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Among the forces which sweep and play throughout the universe, untutoredman is but a wisp in the wind. Our civilisation is still in a middlestage, scarcely beast, in that it is no longer wholly guided byinstinct; scarcely human, in that it is not yet wholly guided by reason.On the tiger no responsibility rests. We see him aligned by nature withthe forces of life--he is born into their keeping and without thought heis protected. We see man far removed from the lairs of the jungles, hisinnate instincts dulled by too near an approach to free-will, hisfree-will not sufficiently developed to replace his instincts and affordhim perfect guidance. He is becoming too wise to hearken always toinstincts and desires; he is still too weak to always prevail againstthem. As a beast, the forces of life aligned him with them; as a man, hehas not yet wholly learned to align himself with the forces. In thisintermediate stage he wavers--neither drawn in harmony with nature byhis instincts nor yet wisely putting himself into harmony by his ownfree-will. He is even as a wisp in the wind, moved by every breath ofpassion, acting now by his will and now by his instincts, erring withone, only to retrieve by the other, falling by one, only to rise by theother--a creature of incalculable variability. We have the consolationof knowing that evolution is ever in action, that the ideal is a lightthat cannot fail. He will not forever balance thus between good andevil. When this jangle of free-will and instinct shall have beenadjusted, when perfect understanding has given the former the power toreplace the latter entirely, man will no longer vary. The needle ofunderstanding will yet point steadfast and unwavering to the distantpole of truth.

In Carrie--as in how many of our worldlings do they not?--instinct andreason, desire and understanding, were at war for the mastery. Shefollowed whither her craving led. She was as yet more drawn than shedrew.

When Minnie found the note next morning, after a night of mingled wonderand anxiety, which was not exactly touched by yearning, sorrow, or love,she exclaimed: "Well, what do you think of that?"

"What?" said Hanson.

"Sister Carrie has gone to live somewhere else."

Hanson jumped out of bed with more celerity than he usually displayedand looked at the note. The only indication of his thoughts came in theform of a little clicking sound made by his tongue; the sound somepeople make when they wish to urge on a horse.

"Where do you suppose she's gone to?" said Minnie, thoroughly aroused.

"I don't know," a touch of cynicism lighting his eye. "Now she has goneand done it."

Minnie moved her head in a puzzled way.

"Oh, oh," she said, "she doesn't know what she has done."

"Well," said Hanson, after a while, sticking his hands out before him,"what can you do?"

Minnie's womanly nature was higher than this. She figured thepossibilities in such cases.

"Oh," she said at last, "poor Sister Carrie!"

At the time of this particular conversation, which occurred at 5 A. M.,that little soldier of fortune was sleeping a rather troubled sleep inher new room, alone.

Carrie's new state was remarkable in that she saw possibilities in it.She was no sensualist, longing to drowse sleepily in the lap of luxury.She turned about, troubled by her daring, glad of her release, wonderingwhether she would get something to do, wondering what Drouet would do.That worthy had his future fixed for him beyond a peradventure. He couldnot help what he was going to do. He could not see clearly enough towish to do differently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the oldpursuing part. He would need to delight himself with Carrie as surely ashe would need to eat his heavy breakfast. He might suffer the leastrudimentary twinge of conscience in whatever he did, and in just so farhe was evil and sinning. But whatever twinges of conscience he mighthave would be rudimentary, you may be sure.

The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in her chamber. Hewas the same jolly, enlivening soul.

"Aw," he said, "what are you looking so blue about? Come on out tobreakfast. You want to get your other clothes to-day."

Carrie looked at him with the hue of shifting thought in her large eyes.

"I wish I could get something to do," she said.

"You'll get that all right," said Drouet. "What's the use worrying rightnow? Get yourself fixed up. See the city. I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't," she remarked, half truthfully.

"Got on the new shoes, haven't you? Stick 'em out. George, they lookfine. Put on your jacket."

Carrie obeyed.

"Say, that fits like a T, don't it?" he remarked, feeling the set of itat the waist and eyeing it from a few paces with real pleasure. "Whatyou need now is a new skirt. Let's go to breakfast."

Carrie put on her hat.

"Where are the gloves?" he inquired.

"Here," she said, taking them out of the bureau drawer.

"Now, come on," he said.

Thus the first hour of misgiving was swept away.

It went this way on every occasion. Drouet did not leave her much alone.She had time for some lone wanderings, but mostly he filled her hourswith sight-seeing. At Carson, Pirie's he bought her a nice skirt andshirt waist. With his money she purchased the little necessaries oftoilet, until at last she looked quite another maiden. The mirrorconvinced her of a few things which she had long believed. She waspretty, yes, indeed! How nice her hat set, and weren't her eyes pretty.She caught her little red lip with her teeth and felt her first thrillof power. Drouet was so good.

They went to see "The Mikado" one evening, an opera which washilariously popular at that time. Before going, they made off for theWindsor dining-room, which was in Dearborn Street, a considerabledistance from Carrie's room. It was blowing up cold, and out of herwindow Carrie could see the western sky, still pink with the fadinglight, but steely blue at the top where it met the darkness. A long,thin cloud of pink hung in midair, shaped like some island in a far-offsea. Somehow the swaying of some dead branches of trees across the waybrought back the picture with which she was familiar when she lookedfrom their front window in December days at home.

She paused and wrung her little hands.

"What's the matter?" said Drouet.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, her lip trembling.

He sensed something, and slipped his arm over her shoulder, patting herarm.

"Come on," he said gently, "you're all right."

She turned to slip on her jacket.

"Better wear that boa about your throat to-night."

They walked north on Wabash to Adams Street and then west. The lights inthe stores were already shining out in gushes of golden hue. The arclights were sputtering overhead, and high up were the lighted windows ofthe tall office buildings. The chill wind whipped in and out in gustybreaths. Homeward bound, the six o'clock throng bumped and jostled.Light overcoats were turned up about the ears, hats were pulled down.Little shop-girls went fluttering by in pairs and fours, chattering,laughing. It was a spectacle of warm-blooded humanity.

Suddenly a pair of eyes met Carrie's in recognition. They were lookingout from a group of poorly dressed girls. Their clothes were faded andloose-hanging, their jackets old, their general make-up shabby.

Carrie recognised the glance and the girl. She was one of those whoworked at the machines in the shoe factory. The latter looked, not quitesure, and then turned her head and looked. Carrie felt as if some greattide had rolled between them. The old dress and the old machine cameback. She actually started. Drouet didn't notice until Carrie bumpedinto a pedestrian.

"You must be thinking," he said.

They dined and went to the theatre. That spectacle pleased Carrieimmensely. The colour and grace of it caught her eye. She had vainimaginings about place and power, about far-off lands and magnificentpeople. When it was over, the clatter of coaches and the throng of fineladies made her stare.

"Wait a minute," said Drouet, holding her back in the showy foyer whereladies and gentlemen were moving in a social crush, skirts rustling,lace-covered heads nodding, white teeth showing through parted lips."Let's see."

"Sixty-seven," the coach-caller was saying, his voice lifted in a sortof euphonious cry. "Sixty-seven."

"Isn't it fine?" said Carrie.

"Great," said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show of finery andgayety as she. He pressed her arm warmly. Once she looked up, her eventeeth glistening through her smiling lips, her eyes alight. As they weremoving out he whispered down to her, "You look lovely!" They were rightwhere the coach-caller was swinging open a coach-door and ushering intwo ladies.

"You stick to me and we'll have a coach," laughed Drouet.

Carrie scarcely heard, her head was so full of the swirl of life.

They stopped in at a restaurant for a little after-theatre lunch. Just ashade of a thought of the hour entered Carrie's head, but there was nohousehold law to govern her now. If any habits ever had time to fix uponher, they would have operated here. Habits are peculiar things. Theywill drive the really non-religious mind out of bed to say prayers thatare only a custom and not a devotion. The victim of habit, when he hasneglected the thing which it was his custom to do, feels a littlescratching in the brain, a little irritating something which comes ofbeing out of the rut, and imagines it to be the prick of conscience, thestill, small voice that is urging him ever to righteousness. If thedigression is unusual enough, the drag of habit will be heavy enough tocause the unreasoning victim to return and perform the perfunctorything. "Now, bless me," says such a mind, "I have done my duty," when,as a matter of fact, it has merely done its old, unbreakable trick onceagain.

Carrie had no excellent home principles fixed upon her. If she had, shewould have been more consciously distressed. Now the lunch went off withconsiderable warmth. Under the influence of the varied occurrences, thefine, invisible passion which was emanating from Drouet, the food, thestill unusual luxury, she relaxed and heard with open ears. She wasagain the victim of the city's hypnotic influence.

"Well," said Drouet at last, "we had better be going."

They had been dawdling over the dishes, and their eyes had frequentlymet. Carrie could not help but feel the vibration of force whichfollowed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a way of touching her handin explanation, as if to impress a fact upon her. He touched it now ashe spoke of going.

They arose and went out into the street. The down-town section was nowbare, save for a few whistling strollers, a few _owl_ cars, a few openresorts whose windows were still bright. Out Wabash Avenue theystrolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume of small information. Hehad Carrie's arm in his, and held it closely as he explained. Once in awhile, after some witticism, he would look down, and his eyes would meethers. At last they came to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the firstone, her head now coming even with his own. He took her hand and held itgenially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmly musing.

At about that hour, Minnie was soundly sleeping, after a long evening oftroubled thought. She had her elbow in an awkward position under herside. The muscles so held irritated a few nerves, and now a vague scenefloated in on the drowsy mind. She fancied she and Carrie were somewherebeside an old coal-mine. She could see the tall runway and the heap ofearth and coal cast out. There was a deep pit, into which they werelooking; they could see the curious wet stones far down where the walldisappeared in vague shadows. An old basket, used for descending, washanging there, fastened by a worn rope.

"Let's get in," said Carrie.

"Oh, no," said Minnie.

"Yes, come on," said Carrie.

She began to pull the basket over, and now, in spite of all protest, shehad swung over and was going down.

"Carrie," she called, "Carrie, come back;" but Carrie was far down nowand the shadow had swallowed her completely.

She moved her arm.

Now the mystic scenery merged queerly and the place was by waters shehad never seen. They were upon some board or ground or something thatreached far out, and at the end of this was Carrie. They looked about,and now the thing was sinking, and Minnie heard the low sip of theencroaching water.

"Come on, Carrie," she called, but Carrie was reaching farther out. Sheseemed to recede, and now it was difficult to call to her.

"Carrie," she called, "Carrie," but her own voice sounded far away, andthe strange waters were blurring everything. She came away suffering asthough she had lost something. She was more inexpressibly sad than shehad ever been in life.

It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, those curiousphantoms of the spirit slipping in, blurring strange scenes, one withthe other. The last one made her cry out, for Carrie was slipping awaysomewhere over a rock, and her fingers had let loose and she had seenher falling.

"Minnie! What's the matter? Here, wake up," said Hanson, disturbed, andshaking her by the shoulder.

"Wha--what's the matter?" said Minnie, drowsily.

"Wake up," he said, "and turn over. You're talking in your sleep."

A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's, spruce indress and manner.

"Hello, Charley," said Hurstwood, looking out from his office door.

Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manager at his desk.

"When do you go out on the road again?" he inquired.

"Pretty soon," said Drouet.

"Haven't seen much of you this trip," said Hurstwood.

"Well, I've been busy," said Drouet.

They talked some few minutes on general topics.

"Say," said Drouet, as if struck by a sudden idea, "I want you to comeout some evening."

"Out where?" inquired Hurstwood.

"Out to my house, of course," said Drouet, smiling.

Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smilehovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in his wise way,and then with the demeanour of a gentleman, said: "Certainly; glad to."

"We'll have a nice game of euchre."

"May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?" asked Hurstwood.

"Certainly," said Drouet. "I'll introduce you."