She turned slowly toward the audience without seeing. There was
so much simplicity in her movements that she seemed wholly alone.
Then she found a seat by a table, and turned over some books,
devoting a thought to them.

"With no longings for what I may not have," she breathed in
conclusion--and it was almost a sigh--"my existence hidden from
all save two in the wide world, and making my joy out of the joy
of that innocent girl who will soon be his wife."

Hurstwood was sorry when a character, known as Peach Blossom,
interrupted her. He stirred irritably, for he wished her to go
on. He was charmed by the pale face, the lissome figure, draped
in pearl grey, with a coiled string of pearls at the throat.
Carrie had the air of one who was weary and in need of
protection, and, under the fascinating make-believe of the
moment, he rose in feeling until he was ready in spirit to go to
her and ease her out of her misery by adding to his own delight.

In a moment Carrie was alone again, and was saying, with
animation:

"I must return to the city, no matter what dangers may lurk here.
I must go, secretly if I can; openly, if I must."

There was a sound of horses' hoofs outside, and then Ray's voice
saying:
"No, I shall not ride again. Put him up."

He entered, and then began a scene which had as much to do with