CHAPTER XXVIII
A PILGRIM, AN OUTLAW: THE SPIRIT DETAINED
The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:
"What's the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?"
"It isn't anything very serious," Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore he was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plans distinctly.
Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.
"Where is he?"
"Way out on the South Side," said Hurstwood. "We'll have to take the train. It's the quickest way."
Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on. The weirdness of the city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.
"How did he hurt himself?" she asked--meaning what was the nature of his injuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.
"I don't know exactly," he said. "They just called me
