He reads the revised scriptures.  To love’s empire has been added the whole realm of charity.  “Love,” says the sacred word, “covereth a multitude of sins.”

“Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

Love has become prudent.  Love has whispered in David Lockwin’s ear that while it might be brave to knock at the door of one’s own home, it would be rash to present one’s self to Esther Lockwin, on Prairie avenue—­Esther Lockwin, worth five millions!

Yet this lover, in order to bear, to believe, to hope and to endure, must enter the charmed circle of her daily life.  He haunts the vicinity, he grows fertile in his plans.  He discovers an admirable method of coming in correspondence with the Prairie avenue mansion.

Dr. Floddin has recently died, and a new proprietor is in possession of the drug store.  It is a matter of a week’s time to install David Lockwin.  It could have been done in a minute, but a week’s time seemed more in order and pleased the seller.  You look in and you see a square stove.  Rising behind it you see a white prescription counter, with bottles of blue copper water at each corner.  Rising still higher behind is a partition.  Peer to the right and you may see a curtain, drawn aside.  A little room contains a bed, an Argand lamp, a table with a small clock, druggist’s books and the revised New Testament.

You may see David Lockwin, almost any day, sitting near and under that curtain; his clothes are strangely of the color of the drapery; his legs are stretched out one ankle over the other; his hands are deep in pockets; his head is far down on his breast.  Or you may see him washing his windows.  He keeps the cleanest windows on lower State street.

In this coigne of vantage it turns out that David Lockwin eventually comes to know the family life at the mansion.  The servants at the Wandrell home have long stood behind the prescription counter while their orders were in course of serving.

The confinement of the business—­the eternal hours of vigil—­these matters feed the hungry love of the husband.

“Without this I should have died,” he vows.  The months go by without event.

Corkey has been the earliest caller.  “Saw your sign,” he says; “recollected the name.  Been in New York all the time?  I say, old man, want a pardner?  I got a clean thousand cases in gold to put in.”

The druggist has difficulty in withstanding Corkey’s offers of capital.  Corkey is struck with the idea of business.  He has taken a strong fancy to Chalmers.  Day by day the two men grow more intimate.

“Thought I’d never see you again, old man.  I suppose I ought to start a saloon, but somehow I hate to do it, now I know some good people.  Bet your life I’m solid over there!”

He points with his thumb toward Prairie avenue.

“I’m a good friend of the richest woman, I guess, there is in the world!” His tongue pops like a champagne cork.  “I don’t like to keep no saloon.”