The boy returns. The man sits on his bed and muses:

"How differently things go in this world! See how easily Lockwin fell into all this luck! See how I have hewn the wood and drawn the water!"

Something of disquiet takes possession of the bride-groom.

"I'm awfully tired of consolatory epistles. I must keep Esther from being a hen. She's dreadfully in earnest."

As the goal is neared, this swift runner grows weary. The David Lockwin Annex never seemed so unpleasant before.

It has taken longer to rearrange his linen and secure a faultless appearance than he would have believed. He hastens to don his overcoat. He smiles as he closes the door of his little bedroom at the hotel. He goes to take the vast Wandrell mansion.

Why is his coachman so careless? After 5 o'clock already. The bridegroom is late! He must bargain with a street jehu. But, pshaw!

where can he find a clean vehicle? He hurries along the pavement.

His own driver, approaches. "I went to the stables to put the last touches on her. Come around to Wabash avenue and see how she shines."

It is not too late after all, and the groom will turn out of a faultless equipage at the very moment. Ladies of experience, like Mrs.

Lockwin, notice all such things.

"In fact," says George Harpwood, "there is no other man in town whom she could marry, even if she loved him. Might as well expect her to marry Corkey. Poor dead Corkey!"

It is pleasant, this riding down Prairie avenue to one's wedding.

"Splendid! Splendid!" cries the ardent soldier of fortune, as the blaze of the Wandrell mansion flashes through the plate-gla.s.s windows, of his carriage. It is the largest private residence in the city.

"Splendid!" he repeats, and leaps out on the curb. A messenger is hurrying away.

"Is that Esther on the portico? What an impulsive woman."

His back is towards the carriage to close the silver-mounted door. He turns.

It must be a mistake! Is he blind? The mansion, which was a moment before ablaze, is now all dark! But the bride still stands under the lamp on the portico, statuesque as Zen.o.bia or Medea. The statue grasps a paper. Like Galatea, she speaks:

"Is that you, George?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: But the bride still stands under the lamp on the portico, statuesque as Zen.o.bia or Medea.]

"I have come, my love. What has happened?"

"Listen!" she commands, and reads by the portico light:

Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30.

ESTHER, MY WIFE AND WIDOW:

It is absolutely necessary that you should come at once to the drug store formerly kept by Dr. Floddin, at 803 State street.

Bring an escort.

This step must be taken in your own interest--certainly not in the interest of your husband.

DAVID LOCKWIN.

"Come!" she says, taking her lover by the hand as a teacher might take a child.

But George Harpwood is not at his wits' end.

"Get into my carriage, Esther," he suggests softly.

"No," she says sternly. "We will walk thither."

The pair go round the corner into a mist made azure by a vast building which is lighted at every window to the seventh story. It rises three blocks away like a storm-cloud over the lake.

It is the David Lockwin Annex. The bride hurries faster than the bridegroom would have her walk. He seizes her arm.

"My dear," he whispers in those accents which seem to have lost their magic power, "it is merely a claimant. I was expecting it, and I'll put him in the penitentiary for it. Do not be alarmed by forgers. It is only a forgery."

CHAPTER V

AT SIX O'CLOCK

Through the mist and the smoke a red and a green light shine out on State street.

The door of the little store is locked. The bride's hand has rattled the latch.

A silver star can be seen in the store. It is an officer in charge of the premises. He hurries to the door.

"Are you Mrs. Lockwin?"

"I am. Let him in, too." The officer has willed to exclude the bridegroom.

"Hadn't he better wait outside?"

"Let him in!"

"Here is a packet addressed to you." The officer hands to the bride a thick letter. "Take this chair, madam."

The bride sits down, her back toward the lights in the window. The bridegroom stands close behind her.

"Be firm, Esther. I'll put him in the penitentiary. I'll put him in the penitentiary!"

The bride opens the packet. Many folded doc.u.ments fall to her lap.

She is quick to spread out the chief letter.

The bridegroom pulls the silk handkerchief off his white shirt-front and wipes his perspiring forehead again and again. He leans over her shoulder to read. The writing is large and distinct: