Amid the tinsel and shine of her state walked Carrie, unhappy.  As when Drouet took her, she had thought:  “Now I am lifted into that which is best”; as when Hurstwood seemingly offered her the better way:  “Now am I happy.”  But since the world goes its way past all who will not partake of its folly, she now found herself alone.  Her purse was open to him whose need was greatest.  In her walks on Broadway, she no longer thought of the elegance of the creatures who passed her.  Had they more of that peace and beauty which glimmered afar off, then were they to be envied.

Drouet abandoned his claim and was seen no more.  Of Hurstwood’s death she was not even aware.  A slow, black boat setting out from the pier at Twenty-seventh Street upon its weekly errand bore, with many others, his nameless body to the Potter’s Field.

Thus passed all that was of interest concerning these twain in their relation to her.  Their influence upon her life is explicable alone by the nature of her longings.  Time was when both represented for her all that was most potent in earthly success.  They were the personal representatives of a state most blessed to attain—­the titled ambassadors of comfort and peace, aglow with their credentials.  It is but natural that when the world which they represented no longer allured her, its ambassadors should be discredited.  Even had Hurstwood returned in his original beauty and glory, he could not now have allured her.  She had learned that in his world, as in her own present state, was not happiness.

Sitting alone, she was now an illustration of the devious ways by which one who feels, rather than reasons, may be led in the pursuit of beauty.  Though often disillusioned, she was still waiting for that halcyon day when she would be led forth among dreams become real.  Ames had pointed out a farther step, but on and on beyond that, if accomplished, would lie others for her.  It was forever to be the pursuit of that radiance of delight which tints the distant hilltops of the world.

Oh, Carrie, Carrie!  Oh, blind strivings of the human heart!  Onward onward, it saith, and where beauty leads, there it follows.  Whether it be the tinkle of a lone sheep bell o’er some quiet landscape, or the glimmer of beauty in sylvan places, or the show of soul in some passing eye, the heart knows and makes answer, following.  It is when the feet weary and hope seems vain that the heartaches and the longings arise.  Know, then, that for you is neither surfeit nor content.  In your rocking chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone.  In your rocking chair, by your window, shall you dream such happiness as you may never feel.

*** End of the project gutenberg EBOOK, sister Carrie ***

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