To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath is invariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the one thing which solaces and delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind, which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the flood of objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hidden from view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the trite dramatic expression -- "I am going away."
As Carrie looked out upon the flying scenery she almost forgot that she had been tricked into this long journey against her will and that she was 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 are 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 to-day. 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 every 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 ever, but reserved. Since he had gone she had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was not blazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. He could not take her in his arms; he did not even try. Something about her forbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiences and 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 me very much."
"All right," said Carrie.
They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual was standing, eyeing him. Hurstwood could scarcely refrain from showing that he knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye was galling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning the city. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself, and here they entered.
"What a queer town this is," said Carrie, who marvelled at it solely because 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 great Western city.
"Well, it isn't as interesting," said Hurstwood.
"What's here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit this town.
"Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "It's quite a resort. There's some pretty scenery about here."
Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about her situation which destroyed the possibility of appreciation.
"We won't stay here long," said Hurstwood, who was now really glad to note her dissatisfaction. "You pick out your clothes as soon as breakfast 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 these detectives would do -- what move his employers at Chicago would make -- then he would slip away -- down to New York, where it was easy to hide. He knew enough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities of mystification were infinite.
The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. He saw that getting here did not exactly clear up the ground. The firm would probably employ detectives to watch him -- Pinkerton men or agents of Mooney and Boland. They might arrest him the moment he tried to leave Canada. So he might be compelled to remain here months, and in what a state!
Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see the morning papers. He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deed had spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and went to secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces were about, and yet he did not like reading in the lobby, so he sought the main parlour on the floor above and, seated by a window there, looked them 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 he could undo it all. Every moment of his time in this far-off abode of safety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake. There could have been an easier way out if he had only known.
He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep them out of the hands of Carrie.
"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked of her. She was engaged in looking out of the window.
"Oh, all right," she answered.
He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when a knock came at their door.
"Maybe it's one of my parcels," said Carrie.
Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom he had so thoroughly suspected.
"You're Mr. Hurstwood, are you?" said the latter, with a volume of affected shrewdness and assurance.
"Yes," said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that some of his old familiar indifference to it returned. Such men as these were of the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort. He stepped out and closed the door.
"Well, you know what I am here for, don't you?" said the man confidentially.
"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't understand 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'll have 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 trouble for you if we want to. You're not registered right in this house, you haven't got your wife with you, and the newspapers don't know you're here 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's no use of your asking me. I'm no fool, you know. I know just what you can do and what you can't. You can create a lot of trouble if you want to. 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 and Moy, so there's nothing I can say. You wait until you hear more from them."
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 the end 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 the money. If he could only explain to Fitzgerald and Moy, maybe it would be all right again.
"See here," he said, "there's no use my talking about this at all. I respect your power all right, but I'll have to deal with the people who know."
"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 be nothing to stop me for."
He turned back, and the detective watched him closely. It seemed an intolerable 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 did after all the other worry of the past week, it sufficed to induce a deep gloom and moral revulsion in Hurstwood. What hurt him most was the fact that he was being pursued as a thief. He began to see the nature of that social injustice which sees but one side -- often but a single point in a long tragedy. All the newspapers noted but one thing, his taking the money. How and wherefore were but indifferently dealt with. All the complications which led up to it were unknown. He was accused without being understood.
Sitting in his room with Carrie the same day, he decided to send the money back. He would write Fitzgerald and Moy, explain all, and then send it by express. Maybe they would forgive him. Perhaps they would ask him back. He would make good the false statement he had made about writing them. Then he would leave this peculiar town.
For an hour he thought over this plausible statement of the tangle. He wanted to tell them about his wife, but couldn't. He finally narrowed it down 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 money out, had accidentally closed it. This act he regretted very much. He was sorry he had put them to so much trouble. He would undo what he could by sending the money back -- the major portion of it. The remainder he would pay up as soon as he could. Was there any possibility of his being restored? This he only hinted at.
The troubled state of the man's mind may be judged by the very construction of this letter. For the nonce he forgot what a painful thing it would be to resume his old place, even if it were given him. He forgot that he had severed himself from the past as by a sword, and that if he did manage to in some way reunite himself with it, the jagged line of separation and reunion would always show. He was always forgetting something -- his wife, Carrie, his need of money, present situation, or something -- and so did not reason clearly. Nevertheless, he sent the letter, waiting a reply before sending the money.
Meanwhile, he accepted his present situation with Carrie, getting what joy out of it he could.
Out came the sun by noon, and poured a golden flood through their open windows. Sparrows were twittering. There were laughter and song in the air. Hurstwood could not keep his eyes from Carrie. She seemed the one ray of sunshine in all his trouble. Oh, if she would only love him wholly -- only throw her arms around him in the blissful spirit in which he had seen her in the little park in Chicago -- how happy he would be! It would repay him; it would show him that he had not lost all. He would not care.
"Carrie," he said, getting up once and coming over to her, "are you going to stay with me from now on?"
She looked at him quizzically, but melted with sympathy as the value of the look upon his face forced itself upon her. It was love now, keen and strong -- love enhanced by difficulty and worry. She could not help smiling.
"Let me be everything to you from now on," he said. "Don't make me worry any 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, but the drift of things and this man's proximity created a semblance of affection. She felt rather sorry for him -- a sorrow born of what had only recently 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 broke down 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 new life. 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 found convenient.
At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation. He was astonished that Hurstwood had done this; very sorry that it had come about as it had. If the money were returned, they would not trouble to prosecute him, as they really bore him no ill-will. As for his returning, or their restoring him to his former position, they had not quite decided what the effect of it would be. They would think it over and 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 wanted the money with the least trouble possible. Hurstwood read his doom. He decided 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 was slightly depressed over this newest move at the time he began to make it, but eventually restored himself. He feared that even yet he might be seized and taken back, so he tried to conceal his movements, but it was scarcely possible. He ordered Carrie's trunk sent to the depot, where he had 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 station across the border or at the depot in New York there should be waiting for him an officer of the law.
Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry into the latter city in the morning. The round green hills sentinelling the broad, expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beauty as the train followed the line of the stream. She had heard of the Hudson 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 of the Harlem River, Hurstwood nervously called her attention to the fact that they were on the edge of the city. After her experience with Chicago, she expected long lines of cars -- a great highway of tracks -- and noted the difference. The sight of a few boats in the Harlem and more in the East River tickled her young heart. It was the first sign of the great sea. Next came a plain street with five-story brick flats, and then the train plunged into the tunnel.
"Grand Central Station!" called the trainman, as, after a few minutes of darkness and smoke, daylight reappeared. Hurstwood arose and gathered up his small grip. He was screwed up to the highest tension. With Carrie he waited at the door and then dismounted. No one approached him, but he glanced furtively to and fro as he made for the street entrance. So excited was he that he forgot all about Carrie, who fell behind, wondering at his self-absorption. As he passed through the depot proper the strain reached its climax and began to wane. All at once he was on the sidewalk, and none but cabmen hailed him. He heaved a great breath and turned, remembering Carrie.
"I thought you were going to run off and leave me," she said.
"I was trying remember which car takes us to the Gilsey," he answered.
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 little expenses 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 important hotels he would be certain to meet Chicagoans whom he knew. He stood up and spoke to the driver.
"Take me to the Belford," he said, knowing it to be less frequented by those whom he knew. Then he sat down.
"Where is the residence part?" asked Carrie, who did not take the tall five-story walls on either hand to be the abodes of families.
"Everywhere," said Hurstwood, who knew the city fairly well. "There are no lawns in New York. All these are houses."
"Well, then, I don't like it," said Carrie, who was coming to have a few opinions of her own.
想到这些，她便不再考虑自己是否做错了。她很乐观，因此不至于无法自拔。
第二天早晨，火车平安抵达蒙特利尔，他们下了车。赫斯渥很高兴已脱离了危险，嘉莉则惊叹着这北方城市的新奇气氛。很久以前，赫斯渥曾来过这里，这时他想起了他当时住过的旅馆的名字。当他们从车站正门出来时，他听到一个公共马车的车夫正在反复地叫着那个旅馆的名字。
“我们这就去那里开个房间，”他说。
在帐房间里，赫斯渥把登记簿转过来时，帐房走上前来。
他正考虑用什么名字来登记。面对着帐房，他没有时间再犹豫了。他忽然想起在车窗外瞧见的那个名字。是个很讨人喜欢的名字。他大笔一挥，写下了“乔·威·默多克夫妇”。这是他在万不得已的情况下所能作出的最大让步了。对自己名字的缩写，他是不能省去的。
他们被领到自己的房间后，嘉莉一眼就看出他给她找了一间可爱的卧室。
“那边还有一间浴室，”他说，“等你准备好了，就可以去梳洗一下。”嘉莉走过去看着窗外。赫斯渥在镜子里照了照，觉得自己又脏又乱。他没带箱子，没带换洗衣物，连把梳子都没有。
“我按铃叫他们送肥皂和毛巾来，”他说，“还给你送把梳子。然后你就去洗澡，准备吃早饭。我先去修个面，再回来接你，然后我们出去给你买些衣服。”他边说边和蔼地笑着。
“好的，”嘉莉说。她在一把摇椅上坐下来，赫斯渥在等茶房，很快茶房就敲门了。
“给我们拿肥皂、毛巾和一壶冰水来。”
“是，先生。”
“我现在要走了，”他对嘉莉说，向她走过来并伸出了双手，但她却不伸手去接。
“你没有生我的气，是吧？”他温柔地问。
“哦，没有！”她答道，口气相当冷淡。
“难道你一点都不爱我吗？”
她没有回答，只是盯着窗口。
“难道你就不能有一点点爱我吗？”他恳求着，握住她的一只手，而她却使劲想甩开。“你曾经说过你爱我的。”“你为什么要这样欺骗我？”嘉莉问。
“我也是没有办法呀，”他说，“我太想要你了。”“你没有任何权力要我，”她答道，一下就打中了要害。
“哦，可是，嘉莉，”他说，“事已至此，现在已经太晚了。你能否试着爱我一点呢？”他站在她面前，看上去完全没了头绪。
她否定地摇了摇头。
“让我一切从头开始吧。从今天起你就做我的妻子。”嘉莉站了起来，像是要走开，而他还握着她的手。这时他悄悄地用胳膊搂住了她，她挣扎着，但是没有挣脱。他把她搂得很紧。立刻他的体内燃起了一股无法抗拒的欲火。他的感情也变得十分强烈。
“放开我，”嘉莉说，她被他紧紧地搂着。
“你爱我，好吗？”他说。“你从现在起就成为我的人，好吗？”嘉莉从来没有对他有过恶感。就在一分钟之前，她还在悠然自得地听他说话，未忘旧情。他真漂亮，真大胆！
可是现在，这种感情变成了反抗情绪，一种软弱无力的反抗。一时间，这种反抗情绪在她心里占了上风。可是过不了一会儿，因为被他搂得很紧，她就开始变软了。在她的内心深处响起了另外一个声音。这个人，这个正把她紧紧地搂在怀里的人，是个强壮的男人。他热情，他爱她，而她又是孤单一人。若是她不投奔他--接受他的爱情--她又能去别的什么地方呢？面对他那潮水般涌来的强烈感情，她的抵抗有些瓦解了。
她发现他抬起了她的头，目光直盯着她的眼睛。她永远都搞不懂，他怎么会有这么大的吸引力。于是此刻，他的诸多罪过都被忘却了。
他把她搂得更紧并吻了她，她觉得再反抗已经毫无意义。
“你愿意和我结婚吗？”她问，却忘了问怎么结法。
“今天就结婚，”他说，高兴极了。
这时旅馆的茶房把门敲得砰砰响，他遗憾地放开了她。
“你现在就准备，好吗？”他说，“马上。”“好的，”她回答。
“我３刻钟后就回来。”
他让茶房进来时，嘉莉红着脸兴奋地走到一边。
下楼之后，他在门厅里停下来找理发间。此刻，他情绪高昂。他刚刚赢得了嘉莉，这似乎补偿了过去的几天里他所遭受的折磨。看来人生是值得为之奋斗的。这一次抛下所有牵肠挂肚的日常琐事，向东逃亡，看来好像还有幸福在等待着。风暴过后会出现彩虹，彩虹的尽头可能是一坛金子。
他看见一个房间的门旁边装着一个红白条纹相间的小圆柱。正准备走到那里去时，听见一个声音亲热地和他打招呼。
他的心立刻往下一沉。
“喂，你好，乔治，老朋友！”这声音说。“你到这里来干什么？”赫斯渥已经和他面对面了，认出是他的朋友肯尼，一个股票经纪人。
“来办件私人小事，”他回答，脑子里就像电话局的接线盘一样忙个不停。这个人显然还不知道--他没看到报纸。
“咳，真没想到会在这么远的地方见到你，”肯尼先生亲切地说。“住在这里吗？”“是的，”赫斯渥不安地说，脑子里想着登记簿上自己的笔迹。
“要在这里待长吗？”
“不，只待一天左右。”
“真的吗？早点吃过没有？”
“吃过了，”赫斯渥说，信口撒了谎。“我正要去修面。”“你过来喝一杯好吗？”“以后再喝吧，”这位过去的经理说道。“我过一会儿来看你，你是住在这里吗？”“是的，”肯尼先生说。然后又把话题转回来，补充说：“芝加哥那边的情况怎么样？”“和往常差不多，”赫斯渥说，亲切地笑了笑。
“太太和你一起来了吗？”
“没有。”
“嘿，今天我非得再和你聊聊不可。我刚到这里来吃早点。
你有空就过来。”
“我会来的，”赫斯渥说着走开了。整个谈话对他来说是一场痛苦的考验。似乎每讲一个字就增加了一分复杂。这个人勾起了他无数的回忆。这个人代表着他所抛弃的一切。芝加哥，他的太太--这一切全在这个人的寒暄与询问之中。而现在这个人就住在这同一家旅馆里，盼着和他交谈，毫无疑问等着和他一起好好地玩一下。芝加哥的报纸随时都会到这里。当地的报纸今天就会有报道。想到这个人可能很快就会知道他的真面目，一个偷保险柜的贼，他忘记了赢得嘉莉的胜利。他走进理发间时，差不多都要哼出声来了。他决定逃走，找一家平静些的旅馆。
因此，当他出来时看见门厅里空无一人，心里很高兴，赶忙奔向楼梯。他要带上嘉莉，从妇女出入口出去。他们要去一个不大显眼的地方吃早点。
可是，在门厅的那一头，另一个人正在打量着他。那是个普通的爱尔兰人，身材矮小，衣着寒酸，却长着个特别的脑袋，看上去像是某个大选区政客的脑袋的缩本。这个人刚才明明一直在和帐房谈话。可是现在他却在敏锐地打量着这位过去的经理。
赫斯渥感觉到远处有人在观察他，看出了那人的身份。他本能地觉得那人是个侦探--他被监视了。他匆忙穿过门厅，假装没有察觉，可是心里却是千头万绪。现在会发生什么事呢？这些人会干什么呢？他开始费尽心思地去想关于引渡法的问题。他并不完全懂得这些法律。也许他会被捕。哎呀，要是嘉莉发觉就糟了！蒙特利尔他是待不下去了。他开始渴望离开这个地方。
当他回到房间时，嘉莉已经洗过澡，正在等他。她看起来容光焕发，比以往更加可爱，但是很矜持。在他走后，她又有点恢复了对他的冷淡态度。她的心里并没有爱情在燃烧。他感觉到了这一点，他的烦恼似乎也随之增加了。他没能把她搂在怀里，他连试都没试。她的神情不许他这样做，他自己在楼下的经历和沉思是他形成这一看法的部份原因。
“你准备好了。是吗？”他和蔼地说。
“是的，”她回答。
“我们出去吃早点。这下面的地方我不太喜欢。”“好的，”嘉莉说。
他们走了出来，那个普通的爱尔兰人正站在拐角处，盯着他看。赫斯渥差一点忍不住要露出他知道这家伙的存在的表情来。这家伙的傲慢目光令人恼怒。但他们还是走了过去。他对嘉莉谈了一些这个城市的情况。不久又看见一家餐馆，这一次他们走了进去。
“这个城市真古怪，”嘉莉说，她对这个城市感到惊奇，仅仅因为它不像芝加哥。
“这里不及芝加哥热闹，”赫斯渥说，“你喜欢这里吗？”“不喜欢，”嘉莉答道，她的喜好厌恶早已受到那个伟大的美国西部城市的局限了。
“哎，也不如芝加哥有意思，”赫斯渥说。
“这里有些什么呢？”嘉莉问道，不明白他为什么挑选这个城市来旅游。
“没有什么特别的，”赫斯渥回答。“这是个旅游胜地。这一带有一些美丽的风景。”嘉莉听着，但心里感到不安。她很为自己的处境担忧，哪里有心情欣赏什么风景。
“我们不在这里久待，”赫斯渥说，他现在看到她不满意，还真感到高兴。“一吃完早点，你就去挑好衣服。我们马上去纽约。你会喜欢那里的。除了芝加哥以外，它可是比其它任何地方都要更像一个城市。”实际上，他是在打算溜之大吉。他要看看这些侦探会干些什么--他在芝加哥的东家们会采取什么行动--然后他就溜走--去纽约，那是个容易藏身的地方。他很熟悉那个城市，知道那个城市充满神秘，可以任由你神出鬼没。
可是，他越想越觉得自己的处境不妙。他发现来到这里，还是没有真正地解决问题。酒店很可能会雇用侦探来监视他--平克顿的手下或者穆尼和博兰侦探所的侦探。一旦他企图逃离加拿大，他们可能就会逮捕他。这样他也许就不得不在这里住上几个月，而且是处于如此狼狈的境况。
回到旅馆，赫斯渥急着想看早晨的报纸，可又害怕看。他想知道有关他的罪行的消息已经传了多远。于是，他告诉嘉莉他过一会儿再上来，就去找报纸看了。四周都没看见熟悉的或可疑的面孔，可他还是不想在门厅里看报，就找到楼上的大休息室，进去坐在窗边，把报纸浏览了一遍。关于他的罪行的报道极少，但还是有，一共就那么寥寥几行，夹在那些乱七八糟的关于各地谋杀、车祸、结婚以及其它消息的电讯报道之中。
他有些悲哀，真希望自己能抹掉这一切。在这个遥远的安全住所里，每过一分钟都会使他更加感到自己已铸成大错。应该会有更加容易的出路，当初他要是知道就好了。
他回房间之前，把报纸留在了那里，以为这样报纸就不会落到嘉莉的手中。
“喂，你感觉怎么样啦？”他问她。她正在看着窗外。
“哦，很好，”她回答。
他走了过去，刚要开口和她说话，传来了敲门声。
“可能是我买的东西到了，”嘉莉说。
赫斯渥开了门，门外站着他十分怀疑的那个人。
“你是赫斯渥先生，对吗？”那人说，做出一副非常精明、肯定的模样。
“是的，”赫斯渥镇定地说。他太了解这种人了，这种人是酒店所接待的最低阶层的人，因此又有些恢复了他往日对这种人的满不在乎的态度。他跨到门外，把门关上了。
“这么说，你知道我为什么到这里来，是吗？”这人用信任的口气说。
“我能猜到，”赫斯渥小声地说。
“那么，你还想留着那笔钱吗？”
“那是我自己的事，”赫斯渥冷淡地说。
“你不能那么做，这你是知道的，”侦探说，冷眼打量着他。
“听着，朋友，”赫斯渥盛气凌人地说，“你一点也不了解这件案子，我也无法向你解释。我想做什么就做什么，不需要别人指手划脚。还请你原谅。”“哦，好哇，等你落到警察手里，”这人说，“你这么说话就不管用了。只要我们愿意，我们就可以给你找很多麻烦。你在这家旅馆登记没有用真实姓名，你没有带太太一起来，报馆的人还不知道你在这里。你最好还是通情达理一点。”“你想知道些什么？”赫斯渥问。
“我想知道你是否打算把那笔钱寄回去。”赫斯渥停顿了一下，打量着地板。
“我向你解释这事是没有用的，”他最后说。“你盘问我也没有用。我不是个傻瓜，这你心里明白。我知道你能做什么，不能做什么。只要你愿意，你可以制造很多麻烦。这点我很清楚，但是这并不能帮你拿到那笔钱。现在我已经决定好怎么做了。我已经给费茨杰拉德和莫埃写了信，所以在此我没什么可说的了。你等着听他们的回音吧。”他一边说话，一边从门口走开，沿着走廊走去，以免让嘉莉听见。现在他们已经快走到走廊的尽头了，尽头是一间大休息室。
“你不肯放弃那笔钱吧？”这人说。他的这句话使得赫斯渥大为恼火。热血直冲脑门，千头万绪涌上心头。他不是贼。他并不想要那笔钱。只要他能向费茨杰拉德和莫埃解释清楚，也许就会没事了。
“听着，”他说，“我现在谈这些根本就没有用。我很尊重你的权力，但是我得和了解内情的人打交道。”“好吧，但你不能带着钱离开加拿大，”这人说。
“我没想要离开，”赫斯渥说，“等我准备好离开时，就不会有什么阻拦我的事了。”他转身回去，侦探牢牢地盯着他。这简直是件无法忍受的事。可他还是继续朝前走，走进了自己的房间。
“那人是谁？”嘉莉问道。
“芝加哥来的一个朋友。”
整个谈话使得赫斯渥大为震惊。刚刚经历了上个星斯的种种焦虑，又碰上这么一番谈话。震惊之余，他心里不由得产生了一种深深的忧虑和对道德的反感。最令他伤心的是他竟会被人当作贼来追捕。他开始看清了社会不公正的本质，这种不公正表现在只看到问题的一面--往往只看到一幕漫长的悲剧中的某一时刻。所有的报纸都只提到了一件事，这就是他偷了钱。至于怎么偷的和为什么要偷，却无人过问。造成这一后果的所有的复杂原因，也无人知晓。他在没被理解之前就给定了罪名。
同一天里，当他和嘉莉一起坐在房间里时，他决定寄回那笔钱。他要给费茨杰拉德和莫埃写信，把一切解释清楚。然后用快汇把钱寄回去。他们可能会原谅他。他们也许会请他回去。他要把他说的已写信给他们的谎话变为事实。然后他就会离开这个古怪的城市。
为了能言之有理地说明这件复杂的事情，他足足想了有一个钟头。他本想告诉他们有关他太太的事，但是难以启齿。
最后，他大事花小，只是简单地说明，他招待朋友时喝晕了头，发现保险柜是开着的，竟然把钱拿了出来，一不小心将保险柜锁上了。这件事令他后悔莫及。他给他们添了那么多麻烦，真是对不起他们。他要尽力挽回这件事，把钱寄回去--把其中的大部分寄回去。剩下的部份他会尽快还清。是否有可能让他恢复原职？这一点他只是暗示了一下。
从这封信的构思本身，就可看出这人是怎样的心烦意乱。
他当时忘记了，即使让他恢复了原职，那也将是一件多么痛苦的事情。他忘记了他使自己和过去已经像是一刀两断，即使他能设法多少让自己和过去破镜重圆，也难免总要露出分离和重合的裂痕来。他总是会忘记些什么--他的太太，嘉莉，他需要钱用，眼前的处境，或其它什么--因此考虑问题不清楚。不过，他还是寄走了这封信，想等收到回信再汇钱去。
在此期间，他和嘉莉则安于现状，尽情享受其中的乐趣。
中午太阳出来了，潮水般的金色阳光从他们敞开的窗户直泻进来。麻雀在吱吱喳喳地叫着，空气中飘荡着欢歌笑语。
赫斯渥的目光一刻也离不开嘉莉。在他的一切烦恼中，她好像是一缕阳光。啊，只要她能全心全意地爱他--只要她能带着他在芝加哥那个小公园里见到她时那般快乐无比的心情，张开双臂拥抱他，他将有多么幸福呀！这就是对他的补偿；这就能向他表明他并没有丧失一切。他也就不在乎了。
“嘉莉，”他说，此刻他站了起来，走到她的身边，“你愿意从现在起就和我一起生活吗？”她疑惑地看着他，但是当她感受到他的面部表情那咄咄逼人的力量时，她心软了，产生了同情。这就是爱情，强烈之极--因烦恼和忧虑而加深了的爱情。她忍不住笑了。
“从现在起，就让我成为你的一切吧，”他说。“别再让我担心了。我会忠实于你。我们要去纽约找一套漂亮的公寓。我将重新经商，我们会幸福的。你愿意成为我的人吗？”嘉莉很严肃地听着。她心里并没有多大的激情，但是随着事情的推移，加上这人的亲近，使她像是动了真情。她很替他难过--这是从那份前不久还是十分钦佩的感情中产生的一种惋惜之情。她对他从未有过真正的爱情。倘若她能分析一下自己的感情，就会明白这一点。但是她眼前为他的激情而动的感情却消除了他俩之间的隔阂。
“你愿意和我一起生活了，是吗？”他问。
“是的，”她说，点了点头。
他把她揽进怀里，吻着她的嘴唇和面颊。
“不过，你必须和我结婚，”她说。
“我今天就去领结婚证书，”他回答。
“怎么领法？”她问。
“用个新的姓氏，”他答道。“我要换个新的姓氏，过新的生活。从现在起，我就姓默多克了。”“哦，别用那个姓氏，”嘉莉说。
“为什么？”他说。
“我不喜欢。”
“那么，我叫什么好呢？”他问道。
“哦，随便什么都行，只要不叫默多克。”他想了一会儿，双臂还搂着她，然后说：“叫惠勒行吗？”“这个不错，”嘉莉说。
“那么，好，就用惠勒，”他说，“我今天下午就去领结婚证书。”他们结婚了，由一位浸礼会牧师主婚，这是他们所能找到的第一个合适的神职人员。
终于，芝加哥的酒店回信了。信是莫埃先生口授的。他对赫斯渥做出这种事很感惊讶，对事情弄到这种地步深表遗憾。
倘若他能归还钱款，他们并不想费力去起诉他，因为他们对他实在并无恶意。至于让他回去，或是他们给他恢复原职一事，他们还拿不准那样做会产生什么样的影响。他们要考虑一下，以后再通知他。可能会很快，云云。
总之，这封信告诉他，没有希望了。他们只想拿回钱款，麻烦则越少越好。赫斯渥从信中看到了自己的厄运。他决定把９５００块钱交给他们说要派来的那个代理人，留下１３００块钱自己用。他发了一份电报表示同意，向当天就来旅馆找他的那个代理人作了一番解释。拿了收据，然后就叫嘉莉收拾箱子。
他在开始采取这一最新行动时感到有点沮丧，但最终又振作了起来。他害怕即使在这个时候，他还可能被抓住，被押送回去，所以他试图隐蔽自己的行动，但这几乎不可能做到。他叫人把嘉莉的箱子送到火车站，由铁路用快运托运到纽约，看上去并没有人在监视他。但他还是在夜里离开了。他焦虑万分，生怕在越过国境线的第一站，或者是在纽约火车站，会有一个执法官在等着他。
嘉莉不知道他的偷窃行为和他的种种恐惧，当火车第二天早晨抵达纽约时，感到很高兴。火车正沿着赫德森河行驶，一座座圆顶的青山如同哨兵般守护着宽阔的河谷，这美丽的景色深深地吸引了她。她曾经听说过赫德森河，伟大的都市纽约，现在她看着窗外，心里对这个大都市惊叹不已。
当火车在斯布丁杜佛尔向东转弯，沿着哈莱姆河东岸行驶时，赫斯渥紧张地提醒她，他们已经到了纽约城边。按照她在芝加哥的经验，她原以为会看见一长列的车厢，一大片纵横交错的铁轨，但却发现这里不同。看见哈莱姆河里的一些船只和东河里更多的船只，她那颗年轻的心发痒了。这是大海的第一个征兆。接着是一条平坦的大街，两边耸立着砖造的五层楼房，然后火车钻进了隧道。
在黑暗和烟尘中过了几分钟后，又重见了天日。这时列车员叫道：“中央大站到了。”赫斯渥站起身来，收拾其他的小旅行包。他的神经高度紧张。他带着嘉莉在车门口等了一下，然后下了车。没有人朝他走来，但当他向临街的出口处走过去时，还是偷偷地四处张望。他太激动了，全然忘记了嘉莉，她落在后面，奇怪他竟会只顾自己。当他穿过车站大厦时，紧张到了极点，但随后便松弛下来，他立即上了人行道，除了马车夫，没人向他打招呼。他大大地松了一口气，想起了嘉莉，便转过身去。
“我还以为你要丢下我一个人跑了呢，”她说。
“我在想我们该乘什么车去吉尔赛旅馆，”他回答。
嘉莉正一门心思注意着街上热闹的景象，几乎没听见他在说什么。
“纽约有多大？”她问。
“喔，一百多万人口，”赫斯渥说。
他看了一下四周，叫了一辆马车，但他叫车的神态变了。
多少年来，这是他第一次想到他得算计这些细小的开支。
这是令人不快的事。
他打定主意不在旅馆里久住，而要尽快租一套公寓。他把这个主意告诉嘉莉，她表示同意。
“如果你高兴的话，我们今天就去找，”她说。
突然他想起了他在蒙特利尔的经历。在那些大旅馆里。他肯定会遇到芝加哥的熟人。他站了起来，对马车夫说话。
“去贝尔福特旅馆，”他说，知道他的熟人不大会去这家旅馆。然后他坐了下来。
“住宅区在哪里？"嘉莉问道，她以为街道两旁的那些五层楼不是住家的地方。
“到处都是，”赫斯渥说，他对这个城市相当熟悉。“纽约没有草坪。这些都是住宅。”“哦，这样的话，我不喜欢这里，”嘉莉说，她已经开始有些自己的主见了。