o Montreal?" he asked.

"Yes, the next sleeper back does."

He would have asked more, but it did not seem wise, so he decided to
inquire at the depot.

The train rolled into the yards, clanging and puffing.

"I think we had better go right on through to Montreal," he said to
Carrie. "I'll see what the connections are when we get off."

He was exceedingly nervous, but did his best to put on a calm exterior.
Carrie only looked at him with large, troubled eyes. She was drifting
mentally, unable to say to herself what to do.

The train stopped and Hurstwood led the way out. He looked warily around
him, pretending to look after Carrie. Seeing nothing that indicated
studied observation, he made his way to the ticket office.

"The next train for Montreal leaves when?" he asked.

"In twenty minutes," said the man.

He bought two tickets and Pullman berths. Then he hastened back to
Carrie.

"We go right out again," he said, scarcely noticing that Carrie looked
tired and weary.

"I wish I was out of all this," she exclaimed gloomily.

"You'll feel better when we reach Montreal," he said.

"I haven't an earthly thing with me," said Carrie; "not even a
handkerchief."

"You can buy all you want as soon as you get there, dearest," he
explained. "You can call in a dressmaker."

Now the crier called the train ready and they got on. Hurstwood breathed
a sigh of relief as it started. There was a short run to the river, and
there they were ferried over. They had barely pulled the train off the
ferry-boat when he settled back with a sigh.

"It won't be so very long now," he said, remembering her in his relief.
"We get there the first thing in the morning."

Carrie scarcely deigned to reply.

"I'll see if there is a dining-car," he added. "I'm hungry."

Chapter XXIX. THE SOLACE OF TRAVEL--THE BOATS OF THE SEA

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
w