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.”