Where were the domes and colonnades? Where the cleanness and fairness--where the order and beauty? Where was the noble, great city? Where were the happy people? She tried to tell herself, first, that all these were there, that this was but a chance ugly street the train was going through ... but they went through it for miles, and she caught glimpses of so many other streets that seemed no better! And then she tried to tell herself, that, after all, she must have known it would be something like this. She had seen before, on a small scale, in a small city, decrepit buildings and decrepit people of all ages. Poverty, dirt, and disease.... One city would be like another, only larger.... She must have known. But knowing did not seem to have helped--or perhaps she had never really seen, nor thought it out. She was tired and overstrained; a horror came upon her. She looked through a window into a room hung with a ghastly green, torn, and soiled paper. Men and women were working in it, bent over a long table, working haggardly and fast, the shirts of the men, the bodices of the women, open at the throat. Another window--a wretched, blowsy woman and a young man with a bloated, unwholesome face;--another, and an old, old woman with a crying child, whom she struck;--then mere blank windows or windows with starveling geraniums in broken pots; and beneath and around and everywhere voices and heavy wheels, and the train rushing on upon its trestle high in the air. Something black and cold and hopeless rolled over Hagar's soul. It was as though the train were droning, droning, a melancholy text. "Hagar! What is the matter? You looked as though you were going to faint!" But Hagar wasn't going to faint. She pulled herself together. "No, no! It isn't anything! I was tired, I suppose--" "Mustn't faint in New York," said Captain Maine genially. "You'll get run over if you do."