Oswald is desirous to hear more of the Thames tragedy. At his next call this matter is discussed quite fully.
The failure of Oswald and Alice to return from night row on the Thames; search for them next day; finding of his hat and her handkerchief; comments of London press; persecutions of detectives; persistent impertinence of reporters; trip of Sir Donald and Esther to Paris; sailing of father and daughter for Calcutta; attempts to locate Mrs. Dodge; being shadowed by strangely disguised man, with all pertaining incidents; visits to poor family, and clew thereby obtained; call upon Mrs. Dodge, her statement, and matters culminating in arrest of the three conspirators; queer, unwarranted proceedings of Calcutta officials in detention without warrant, charge, or arraignment of three men, resulting in discharge of the Laniers and continued imprisonmentof William Dodge—all were graphically narrated by Sir Donald.
Oswald asks many questions as to matters that have puzzled his mind while pondering over this tangled web. Some of these are cleared, but many remain unanswered.
What can be the meaning of these arrests? Why were the Laniers discharged and William Dodge detained? Could it be possible that the Laniers procured the arrests, their own being only a blind? Was there collusion between officials and the Laniers? How account for their strange acquiescence in this lawless imprisonment? Had all or any of the three villains confessed? Were the submission of the Laniers to such long, unwarranted custody and their final discharge in accord with an arrangement whereby they had charged William Dodge with murder? Upon what theory did William Dodge submit to continued detention without arraignment?
These and similar questions were discussed by Sir Donald and Oswald, but no satisfactory answers could be given.
Oswald said to Sir Donald: "Perhaps your detective employes effected the arrests upon insufficient evidence, and seeing that there was no possibility of convicting the Laniers, had them released. This possibly might accountfor their part in the farce, but does not throw any light on the Dodge episode."
Sir Donald scouted such theory, replying: "I have unbounded faith in the London bureau, and am fully assured that these arrests were neither planned nor acquiesced in by that office."
After explanations of the reasons for this belief, Oswald felt sure Sir Donald was right.
Esther is now happy. This fascinating suitor of former years, whom she had mourned as dead, is alive and more interesting than ever. His sorrowful experiences and open avowal of all strange conduct encircle that brow with a romantic halo. How Oswald Langdon has suffered! She is sure there is not one blamable act in his whole course of conduct. If Oswald should renew that proposal—well, her ideas have undergone a change. She will reconsider the whole matter, and—do what her—well—perhaps—yes, that is so!
All Oswald's former love for Esther Randolph, intensified by pensive memories and lonely wandering, now pulses anew. He sees in Esther's changed manners most encouraging incentives to his reviving hopes. He believes she now would accept a proposal and become his bride.
There has been a noticeable tendency in her talks toward former associations, with delicately worded hints at changed views, resulting from more mature knowledge.
But there has been a change in Oswald Langdon. The alchemy worked capriciously, but the product has been transmuted. That impetuous, masterful will is less persistent. There is a more refined, discriminating sense of subtle distinctions.
Oswald Langdon will not renew former suit. Not yet may he face the world an unsuspected man. The death of Alice Webster still remains a mystery. Her murderer, escaping farcical arrest, is now at large. The agencies employed to unravel this triple conspiracy seem ineffective. He will not pose as suspected murderer of an innocent girl. Until this mystery is cleared, he will not think of marriage with Esther Randolph. This grand, pure-minded, cultured girl shall not blush as wife of a supposed villain whose hands seem crimson with human blood. He can live and wait and plan and suffer, if need be, to the end of life, a lone wanderer, but no woman shall blush for his reputation.
Oswald feels no sense of present concern for maternal solicitude, but wonders at such marked indifference.
While much pleased at knowledge that Oswald Langdon escaped the murderous assault by Paul Lanier, and fully believing in Oswald's absolute innocence of crime, Sir Donald is alive to the situation. There can be no possible doubt as tothe mutual sentiments of Esther and Oswald. That now these would grow stronger is the inevitable logic of events.
Oswald's supposed death under such mysterious circumstances tends to intensify Esther's memories of the past. That all such tender recollections, augmented by romance of last few days and renewed associations, would be an irresistible magnet between these two dissimilar, yet mutually attracting souls, Sir Donald cannot doubt.
Nor does his mature judgment recoil at the issue. All fatherly intuitions approve of such choice. Every physical, ethical, and domestic consideration favors this union. Under other circumstances, this discreetly indulgent father could tenderly yield his beloved child to such a suitor.
Yet not only shall this union of young hearts be prevented, but association must cease. What explanation can Oswald Langdon offer the world for the disappearance of Alice Webster, or for his own strange conduct? It matters not that Sir Donald and Esther have no doubts of Oswald's honor. Nor will it suffice that this far-seeing, discriminating father approves of Oswald's actions in the whole affair as almost absolute necessities to the ends of justice. The conduct of this unfortunate youth must be testedin a less friendly forum, before a tribunal with penchant toward an exhaustive array of incriminating points.
Sir Donald Randolph cannot permit further association of his daughter with one who may be suspected of criminal act or intrigue. Neither depth of affection nor vital impulse of the heart may control in this network. Esther Randolph may not become the wife of him who is in imminent danger of arraignment as a murderer.
To Esther he said:
"It is now clear to me that Oswald's continued absence from England and India is requisite to the unraveling of that subtly interwoven web. The public still must believe him dead. If they knew of Oswald's flight and after hiding, the Laniers could move about with brazen effrontery. The farcical arrests of these villains, followed by such queer release from imprisonment, may have some reference to such information. Can it be that this strange procedure had its inception in knowledge of his whereabouts, and in a suspicion that the Laniers and William Dodge knew incriminating facts which they theretofore suppressed through motives of discretion or self-interest? Probably the Laniers yielded to pressure, and falsely accused Oswald of murdering Alice Webster. Even now, fate's coils may be closing about his doomed life."
Esther was very pale, but made no reply.
There was to Sir Donald a most decisive leaning toward prompt action in an emergency. About many subjects he ruminated with speculative ease, but dallied little in matters affecting Esther's interests.
At the very time that Oswald fully vowed not to think of marriage with Esther Randolph until after the Laniers had been whipped of justice, Sir Donald was moving toward the hotel where this young man stopped, revolving in his mind how to broach his wishes without offense.
Their conference was short. When Sir Donald was explaining the requisite precautions, Oswald noted his embarrassment, and anticipated all without reference to the central figure. The girl whose image posed before the heart-visions of both was not named during this interview.
The Laniers are elated but puzzled at their release from Calcutta imprisonment. They are haunted with doubt as to the extent of the Dodge confession. That some sort has been made they are sure. Suggestions and statements of actual facts connected with the London suit and Thames homicides had been startling, but there are many missing links in the chain. The elder Lanier readily can see that these omissions may have been through either ignorance or craft. If the former, then Dodge only partly has confessed; if the latter, there is great and imminent peril.
That Sir Donald Randolph had some part in this affair is evident. His and Esther's presence in Calcutta and the search for Mary Dodge are conclusive.
Why is William Dodge still held in custody? Did those who advised the arrests counsel his further detention in hope of more complete confession? Is he held awaiting stronger proofs as to the plot against the property of Alice Webster?Perhaps he is to be tried as principal in that crime, and they are to be arrested later as accessories. If the bodies of Alice and Oswald have not been found, perhaps there are no satisfactory proofs of these murders. William Dodge has no evidence of Paul's guilt, but doubtless suspects the truth. The arraignment of Dodge on the charge of attempted fraud against the London property of Alice would lead to most serious exposures, furnishing dangerous clews to past villainies in this immediate venue.
Hedging against such contingents, Pierre had decided not to return to Bombay. The danger was so great that he gave up thought of sailing with Sir Charles Chesterton. The risk of Dodge revelations through pressing search and inquiries of Sir Donald, then in Calcutta, was so serious as to check all interest Pierre had felt in the prospective match between Paul and the heiress, Agnes Randall.
Determined thoroughly to keep posted as to the progress of Sir Donald's investigations in Calcutta, Pierre had made most plausible excuses to Sir Charles, for not accompanying him back to Bombay to witness the nuptials between Paul and Agnes. The prospect of Paul's marriage with this rich heiress would not compensate for losses which might result from this Randolph inquisition.
There must be decisive action. All scruples shall down before this great danger to Lanier interests. Two more voices must be silenced. Then discovery will be impossible.
Having written to William Dodge at Paris, Pierre had shadowed Sir Donald and Esther and kept track of Mary Dodge until the arrival of his son. Thereafter the two divided this work, awaiting the coming of William Dodge.
Pierre had received word that Dodge would sail and stating as to probable time of his arrival in Calcutta. There had been delays because of storms, but the vessel is sighted, and both Laniers hurry to the Dodge cabin. There is time to escort this credulous wife to the place where they will soon bring her long-absent husband. All details have been arranged with care. Action will be promptly decisive. As the Thames hushed voices, so shall here be forever stilled tell-tale murmurs of these menace tones.
What trifles thwart mature plans!
There could be no doubt of Mary Dodge's consent. This fond wife, who hitherto unmurmuringly had complied with all hard details of concealment, submitting without complaint to scant supplies, given and accepted as gratuitous alms, waiting and longing for her husband's safe return, surely would obey all instructions, moving with alacrity to lure and death.
But strong motives may run counter. That holy instinct which has all authority of original implanting asserts its high-born function. Little Nellie is too sick to be left alone; William Dodge can wait; Pierre Lanier may frown; Paul may look darkly fierce; Mary Dodge may tremble; but she will not leave that helpless invalid whatever betides.
It recks little how anciently or from what rudimentary beginnings this peerless impulse dates its growth; whether spontaneous breath of divine instillment, or evolved through cycles of the eternal past, such has sanction and warrant of the Infinite.
Thwarted here, Lanier craft resorts to most plausible shift. Suspecting that possibly this timid woman hesitates to go with them, at such late hour, to a strange place, there to await the uncertain coming of her husband, they devise other plans to obviate this objection, finally deciding upon the one resulting in the arrests.
William Dodge had received Pierre Lanier's letter sent to Paris. While convalescent at the hospital this reached him, addressed to his alias, and caused such sudden removal, without leaving of any explanation for Sir Donald or Esther Randolph. Having sent a nurse for his mail, he received the invitation to return. Pierre Lanier had written him that things looked better, butstill were a little shaky. By using proper precaution, all would turn out favorably. He need not write Mary, as she and the children were well. By promptly returning, he could see his wife and children. There were good reasons for Mary's failure to answer his letters. All would be explained on his arrival in Calcutta. Affairs soon would shape so that he could pay the whole balance yet due. As some precautions were wise, it would be advisable for Dodge to dress as at London, sail under his past alias, and wait at Calcutta landing until Pierre met him and gave instructions. An answer was requested, stating when and how Dodge would make the return trip.
This was the gist of the Lanier letter as deciphered by William Dodge, though Pierre so thoroughly had hedged against possible miscarriage as to render intelligent interpretation impossible, except to one in possession of Dodge's sources of information.
Being able to move about the ward, though still weak, William Dodge is electrified. Without delay he sends the same nurse to order a cab, soon after quits the hospital, going to a new lodging-house in a suburb of Paris. Here he has a relapse, lasting many weeks, but slowly recovers. He then starts for Calcutta, previously having written to Pierre Lanier, addressed to thedesignated alias, giving guarded details of proposed trip. There have been unavoidable delays, rough seas, numerous squalls, and much impatient chafing, but passengers reach Calcutta.
At the landing, Pierre Lanier, in old familiar disguise, pulls Dodge's arm, and upon recognition, giving former signal to follow at discreet distance, moves quickly. For some distance trailing, Dodge sees Pierre enter a closed vehicle, beckoning him to follow. After an extended drive, they stop in a sparsely settled suburb of the city. Pierre alights, followed by Dodge, with Paul in the rear. No other driver being in sight, Dodge thinks that Paul has performed this service. To all attempts at discussion of the situation, during the ride, Pierre insists on absolute silence.
When inside of the old house, the three seated on a bench at a small table, before a tallow candle, the one window blinded, and the door securely fastened, Pierre Lanier explains why such secrecy has been employed.
"Sir Donald Randolph had arrived in Calcutta and made inquiries for the Dodge family. Months before it had become necessary for Mary Dodge not to write, as I could neither remain in Bombay nor trust the forwarding of letters to any other person. Detectives employed by Sir Donald kept strict watch of the mails. Itwas in compliance with my instructions that Mary moved, ceased writing, and since remained in seclusion. I and Paul saw her to-day, and she knows of your expected arrival. We arranged this place of meeting. You must stay here until further plans for the safety of all can be devised. To-night we will again see Mary, and have her call to-morrow at two o'clock in the afternoon, when you both can talk it all over. It is hoped that matters will so clear up as to necessitate but very brief longer disguise or concealment."
Nothing was said about the recent death of little Benny Dodge, nor was Nellie's sickness mentioned. To all Dodge's questions concerning his family, ingenious replies were made.
Food and cots had been provided. Pierre and Paul soon left to acquaint Mary Dodge with her husband's arrival and to arrange for the morrow's meeting, promising a speedy return. About midnight they came back and reported. Pierre remained only a short time, but Paul stayed until morning, when he left, with caution that William Dodge be sure to keep concealed until the afternoon's meeting.
By a rear entrance both Laniers passed to their hiding-place in the basement, under the trapdoor. Soon followed the strange procedure resulting in the release of these two murderousvillains, while their intended victim, who had confessed, still remains unarraigned behind prison bars.
Such cumulative perversities of fate bewilder the Laniers. They daily become more perplexed.
Paul's recital of events at Bombay, preceding his departure for Calcutta, alarmed and mystified his father, who could suggest no plausible theory for such ghostly groupings.
It is now sure that the Laniers dare not risk further attempt at removal of either William or Mary Dodge. They would be suspected. It will be dangerous longer to remain in Calcutta, with the Dodges liable at any time to make more startling confessions. There is fear that both Laniers still are shadowed and may be arrested for one or more offenses. Strange that no charge was preferred against them for their murderous assaults on William and Mary Dodge. There could be no doubt in this case, and the proofs would be overwhelming.
To Pierre Lanier's crafty, well-informed intelligence this phase is most alarming. While much relieved by failure of the authorities to press this charge, he feels convinced that such official laches were prompted by overpowering motives, boding more serious dangers. Large moneyed interests or the running down of capitaloffenders, must be the ends justifying such laxity of official zeal.
There is a strong impulse toward immediate flight, restrained through fear that their every act is being watched.
Each day the mazes of this labyrinth grow more puzzling.
While Pierre and Paul feel the tentacles of this octopus contracting around their guilty souls, the persons and agencies which they doubt not are tightening these irresistible coils, foiled, perplexed, and chagrined, have no well-defined ideas upon the subject.
Neither Sir Donald Randolph nor the London detective agency ever aided, abetted, or advised this strange proceeding, nor did those employed by Sir Donald to ferret out Lanier crimes know aught concerning any part of such proposed move, except that he had interfered to save the lives of William and Mary Dodge.
To all Sir Donald's inquiries the head of Calcutta police gave no other answer than, "You just wait awhile."
In fear of they knew not just what, the Laniers fled from Calcutta, toward no fixed destination, desperately resolved never again to be taken alive.
Sir Donald Randolph so forcibly had stated the reasons why Oswald Langdon should leave Calcutta, that this positive young man could not procrastinate. He felt that dispatch was duty, and delay criminal. His movements since return from Himalaya camp had been indiscreet, tending toward the defeat of justice. He soliloquizes:
"It seems a miraculous intervention which has prevented my recognition by Pierre and Paul Lanier. How fortunate the meeting with Sir Donald and Esther! That I ever responded to their questioning looks resulted from Karl Ludwig's pause, and was contrary to most emphatic resolve, never to make myself known to either of these friends, until those causing my troubles are brought to strict account. What other course than that thus impulsively pursued, could have prevented my being finally discovered by these crafty wretches, who would not scruple at any villainous scheme to further self-interest. Esther and Sir Donald fully believe in my innocence,approving of all conduct since that fateful flight from bank of the Thames. Thus strangely I have been advised of every fact known by these friends about this tragedy. My trip to the Himalayas and all incidents of the past two years were providential. How else possibly could I have met Karl Ludwig, whose pause and look caused those mutual recognitions?"
Every detail in Oswald's experiences, from the moment his body pitched over the bank into Thames current, to present consciousness, passes in vivid review. Each seems ordered by an overruling, kindly care. This luminous retrospect widens, until it rests like benediction upon all life's past, casting forward halo encircling the Beyond.
Wistfully gazing toward that tender radiance-location, Oswald is swiftly borne by a small sail, to where an ocean steamer is anchored. Boarding the ship, he is assigned to a room. At an early morning hour, the vessel weighs anchor.
Oswald sees no rational prospect of cleared future destiny, but feels strangely acquiescent in Fate's opening seals.
Hurrying along a narrow street, are three men, two abreast, and one following apparently unconcerned, but closely watching each movement. Turning into a dark alley, the pair disappear down a rickety stairway. Their "shadow" passes across to a small one-story cabin, with single-light window, commanding a view of that cellar entrance.
Pierre and Paul Lanier, newly disguised, again are in London. Since their departure from Calcutta, these villains had wandered, making brief stays at various points, always disguised, never without haunting fears. Different aliases had been assumed, each new departure having been most adroitly maneuvered. It seems impossible that such crafty covering of their doubling trails can baffle pursuit, yet each shrewd move sharpens apprehension by suggestions of new dangers. This growing bewilderment and stress of fear had kept them moving in uncertain rounds, varied by occasional abrupt tangents, until within zone of most heinous crimes, whendrawn by that gravity existent between the criminal and the venue of his offense, both had landed in London, fearful for the future, without any decisive purposes or settled convictions as to their lines of action.
Sir Donald and Esther were absent from England, but Pierre learned that they had sailed from Calcutta months before. William Dodge had been released from prison, going somewhere unknown to either Lanier. That this formerly subservient assistant in crime is now a foe, they cannot doubt. The desperate, treacherous assault upon husband and wife in Calcutta ended all hope of further coöperation between them and their would-be murderers. Just what line of investigation is being pressed they only can conjecture. Further scheming to silence any of their pursuers would not do.
It is sure that there has been no discovery of either Thames victim. This tragedy is only a reminiscence in London, but that horrible Bombay tableau and the mysterious disappearance of Agnes Randall can neither be forgotten nor explained.
Both Laniers are most intensely superstitious and fearful of intangible attack. However, there is a more or less fixed resolve to abate no strictness of disguises, while keeping advised of London happenings, prepared for any desperate emergency.
Pierre never leaves the city, but Paul, thoroughly disguised, makes occasional visits in the vicinity of Northfield.
Neither Sir Donald nor Esther has returned. By guarded questions Paul learns nothing as to their present whereabouts.
That lake exerts a strange fascination upon Paul's fancy. Extended strolls along the Thames are frequent. Hours are spent near that rustic seat. Often bending over the bank, Paul peers up and down and across the river. Sometimes he rows for miles, carefully examining each projecting branch or shrub, furtively watching all intruders upon his strange search. This occupation grows more absorbing. Moonlight strolls and boat-rides are frequent. Paul insists on night shifts, and that his father then shall remain at their room.
Pierre knows nothing of this growing infatuation. While noticing Paul's reticence and abstraction, Pierre attributes these to the perplexities of their situation. To his father's questions about night happenings Paul becomes irresponsive, and when pressed, fiercely petulant. Pierre is much suprised at this, but is gravely patient, hoping for tractable, less capricious moods. There are occasional bursts of penitence, followed by more irresponsive, resentful silences and replies.
Pierre becomes alarmed, fearing that Paul will bring on some crisis, through these strained tempers. Refraining from further questioning, the father humors his son's strange moods, determined to keep him under careful watch. Pierre will follow Paul and note any indiscreet habits, that there may be no serious mistakes at this stage. It will not do to chide this now perverse boy, who has been so habitually and fearfully filial in the past.
Pierre begins to feel a presentiment of some ominous crisis, wherein Paul may fail him.
In degree and perverted sense Pierre Lanier loved his only son. Many dark schemes had been suggested and pressed to success, prompted by mixed motives of personal acquisition and fatherly providence. This man is not a villain from mere criminal impulse. His tastes have an elegant bent. Relentless tenacity, overpowering avarice, and dissembling craft are his cardinal traits. To these all æsthetic impulses and higher sentiments must minister.
While cruelly conscienceless in pursuit of desired ends, Pierre Lanier, unlike Paul, never permitted passion to interfere with matured or maturing plans.
Having much of his father's fastidious taste, persistent tenacity, and crafty avarice, Paul is deficient in this cold-tempered power of self-control.
Pierre is aware of this weakness. Many fatherly precepts to correct such passionate tendency had been uttered. However, this deliberate, cold-blooded man had found his son's hasty temper of service, and in emergency did not hesitate to fan its slumbering fires.
During recent years many crafty lessons had been taught and learned. From the time when Paul began to press his attentions upon Alice Webster, to present disguised straits in London suburb, this teacher and pupil had been seldom long apart. Practical demonstrations had convinced Pierre that his son was very apt.
Paul has been more reticent and absorbed; he eats little; trifles annoy him; his father's presence is offense; at Pierre's curious look or speech Paul frowns or is pertly insolent. Suddenly starting, aimlessly pausing, fiercely scowling, vacantly staring, he is again seated. Passing hatless and partially disguised up the rickety cellar stairs, he turns upon his father, resentment gleaming from those glowing black eyes, then weak and nerveless submits to restraint, abjectly penitent, mutely concurring in paternal rebuke.
Pierre finds it necessary to remain indoors when Paul is at their room. That his son is averse to this the father plainly sees. Yet such displeasure is strangely vague. There is no spoken protest.
Paul twitches uneasily, glancing suddenly and often at his watch. Asked as to the time, he looks into vacancy, again consults his watch, starts up, moves about, sits down, makes no reply, the neck relaxes, and the whole body droops in apparent collapse.
Pierre resolves that during this strange indisposition Paul must not go out alone. Such conduct would attract notice. Paul might bring on notoriety by some fierce, resentful act. It is certain that such suggestion will anger him, but there is no remedy.
After humoring Paul's every whim and doing many little positive kindnesses, Pierre, in most persuasive tones, begs as a special favor that they change shifts for once.
"I will watch to-night, while you get some sleep."
The young man springs up, glowers at his father, scowls, and then smiles consent.
From now until the hour for Pierre's new shift Paul is most dutifully considerate, frequently gratefully commenting upon his father's kindnesses. He insists upon preparing their evening meal, and cooks some savory dishes, which he smilingly serves. With filial solicitude, Paul counsels his father to avoid river fogs and malarial vapors.
"At this damp season it is better to stay away from the Thames."
Pierre is much pleased at this changed temper, and smiles his great appreciation. Promising to return before it is late, Pierre leaves, both uttering soft-toned good-bys.
After a long absence, Sir Donald and Esther are back at Northfield. Many parts of Europe and the Orient were visited. Father and daughter saw much of interest. Their stops had been sufficiently prolonged for comfort and intelligent impression.
Though in regular communication with the London office, Sir Donald knows nothing about the present location of either Lanier.
That William Dodge disappeared from Calcutta seems certain. After the death of Nellie this unfortunate man was released. News of her illness and of his boy's death at length reached Dodge through the doctor. All attempts of Mary Dodge to hear from her husband while he was in prison were unavailing. Little Nellie's appeals to see "papa" had failed.
Under patrol of verbal promise the prisoner was permitted to attend the burial. He returned according to pledge. In about ten days thereafter he was released. The family soon moved, and there is no clew to present whereabouts.
Neither Sir Donald nor Esther heard anything from Oswald Langdon. Since Oswald's departure from Calcutta, Sir Donald anxiously had waited for notice of clew to Lanier guilt. He believed London agents honestly were seeking more decisive results, but there was little immediate or remote prospect of success. At the last Calcutta conference, Sir Donald promised Oswald to spare no zeal in bringing these villains to swift accounting.
Convinced that absence from England and India was essential to success of plans then in operation, Oswald hesitated not, but promptly sailed.
It was agreed between them that any decisive act or clew should be communicated by letter to Paris, thence forwarded to whatever point they should direct. Sir Donald's letters would be directed to an agreed alias. Both would use guarded terms, but to them intelligible. There would be no letter from Sir Donald except "upon some important development." Should Oswald stop long at any point, he was to write, that unnecessary delay might be avoided.
They had decided that any attempt of Oswald at ferreting out these crimes would be dangerous. Such action might hamper the London bureau and hasten a crisis exculpating the Laniers.
Sir Donald had told Esther the cause ofOswald's sudden departure. She was saddened, but made no protest. That the innocent should suffer such unjust banishment shocked Esther's ideas of right providence. Why were such straits permitted?
Esther begins to see that the world groans beneath weight of unmerited burdens. Under fairest skies gleam sacrificial blades. Balmiest airs minister to altar-fires. Bird-carols and zephyr-murmurs are but medley variations to minor chords of vicarious pain.
Esther now has occasional convictions that some wrongs may continue indefinitely. Can it be that transient evil is lasting good? Are there more clamorous voices than those of physical need? Shall the less ravenous, yet infinitely more real, soul-hunger wait on alms and ambulance?
That such moods of questioning thought bear intimate reference to Oswald's hard fate no way lessens their deep sincerity. Heart queries are wonderfully profound.
No word of complaint escapes Esther's lips, nor does she doubt the wisdom of their proposed course. Deeply solicitous for Oswald's vindication, this loyally sympathetic girl would hesitate at no personal sacrifice in his behalf. It is hard that she can do nothing to help him.
Aware of her father's interest in her everywish and aspiration, Esther refrains from any suggestion which may cause additional care.
Sir Donald's observing vision notes each emotional clew. Many unspoken queries find vocal reply. Delicate points are cleared by suggestive indirection. Neither completely yields to profitless conjecture. They magnetize Northfield.
One bright day Sir Donald and Esther take a stroll about the familiar grounds. The air is laden with perfume of flowers. Both are charmed with exquisite plant and foliage shades. Many exclamatory comments are uttered by the enthusiastic daughter, more gravely confirmed by her gently reserved father. They quit the mansion grounds for a stroll along the wood-fringed lake. Past the family graves, where a pensive hour is spent, they walk to where a small sail is locked fast by the pebbly shore. Sir Donald fails to loosen the fastening. Farther down is a rowboat, in which they start out on the lake.
Moving along with the breeze, both yield to meditation. Former tragic happenings upon this peaceful lake come to mind. Each ripple is tremulous with saddened retrospect. Every voice of wind and branch is keyed to minor utterance. These, with monotonous swish of slow waves, blending with notes of leaf-hid birds, seem miserere and requiem.
At this projecting shrub, bright-eyed, sweet-voiced,vivacious, loving, impulsive Alice Webster had been rescued by Oswald Langdon; yonder is the wooded point toward which Paul Lanier was sailing when, maddened by her frightened resistance and stinging protests, he roughly pushed Alice overboard. Here is the bank upon which the body again became instinct with life's returning pulses.
Such panorama, with varying lines of sorrowful perspective, passed before Sir Donald's and Esther's view. Each colored the pathetic pictures with like yet different hues, from peculiar tints of inner consciousness.
Sir Donald is struck by singular grouping of assault, projecting shrub, knotted tie, Oswald's sail and opportune rescue; Esther's memory reverts to that eloquent avowal beyond the distant ravine. Some misgivings as to her own conduct on that occasion are now felt. There is an accusing sense of vague responsibility for after tragic happenings. That true penitence often means restitution is a cardinal tenet in Esther's creed. This is now most soothing conscience specific.
If Esther wrongfully withheld from that earnest, masterful, persuasive suitor his just dues, she now feels such ethical qualms as to prompt payment with usury.
Moving with the breeze, the boat is nearingthe point where Esther, Alice Webster, and Oswald Langdon were seated when Paul Lanier listened to that proposed London trip made necessary by the suit of William Dodge.
Soon are heard tones of impassioned declamation. With unearthly unction the voice repeats those dream-lines so dramatically uttered in hearing of Paul Lanier at Bombay.
Again and again come the words, "Fierce avenging sprite," "till blood for blood atones," "buried from my sight," "and trodden down with stones." Then follow loud, hollow, unnatural guffaws, succeeded by, "And years have rotted off his flesh." There are muttered curses, a blood-curdling, demoniacal yell, then in solemn, guttural tones, "The world shall see his bones."
These disconnected yet coherent utterances cease. Soon are heard retreating footsteps.
Profoundly moved, Sir Donald turns the boat and vigorously rows back to the shore. Both are glad to reach land, and rapidly walk homeward. Neither is superstitious, but such ghostly utterances, with all drapings of time and place, weirdly tinted by so pensive, reminiscent sentiments, rouse dormant fancies. Each feels a mystic sense of some impending crisis.
From Calcutta Oswald sails without definite destination. The ship's prospective course is unknown. This "tramp" steamer has an oddly assorted cargo. Her officers and crew are a motley mixture of different nationalities. Cabin and steerage passengers hail from many parts of earth.
Oswald learns that there is little prospect of touching at any Indian or English port. The trip will be of uncertain duration, lasting many months, possibly more than a year.
The first day's sail is characteristic. There are fair skies, balmy breezes, smooth seas, followed by clouds, squalls, churning waves, and tempest.
In noisiest turbulence of typhoon wrath this reserved Englishman sways and tosses with the ship's motion, raptly listening to low-pitched, soft-keyed voice rising above the storm.
What is ocean's tumult to this long-range undertone?
Outriding storm fury, the steamer for neededrepairs anchors off Indian shore, whence she continues her eccentric course.
Long days, late into the night, are passed by Oswald sitting on and walking the decks. This homeless wanderer on havenless seas recks little of log-book or transit. Unlike sure-winged passage-bird, he knows not his journey's issue. So perverse have been fate's courses that this high-strung, assertive mariner hesitates to direct life's drifting argosy. There are looks of indecision, tense resolve, and helpless perplexity. Eagerly scanning the arched blue, he notes stellar assurance. Hushed as by cradle-song, every harassing emotion subsides.
Some odd, inquisitive conceits grow out of these moods. Gazing from steamer deck into lighted canopy he soliloquizes: "What vigils are those old guards commissioned to keep over this sail? Even if cares of universe now absorb divine solicitude, has there not been, in long ages of the eternal past, ample time to assign watchers over a few afloat on ocean's fickle domain? May not that kindly indulgent Sense, missing no carrion note of clamorous raven-cry, quicken at stress of higher life-forms pulsing with infinite longings of a human soul?"
This peculiar personality seems to reach convictions by more direct processes than others. Meandering courses of intricate reasonings arenot to his liking—that divinely intuitive, far-seeing, inner-focalized ray shoots straight as plummet and far as God.
Oswald observes many interesting occurrences aboard the steamer. With perceptive craft he scans faces and notes special traits of fellow-passengers. Neither back nor profile view long can dissemble. By some sorting sense he segregates those few whom his judgment commends to more than casual notice. These are so watched as not to be aware.
These entries occur in his diary:
"We have been out many weeks. One clear-cut, expressive face rivets my view. This stranger appears to be about my age. He is tall, straight, and well-proportioned. I find nothing to correct. Called upon for a manly model to be produced instanter, I unhesitatingly would point at this interesting unknown. There is something in facial lights and shades like and unlike indistinct pictures whose outlines are familiar.
"This enigma is utterly unconscious of such close observation. Though within ten feet, he has not noticed me reclining in a steamer-chair on deck. The stranger sits down on a bench along the outer railing. Soon a middle-aged man joins him, and the two engage in conversation. Their talk is plainly audible. Theymake pleasant comments, evincing much general information and discriminating intelligence.
"The older man is in poor health, but is hectically cheerful. There is that pathetically wearied look of one engaged in unequal contest with the insinuating, elusive, relentless microbe.
"Hopefully seeking to loosen the slowly contracting hold of this persistent 'strangler,' the sick man has traveled in strange lands and over many waters.
"The other has seen much of interest, and feels hopeful aspirations of young manhood. Many clear-cut, positive views are expressed in courteous, deferential manner, but in no uncertain or ambiguous phrase.
"Over the invalid's face pass pleased, softened shades at some uniquely stated, positive opinions. Such are characteristic. Maturing thought produces milder tints, but truer perspective.
"My sympathies go out to this sick passenger. I long to speak and act kindly. Forgetting personal stress, I am touched at thought of fellow-helplessness. Yet there must be no sentimental indiscretions. To converse with either would invite questioning. Direct answers might be unsafe. Evasive replies would excite suspicion.
"I now little fear any personal results offate's perversities. From hunted sense of unmerited outlawry I have passed to that of 'ermine' function. Aware that my discreet silences and acts may conserve the ends of justice, I will do nothing in contempt of such high ministry.
"In times of more than wonted assurance I would not accept complete vindication. There must be exact justice meted for an outraged law. Father can await his boy's final clearance from guilty suspicions in patient abeyance to public weal. Mother will approve—her high sense of duty must—so unselfish were her plans—yes, it will be all right with Mother!"
Strangely affected, Oswald looks upward, intensely curious at lowering clouds obscuring the sky. Then follows a sense of unutterable loneliness and bewilderment. Soon a softened radiance steals through the storm blackness. There is suggestion of mild reproof in that image reflection. With reverent, submissive mien Oswald quits the deck.
The diary thus continues:
"Weeks are spent at sea without stop. Only at long intervals does the sick man leave his room. Each appearance shows greater weakness, but no lack of cheerful emotion. The intellectual sense seems to quicken, as if through transparent fleshly gauze that expectant soul layopen to 'prick of light.' There cannot be much longer prolonging of the unequal contest. To sympathetic interest he is so considerately thankful that it is doubtful who is the comforter. Still 'raptured with the world,' he surveys life's receding shores, as if booked for its more luminous, harmonious antitype.
"The younger traveler is all attention, anticipating every want. His kindnesses, delicately unobtrusive, yet frank and hearty, leave no reactive friction.
"I am charmed with such refined tact. Discreet scruples would be set aside but for sure conviction that no want of the invalid is unobserved or slighted.
"One day neither passenger appears on deck. This excites no comment. For over a week I catch only brief views of the younger man. It is then casually remarked:
"'The consumptive is dead.'
"I learn where the body lies, and that on the following day there is to be a burial at sea. I am admitted to the room where stretches mortal remnant of once complex, interwoven humanity.
"Odd fancies flit across my visual camera. Does that enfranchised soul look down from far observatory height at wave-rocked ship like mature manhood on baby rock-a-by? Fanned by soothing breezes of emerald-hued sea, doesthis glad convalescent meander at will along either tree-fringed shore, with happy child-impulsiveness gathering bouquets of that foliage which is for the 'healing of the nations'?
"Little need for further globe-trotting in case of this once observing traveler, who now—