midnight
Hour after hour she sat motionless beside the car-window , quiet , pale , dark eyes remote ; trees , houses , trains , telegraph-poles streamed past in one gray , unending blur ; rain which at first had only streaked the grimy window-glass with cinders , became sleet , then snow , clotting the dripping panes . At last , far away under a heavy sky , the vast misshapen landmarks of New York loomed up gray through the falling snow ; the train roared over the Harlem , halted at 125th Street , rolled on into the black tunnel , faster , faster , slower , then more slowly , and stopped . All sounds ceased at the same moment ; silence surrounded her , dreary as the ominous silence within . Dunn met her with a brougham ; Fifth Avenue was slippery with filthy , melting slush ; yet , somehow , into her mind came the memory of her return from her first opera -- the white avenue at midnight , the carriage , lamps lighted , speeding through the driving snow . Yesterday , the quiet , untainted whiteness of childhood ; to-day , trouble and stress and stained snow melting into mud -- so far behind her lay innocence and peace on the long road she had travelled ! So far had she already journeyed -- toward what ? She pressed her lips more tightly together and buried her chin in her sable muff .