as without the necessary apparel for travelling. She quite forgot
Hurstwood's presence at times, and looked away to homely farmhouses and
cosey cottages in villages with wondering eyes. It was an interesting
world to her. Her life had just begun. She did not feel herself defeated
at all. Neither was she blasted in hope. The great city held much.
Possibly she would come out of bondage into freedom--who knows? Perhaps
she 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 they
stepped down, Hurstwood glad to be out of danger, Carrie wondering at
the novel atmosphere of the northern city. Long before, Hurstwood had
been here, and now he remembered the name of the hotel at which he had
stopped. As they came out of the main entrance of the depot he heard it
called 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 clerk
came forward. He was thinking what name he would put down. With the
latter before him he found no time for hesitation. A name he had seen
out of the car window came swiftly to him. It was pleasing enough. With
an easy hand he wrote, "G. W. Murdock and wife." It was the largest
concession to necessity he felt like making. His initials he could not
spare.

When 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?"

Sh