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. She does not love him, or she would
have called to him as they passed.

So thinks David Lockwin, for he cannot see himself except as he once was.
People call him Chalmers when they address him, which is not more than
once a day, but it is like the salutation to Judge Wandrell. He does not
call himself "Judge" nor sign himself "Judge." "My dear judge," writes a
friend. "Your friend, H. M. H. Wandrell," answers the same man.

It is easy for David Lockwin to answer to the name of Robert Chalmers.
He has found it totally impossible to become Robert Chalmers in fact. He
is David Lockwin, disinherited--a picture of the prodigal son---but David
Lockwin in every bone and muscle--no one else.