g. Once
more the eminent man who is dead seizes the maddened lover who is living
and prevents a disaster.

Love this house as he may, therefore, David Lockwin must avoid it until
he can control himself. It is true his books are in there, his
manuscripts, his chronicles, "Josephus," and a thousand things without
which he cannot lay hold on the true dignity of life. It is true he is
slipping down the declivity that invites the easy descent of the obscure
and powerless citizen. If he have true hope--and what lover has it
not--he must hurry away. He is not safe in Chicago just at present,
because the abstraction of a lover, joined with the self-forgetfulness of
a man in the second life, will assuredly lead him to ruin.

His eyes leave that house with utter regret. He makes the long ride to
Davy's tomb and finds it covered with fresh flowers. The tenderest of
care is visible. The lawn is perfect--not a leaf of plantain, not a
spear of dandelion. Money will not produce such stewardship of the
sepulcher. It is Esther's own devotion.

He goes to the site of the cenotaph. Is it not a difficulty for a lover?
Yet love sustains him. His invention suggests method after method by
which he may undo the past.

He visits the foundations of the David Lockwin Annex. He notes the
character of the materials that are strewn over three streets. His love
for Esther only increases.

Thence to the Art Institute he hastens. They said it was a poor likeness
of Lockwin. He vows it is good. It is good because Esther has done it!

He has seen all--all but Esther. He starts blindly for Esther's house
once more. As he walks rapidly southward, his own team comes up the
avenue. It is Esther within the carriage. She looks at a man in gray
business dress, with colored nose and a drunkard's complexion. She notes
the large watch-chain. She finds him no different from all other living
men. She is looking for David. "Come back, my noble husband," she sobs,
"come back from the grave, or let me join you."

A moment afterward she fears she may die before her work shall be done.
That was a sharp sting at her heart just then.

David Lockwin is frozen with that cold look. The carriage is past. He
was on his way to Esther's to tell her all. If he had not risen out of
his abstraction ere it should be too late, he would have confronted this
cold lady--this mature builder of cenotaph and hospital.

He is terrified--a lover's panic.