"But for him my path would be easy."

David Lockwin thinks of Tarpion's threat about a claimant. It grows
clear to him that there is a Chicagoan alive who can view his own
cenotaph, his own memorial hospital, his own home--who can proclaim
himself to be the husband, and yet there will be men like Tarpion who
will deny all.

Lockwin's face annoys him. "Why was I such a fool to go without the
proper treatment in that outlandish region! Why was I so anxious to be
disguised?"

Oh, it is all on account of the letters. That busybody of an
administrator and censor has undone all! Better he had never been
born. Why should a doctor neglect his patients to separate husband and
wife? The wise way will be to march to the house at Chicago and take
possession.

"That I will do!" the man at last declares. He is maddened. He cares
nothing for reputation. He cannot bear the thought that Dr. Tarpion,
an old friend, should day by day burn the epistles that evinced so much
scholarship, charity and sympathy. The lover is not poor. No man with
$7,000 in his pocket is poor. He is not driven back to Esther by want,
as it was before. That stings the man to recall it. No, he has means.
But if he were poor, he would work for the dear lady who loved him so
secretly. He gloats over the letter of Esther. It is worn in pieces
now, like so many cards. The train from New York enters the city of
Chicago.

"That is the new David Lockwin Hospital," says a passenger.