent victory over Carrie seemed toatone for much he had endured during the last few days. Life seemedworth fighting for. This eastward flight from all things customary andattached seemed as if it might have happiness in store. The storm showeda rainbow at the end of which might be a pot of gold.

He was about to cross to a little red-and-white striped bar which wasfastened up beside a door when a voice greeted him familiarly. Instantlyhis heart sank.

"Why, hello, George, old man!" said the voice. "What are you doing downhere?"

Hurstwood was already confronted, and recognised his friend Kenny, thestock-broker.

"Just attending to a little private matter," he answered, his mindworking like a key-board of a telephone station. This man evidently didnot know--he had not read the papers.

"Well, it seems strange to see you way up here," said Mr. Kennygenially. "Stopping here?"

"Yes," said Hurstwood uneasily, thinking of his handwriting on theregister.

"Going to be in town long?"

"No, only a day or so."

"Is that so? Had your breakfast?"

"Yes," said Hurstwood, lying blandly. "I'm just going for a shave."

"Won't you come have a drink?"

"Not until afterwards," said the ex-manager. "I'll see you later. Areyou stopping here?"

"Yes," said Mr. Kenny, and then, turning the word again, added: "How arethings out in Chicago?"

"About the same as usual," said Hurstwood, smiling genially.

"Wife with you?"

"No."

"Well, I must see more of you to-day. I'm just going in here forbreakfast. Come in when you're through."

"I will," said Hurstwood, moving away. The whole conversation was atrial to him. It seemed to add complications with every word. This mancalled up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had left.Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort--all these were in his greetingand inquiries. And here he was in this same hotel expecting to conferwith him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. All atonce the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would haveaccounts in them this very day. He forgot his triumph with Carrie in thepossibility of soon being known for what he was, in this man's eyes, asafe-breaker. He could have groaned as he went into the barber shop. Hedecided to escape and seek a more secluded hotel.

Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear, andhastened toward the stairs. He would get Carrie and go out by theladies' entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuousplace.

Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He wasof a commonplace Irish type, small of stature, cheaply dressed, and witha head that seemed a smaller edition of some huge ward politician's.This individual had been evidently talking with the clerk, but now hesurveyed the ex-manager keenly.

Hurstwood felt the long-range examination and recognised the type.Instinctively he felt that the man was a detective--that he was beingwatched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mindwas a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these peopledo? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. He did notunderstand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrieshould find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to beout of it.

Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She lookedrefreshed--more delightful than ever, but reserved. Since he had goneshe had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was notblazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. Hecould not take her in his arms; he did not even try. Something about herforbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiencesand reflections below stairs.

"You're ready, are you?" he said kindly.

"Yes," she answered.

"We'll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn't appeal to mevery much."

"All right," said Carrie.

They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual wasstanding, eyeing him. Hurstwood could scarcely refrain from showing thathe knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye wasgalling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning thecity. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself, and here theyentered.

"What a queer town this is," said Carrie, who marvelled at it solelybecause it was not like Chicago.

"It isn't as lively as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "Don't you like it?"

"No," said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the greatWestern city.

"Well, it isn't as interesting," said Hurstwood.

"What's here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit thistown.

"Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "It's quite a resort. There's somepretty scenery about here."

Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about hersituation which destroyed the possibility of appreciation.

"We won't stay here long," said Hurstwood, who was now really glad tonote her dissatisfaction. "You pick out your clothes as soon asbreakfast is over and we'll run down to New York soon. You'll like that.It's a lot more like a city than any place outside Chicago."

He was really planning to slip out and away. He would see what thesedetectives would do--what move his employers at Chicago would make--thenhe would slip away--down to New York, where it was easy to hide. He knewenough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities ofmystification were infinite.

The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. Hesaw that getting here did not exactly clear up the ground. The firmwould probably employ detectives to watch him--Pinkerton men or agentsof Mooney and Boland. They might arrest him the moment he tried to leaveCanada. So he might be compelled to remain here months, and in what astate!

Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see themorning papers. He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deedhad spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and wentto secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces wereabout, and yet he did not like reading in the lobby, so he sought themain parlour on the floor above and, seated by a window there, lookedthem over. Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several"sticks" in all, among all the riffraff of telegraphed murders,accidents, marriages, and other news. He wished, half sadly, that hecould undo it all. Every moment of his time in this far-off abode ofsafety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake. Therecould have been an easier way out if he had only known.

He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep themout of the hands of Carrie.

"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked of her. She was engaged in lookingout of the window.

"Oh, all right," she answered.

He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when aknock came at their door.

"Maybe it's one of my parcels," said Carrie.

Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom hehad so thoroughly suspected.

"You're Mr. Hurstwood, are you?" said the latter, with a volume ofaffected shrewdness and assurance.

"Yes," said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that someof his old familiar indifference to it returned. Such men as these wereof the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort. He stepped out and closedthe door.

"Well, you know what I am here for, don't you?" said the manconfidentially.

"I can guess," said Hurstwood softly.

"Well, do you intend to try and keep the money?"

"That's my affair," said Hurstwood grimly.

"You can't do it, you know," said the detective, eyeing him coolly.

"Look here, my man," said Hurstwood authoritatively, "you don'tunderstand anything about this case, and I can't explain to you.Whatever I intend to do I'll do without advice from the outside. You'llhave to excuse me."

"Well, now, there's no use of your talking that way," said the man,"when you're in the hands of the police. We can make a lot of troublefor you if we want to. You're not registered right in this house, youhaven't got your wife with you, and the newspapers don't know you'rehere yet. You might as well be reasonable."

"What do you want to know?" asked Hurstwood.

"Whether you're going to send back that money or not."

Hurstwood paused and studied the floor.

"There's no use explaining to you about this," he said at last. "There'sno use of your asking me. I'm no fool, you know. I know just what youcan do and what you can't. You can create a lot of trouble if you wantto. I know that all right, but it won't help you to get the money. Now,I've made up my mind what to do. I've already written Fitzgerald andMoy, so there's nothing I can say. You wait until you hear more fromthem."

All the time he had been talking he had been moving away from the door,down the corridor, out of the hearing of Carrie. They were now near theend where the corridor opened into the large general parlour.

"You won't give it up?" said the man.

The words irritated Hurstwood greatly. Hot blood poured into his brain.Many thoughts formulated themselves. He was no thief. He didn't want themoney. If he could only explain to Fitzgerald and Moy, maybe it would beall right again.

"See here," he said, "there's no use my talking about this at all. Irespect your power all right, but I'll have to deal with the people whoknow."

"Well, you can't get out of Canada with it," said the man.

"I don't want to get out," said Hurstwood. "When I get ready there'll benothing to stop me for."

He turned back, and the detective watched him closely. It seemed anintolerable thing. Still he went on and into the room.

"Who was it?" asked Carrie.

"A friend of mine from Chicago."

The whole of this conversation was such a shock that, coming as it didafter all the other worry of the past week, it sufficed to induce a deepgloom and moral revulsion in Hurstwood. What hurt him most was the factthat he was being pursued as a thief. He began to see the nature of thatsocial injustice which sees but one side--often but a single point in along tragedy. All the newspapers noted but one thing, his taking themoney. How and wherefore were but indifferently dealt with. All thecomplications which led up to it were unknown. He was accused withoutbeing understood.

Sitting in his room with Carrie the same day, he decided to send themoney back. He would write Fitzgerald and Moy, explain all, and thensend it by express. Maybe they would forgive him. Perhaps they would askhim back. He would make good the false statement he had made aboutwriting them. Then he would leave this peculiar town.

For an hour he thought over this plausible statement of the tangle. Hewanted to tell them about his wife, but couldn't. He finally narrowed itdown to an assertion that he was light-headed from entertaining friends,had found the safe open, and having gone so far as to take the moneyout, had accidentally closed it. This act he regretted very much. He wassorry he had put them to so much trouble. He would undo what he could bysending the money back--the major portion of it. The remainder he wouldpay up as soon as he could. Was there any possibility of his beingrestored? This he only hinted at.

The troubled state of the man's mind may be judged by the veryconstruction of this letter. For the nonce he forgot what a painfulthing it would be to resume his old place, even if it were given him. Heforgot that he had severed himself from the past as by a sword, and thatif he did manage to in some way reunite himself with it, the jagged lineof separation and reunion would always show. He was always forgettingsomething--his wife, Carrie, his need of money, present situation, orsomething--and so did not reason clearly. Nevertheless, he sent theletter, waiting a reply before sending the money.

Meanwhile, he accepted his present situation with Carrie, getting whatjoy out of it he could.

Out came the sun by noon, and poured a golden flood through their openwindows. Sparrows were twittering. There were laughter and song in theair. Hurstwood could not keep his eyes from Carrie. She seemed the oneray of sunshine in all his trouble. Oh, if she would only love himwholly--only throw her arms around him in the blissful spirit in whichhe had seen her in the little park in Chicago--how happy he would be! Itwould repay him; it would show him that he had not lost all. He wouldnot care.

"Carrie," he said, getting up once and coming over to her, "are yougoing to stay with me from now on?"

She looked at him quizzically, but melted with sympathy as the value ofthe look upon his face forced itself upon her. It was love now, keen andstrong--love enhanced by difficulty and worry. She could not helpsmiling.

"Let me be everything to you from now on," he said. "Don't make me worryany more. I'll be true to you. We'll go to New York and get a nice flat.I'll go into business again, and we'll be happy. Won't you be mine?"

Carrie listened quite solemnly. There was no great passion in her, butthe drift of things and this man's proximity created a semblance ofaffection. She felt rather sorry for him--a sorrow born of what had onlyrecently been a great admiration. True love she had never felt for him.She would have known as much if she could have analysed her feelings,but this thing which she now felt aroused by his great feeling brokedown the barriers between them.

"You'll stay with me, won't you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, nodding her head.

He gathered her to himself, imprinting kisses upon her lips and cheeks.

"You must marry me, though," she said.

"I'll get a license to-day," he answered.

"How?" she asked.

"Under a new name," he answered. "I'll take a new name and live a newlife. From now on I'm Murdock."

"Oh, don't take that name," said Carrie.

"Why not?" he said.

"I don't like it."

"Well, what shall I take?" he asked.

"Oh, anything, only don't take that."

He thought a while, still keeping his arms about her, and then said:

"How would Wheeler do?"

"That's all right," said Carrie.

"Well, then, Wheeler," he said. "I'll get the license this afternoon."

They were married by a Baptist minister, the first divine they foundconvenient.

At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation. He wasastonished that Hurstwood had done this; very sorry that it had comeabout as it had. If the money were returned, they would not trouble toprosecute him, as they really bore him no ill-will. As for hisreturning, or their restoring him to his former position, they had notquite decided what the effect of it would be. They would think it overand correspond with him later, possibly, after a little time, and so on.

The sum and substance of it was that there was no hope, and they wantedthe money with the least trouble possible. Hurstwood read his doom. Hedecided to pay $9,500 to the agent whom they said they would send,keeping $1,300 for his own use. He telegraphed his acquiescence,explained to the representative who called at the hotel the same day,took a certificate of payment, and told Carrie to pack her trunk. He wasslightly depressed over this newest move at the time he began to makeit, but eventually restored himself. He feared that even yet he might beseized and taken back, so he tried to conceal his movements, but it wasscarcely possible. He ordered Carrie's trunk sent to the depot, where hehad it sent by express to New York. No one seemed to be observing him,but he left at night. He was greatly agitated lest at the first stationacross the border or at the depot in New York there should be waitingfor him an officer of the law.

Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry into thelatter city in the morning. The round green hills sentinelling thebroad, expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beautyas the train followed the line of the stream. She had heard of theHudson River, the great city of New York, and now she looked out,filling her mind with the wonder of it.

As the train turned east at Spuyten Duyvil and followed the east bank ofthe Harlem River, Hurstwood nervously called her attention to the factthat they were on the edge of the city. After her experience withChicago, she expected long lines of cars--a great highway of tracks--andnoted the difference. The sight of a few boats in the Harlem and more inthe East River tickled her young heart. It was the first sign of thegreat sea. Next came a plain street with five-story brick flats, andthen the train plunged into the tunnel.

"Grand Central Station!" called the trainman, as, after a few minutes ofdarkness and smoke, daylight reappeared. Hurstwood arose and gathered uphis small grip. He was screwed up to the highest tension. With Carrie hewaited at the door and then dismounted. No one approached him, but heglanced furtively to and fro as he made for the street entrance. Soexcited was he that he forgot all about Carrie, who fell behind,wondering at his self-absorption. As he passed through the depot properthe strain reached its climax and began to wane. All at once he was onthe sidewalk, and none but cabmen hailed him. He heaved a great breathand turned, remembering Carrie.

"I thought you were going to run off and leave me," she said.

"I was trying to remember which car takes us to the Gilsey," heanswered.

Carrie hardly heard him, so interested was she in the busy scene.

"How large is New York?" she asked.

"Oh, a million or more," said Hurstwood.

He looked around and hailed a cab, but he did so in a changed way.

For the first time in years the thought that he must count these littleexpenses flashed through his mind. It was a disagreeable thing.

He decided he would lose no time living in hotels but would rent a flat.Accordingly he told Carrie, and she agreed.

"We'll look to-day, if you want to," she said.

Suddenly he thought of his experience in Montreal. At the more importanthotels he would be certain to meet Chicagoans whom he knew. He stood upand spoke to the driver.

"Take me to the Belford," he said, knowing it to be less frequented bythose whom he knew. Then he sat down.

"Where is the residence part?" asked Carrie, who did not take the tallfive-story walls on either hand to be the abodes of families.

"Everywhere," said Hurstwood, who knew the city fairly well. "There areno lawns in New York. All these are houses."

"Well, then, I don't like it," said Carrie, who was coming to have a fewopinions of her own.