LITMIR.BIZ

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

      “You have a bath there,” said he. “Now you can clean up when you get ready.”

      Carrie went over and looked out the window, while Hurstwood looked at himself in the glass. He felt dusty and unclean. He had no trunk, no change 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 and come back and get you, and then we’ll go out and look for some clothes for 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 for the 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 his hands, 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 of her 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 cleanly home.

      “Oh, well, Carrie,” he answered, “here I am. It’s too late now. Won’t you 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 today on.”

      Carrie rose up as if to step away, he holding her hand. Now he slipped his arm about her and she struggled, but in vain. He held her quite close. 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 she had been listening with some complacency, remembering her old affection for him. He was so handsome, so daring!

      Now, however, this feeling had changed to one of opposition, which rose feebly. 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 she was being pressed, was strong; he was passionate, he loved her, and she was alone. If she did not turn to him — accept of his love — where else might she go? Her resistance half dissolved in the flood of his strong feeling.

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

      He pressed her closer and kissed her, and she felt that further opposition 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 her regretfully.

      “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 the moment, he was in fine feather. His recent victory over Carrie seemed to atone for much he had endured during the last few days. Life seemed worth fighting for. This eastward flight from all things customary and attached seemed as if it might have happiness in store. The storm showed a 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 was fastened up beside a door when a voice greeted him familiarly. Instantly his heart sank. “Why, hello, George, old man!” said the voice. “What are you doing down here?”

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

      “Just attending to a little private matter,” he answered, his mind working like a key-board of a telephone station. This man evidently did not know — he had not read the papers.

      “Well, it seems strange to see you way up here,” said Mr. Kenny genially. “Stopping here?”

      “Yes,” said Hurstwood uneasily, thinking of his handwriting on the register.

      “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. Are you stopping here?”

      “Yes,” said Mr. Kenny, and then, turning the word again added: “How are things out in Chicago?”

      “About the same as usual,” said Hurstwood, smiling genially.

      “Wife with you?”

      “No.”

      “Well, I must see more of you today. I’m just going in here for breakfast. Come in when you’re through.”

      “I will,” said Hurstwood, moving away. The whole conversation was a trial to him. It seemed to add complications with very word. This man called up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had left. Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort — all these were in his greeting and inquiries. And here he was in this same hotel expecting to confer with him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. All at once the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would have accounts in them this very day. He forgot his triumph with Carrie in the possibility of soon being known for what he was, in this man’s eyes, a safe-breaker. He could have groaned as he went into the barber shop. He decided to escape and seek a more secluded hotel.

      Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear, and hastened toward the stairs. He would get Carrie and go out by the ladies’ entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuous place.

      Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He was of a commonplace Irish type, small of stature, cheaply dressed, and with a head that seemed a smaller edition of some huge ward politician’s. This individual had been evidently talking with the clerk, but now he surveyed 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 being watched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mind was a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these people do? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. He did not understand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrie should find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to be out of it.

      Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She looked refreshed — more delightful than

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