The bitterness of life is yours. But the bitterness of death is mine.

Your husband, who loves you,

DAVID LOCKWIN.


There is a click at the door. The bride hears it not. The documents
fall to the floor. There are photographs of George Harpwood; there are
green seals; there are many attestations.

The bride must raise her eyes now. She sees the star of the officer.
She reads the number--803. Is that from David, too?

Ah, yes, she must turn her head. The bridegroom is gone!

A man enters, in hot haste and intense excitement. Is it the
bridegroom returning?

It is Dr. Tarpion. He seizes her by the hand.

"My dear friend!" he cries. "My dear friend!" he repeats, "I have just
now learned that your husband is still living."

But she does not hear it. She can only look gratefully toward the
administrator, clinging to his hand.

She gazes in a dazed way on the white prescription-booth beyond the
square stove; on the bottles of blue copper-water on each corner.
Higher, the partition rises into view.