A ROGUE'S HEART AND CONSCIENCE
That evening's meeting was most interesting. Out of consideration for
the feelings of Alice, Charles Randolph was absent until after those
girl friends had exchanged tearful greetings and all embarrassments of
the reunion were past. Sir Donald's and Esther's unfeigned hospitality
eased any possible misgivings or restraints of their guests. Father and
daughter seemed influenced by a glad hope that their future lives would
find congenial association through this renewed confiding. Soon Sir
Donald and Thomas Webster are conferring privately. That conditional
promise is being kept sacred. The pledge is now without scruple. Reasons
for such puzzling reservations are told. In abbreviated summary Sir
Donald relates his own and detective tactics during that long pursuit of
the Laniers.
Both clearly see the strange, romantic threads restraining them within
coercive limits, interdicting helpful alliances while leading all at
divergent angles of cross-purpose.
At a Randolph conference, Sir Donald said:
"I will privately tell the uncle about Oswald Langdon's escape from
Thames drowning and strange after conduct. Of this miracle Alice can
learn through her Uncle Thomas."
Charles Randolph, who had endured with becoming fortitude his voluntary
absence, returns at the exact time limit. He is now formally presented
to the girl whose image fascination so often had intruded upon his
sentimental musings, assuming conspicuous place in ambitious dreams.
Sir Donald and that interesting uncle remain in extended conference, but
their absence leaves little void.
After they joined the circle, all lingered until a late hour. They
separated with mutual understanding that all would plan and act
together.
Sir Donald had not written to Oswald Langdon. He thought it prudent to
wait until after Alice's completed story. There now can be no need of
further delay. This unhappy wanderer must be notified of recent
revelations. After the evening meeting Sir Donald wrote a clear, ringing
letter, in substance stating that Alice Webster was rescued from the
Thames; for good reasons, until recently, concealed her identity; now
lived with a relative in London, and had spent the evening with his
family. Both Laniers were under arrest, and could not escape. There was
no possible necessity for Oswald to remain away longer. Charles
Randolph had returned from a long absence, and Esther was well. Alice
Webster did not yet know of Oswald's being alive, but would hear it
soon. All past troubles were clearing, and the future was hopeful.
Oswald could reach Northfield soon as a letter from New York, but it
would be better to write anyway. The letter closed with cheering words:
"Esther and Charles join me in congratulations, and hope for your speedy
safe return."
This was that delayed epistle which so electrified an interesting
convalescent in hospital ward across the sea.
While at Northfield before the arrests, Sir Donald had received Oswald's
letter from New York announcing arrival and intention to remain until
answer came.
As there then was no very sure prospect of the conspiracy being speedily
cleared, Sir Donald delayed answering until some definite progress could
be reported. When at Calcutta it had been agreed that Sir Donald should
not write "except upon some important development." Oswald seemed to
have forgotten this, as he expected sure reply upon receipt of his
letter by Sir Donald.
Thinking that Oswald might inquire for mail under the agreed alias, Sir
Donald also sent a copy so addressed. Because of Oswald's truthful
response when questioned by the nun, this copy never was delivered.
Sir Donald and his friend now devoted their combined counsels to
securing for Alice her father's estate.
Paul Lanier surely would be officially declared insane. This wretched
victim of parental greed and criminal connivance could only excite most
profound pity. Against this poor crazed creature neither now feels the
least vindictive impulse.
Proper proceedings are instituted, resulting in Paul Lanier being
committed as a madman. Nothing was said about Lanier crimes except
killing of that Northfield sentinel.
In the struggle Paul and the guard had exchanged daggers.
Paul's crazed actions were sufficiently described by witnesses to make
insanity conclusive. There had been such evident reserve as to convince
onlookers of some suppressed evidence through understood, concerted
restraints. Pierre was brought before the tribunal, but declined to
testify. Paul frantically appealed to his father:
"Save your own Paul from these stranglers!"
He then lapsed into reverie, and muttered:
"The world shall see his bones!"
After Paul had been adjudged insane, Pierre sent for Sir Donald Randolph
to visit him in prison.
That proceedings were about to be commenced against him Pierre had no
doubt. Since his arrest a settled conviction that he was now within the
coils of justice had been always present. Paul's hopeless derangement
seemed to unnerve that cold-tempered, persistent will.
Pierre never had planned crime without some reference to the future of
his only son. All heartless scheming and precautions had tended to
unrest, culminating in Paul's dreadful disorder. Possibly justice longer
might be impeded, but its course would be none the less sure and
crushing.
Old religious precepts, forgotten in tense devotion to criminal
purposes, come to mind. Odd sentimental moods occasionally are felt.
Pierre keeps thinking about his own responsibility for Paul's awful
state. In the solitude of his cell, he mutters:
"That inherited taint which, through soothing specific of quiet living,
for two generations lay dormant, now spreads its ravages within Paul's
distracted brain. All this is the work of one who knew of that mental
disorder in maternal line, yet heeding not, nor giving care to its
restraint or healing, has slain his boy's reason through tenacious
holding to the fruits of crime.
"Paul's mother gave her life for his, yet I, his father, who tenderly
reared the motherless babe through early childhood, and proudly looked
upon maturing growth, sacrificed all upon the flameless altar of
consuming greed."
At times Pierre's remorse is horrible. He thinks not of defrauded,
murdered ward. Paul's victims raise no spectral hands of menace. To
Pierre all other crimes shrink aghast at this most heinous incarnation
of a father's guilt. He becomes indifferent to his own life. In
despairing solicitude, he exclaims:
"Only that some relief come to that distracted head I gladly would pay
the penalties of all my crimes!"
This desperate man even beseeches heaven for his son's relief. He prays
not for himself, nor cares for personal deliverance. In all-absorbing
concern for the crazed Paul, he dares appeal to divine compassion,
without thought of self or pardon. Strange infatuation! Pierre grows
hopeful, and feels some queer sense of grateful obligation. He slowly
gropes and stumbles, while tenaciously turning his soul's blind orbs
toward this dimly glimmering yet hopeful ray. Pierre faintly recollects
the account of the "Gadirean" tenant of the tombs.
"Paul's case is not so serious as that, but who will pity my poor crazed
boy?"
Pierre thinks of Sir Donald Randolph. This high-principled champion of
the defrauded, murdered Alice Webster is Pierre's and Paul's
uncompromising pursuer. That any other had set or kept in operation
such tireless shadowings Pierre has no thought. This man can be neither
cajoled nor bribed, yet may soften at frank avowal or direct appeal.
Pierre gives no thought to his own accountings. Through troubled night
he has been thinking about his crazed boy. Suppose it might transpire
that the prison portal swings open and he walks forth into the light of
day a free man, what is there in life for Pierre Lanier? The only ogre
shape whose boding presence for him has terrors is this avenging
"sprite," Paul's growing craze.
Pierre could seek respite in suicide, but not thus might escape a
father's heavy accounting. He has no thought of such evasive shift. In
all the worlds, it seems to Pierre, there is none but he to pity Paul.
But for the irrational hope of in some way ministering to stresses of
this afflicted son, that guilty, wretched parent would, with bared brow
and unflinching front, welcome fate's worst.
Pierre will make a decisive throw of the fateful dice. Calling the
turnkey, he asks for paper and pencil. These are brought. Pierre writes
a brief note to Sir Donald Randolph, handing it open to the surprised
watcher. It is a simple request that Sir Donald come at once to see
Pierre Lanier upon important matters.
Upon reference to superiors the note is sent by special messenger to
Sir Donald's hotel. In a short time Sir Donald Randolph and Pierre
Lanier are holding their first conference.
Knowing the crafty past of this schemer, Sir Donald anticipated some
astute proposition in the Lanier interest. He was ill-prepared for one
so direct and ingenuous.
Without the slightest attempt at preliminary fencing, Pierre says:
"I am run to cover and hopelessly besieged. I have no favors to ask,
except such as may help my poor boy. I defrauded Alice, as you well
know. I am ready to turn over to her estate, or to that of William
Webster, all the proceeds of my embezzlement. The whole thing will
amount in value to about six hundred thousand pounds. Do with me as you
please, but because of my thus making your work easy it would not be
amiss to have a care for Paul's comfort and cure. Except for that
wronged child's good I care not what becomes of me."
To say that Sir Donald was surprised were mild reference to his
amazement. For some moments he sat speechless, then in husky tones said:
"Your proposition seems most fair and honorable. I will think it over,
and soon return."
In leaving, Sir Donald extends his hand. Pierre hesitates, then offers
his own. Grasping that reserved palm, Sir Donald feels it tremble,
while Pierre's body seems to collapse against the wall of his cell.
That there is any shamming or covert deceit in this strange proposition,
Sir Donald now has not a semblance of suspicion.
After a conference with Thomas Webster, Sir Donald hastens back to the
prison. He assures Pierre that the offer will be accepted.
"No pledges have been exacted and none will be given, but it will be my
pleasure to alleviate in all possible ways Paul's unfortunate state."
Sir Donald then says:
"May it not be hoped that you can find some help in your own troubles?"
To this Pierre makes no reply, but turns away his face. In leaving, Sir
Donald asks:
"When will it best suit you to give an inventory and make transfers?"
Pierre answers:
"The sooner the better. Please attend to it at once. You will know just
how to proceed."
Next day Sir Donald visits at the prison, and obtains a full statement
of property in Calcutta and London in which the estate of William
Webster has interest. There is nothing said about the manner in which
Pierre obtained possession. This strange criminal is making no detailed
confession, but Sir Donald doubts not that restitution will be
complete. Pierre tells what Calcutta banks are custodians of papers,
shares of stock, other muniments of title and moneys. Minute
descriptions of real property and chattels are given. Much of all this
is held by trusted agents as ostensible owners, but he gives their names
and addresses. Pierre will sign proper orders, and convey at any time
all his interests and equities.
At an early after visit all necessary papers are duly executed, and
Thomas Webster is constituted Pierre's lawful agent to make any further
transfers. Pierre tells where may be found those unrecorded deeds
perfecting Alice Webster's title to the London property.
The now earnest man evinces a strong determination that restitution be
complete. To some suggestion of Sir Donald and Thomas Webster, that
certain formalities could be waived, as they have no doubt of Pierre's
good faith, he becomes impatient, and insists on compliance with every
legal requirement.
Fortified with these documents, Thomas Webster soon left for Calcutta.
Nothing had been hinted about escapes of Oswald Langdon and Alice
Webster from Paul's murderous assaults. Pierre still believes these had
fallen victims to Paul's passionate, hasty revenge. Until the
restitution becomes absolute by full recovery of all, Pierre will not
be told about their strange escapes or after experiences.
There now will be no occasion for bringing of civil actions against
Pierre Lanier. Even that conspiracy to defraud Alice out of London
property can not be clearly established. That Pierre had to do in any of
Paul's murderous assaults is not susceptible of competent proof, except
in those upon the Dodges in Calcutta. Of these favorable circumstances
Pierre knows little and cares less. But for Paul he would have found
grim satisfaction in paying the most extreme penalties.
That uncle, before starting on his trip, arranged for delay in
proceedings against Pierre Lanier, and suggested that the whole case
might be simplified by judicious waiting.
Pierre makes no demand for a hearing or arraignment. All remains in
status quo through irregular, concurring sufferance.
Sir Donald and family, accompanied by Alice Webster, leave for
Northfield.
A letter is daily expected from Oswald Langdon. Alice and Charles seem
forgetful of all former experiences. The attraction is mutual. They talk
and laugh as though no shadow ever crossed the path of either or hung
like a menacing cloud over that Northfield household. Alice heard of
Oswald's escape and romantic conduct. She so long had thought of him as
dead that these reports sound like ghostly recitals. Oswald Langdon's
living, corporeal presence would seem as one long dead, whose reembodied
spirit had been clothed anew with vesture of flesh. In dreams had she
not beheld that drowned form lying at bottom of the fateful river? In
far Bombay Alice conjured Oswald's fleshless skeleton into a fearful
ogre fright for Paul Lanier. Again, along the lake had she stampeded
this crazed madman by impressive promptings about those bleaching bones.
To Alice Webster Oswald Langdon is surely dead. But how instinct and
tremulous with pulsing life is that other handsome, manly presence whose
eyes seek hers! Does he not know her strange romance, yet seem to feel
that all is right? Charles's unfeigned admiration and growing interest
cannot escape that father's observing glances, yet Sir Donald seems
pleased. Esther sees all, and smiles approval. If these who know the
worst make no protest, why should Alice feel scruples about the unhappy
past?
Esther's expressive face lights at all announcements of letters, but
grows pensive at each inspection of tell-tale postmarks. Sir Donald
looks over each mail's assortment, and his eyes seek Esther's. That
indulgent father remarks:
"Oswald Langdon may be away from New York a few days, and some time
could elapse between receipt of my letter and sailing of ship carrying
English mails."
From day to day that letter is looked for, and Esther seems as though
hourly expecting some interesting visitor at Northfield. Her pretty
dissembling is sure proof, but all concur in its bewitching seeming.
In the privacy of her room Esther consults maps of travel and
transatlantic ship schedules. Names, dates, and descriptive particulars
are confusing. Many very essential items of information seem lacking.
What ship will Oswald take from New York? Is it seaworthy? When will the
ship sail? Will the vessel be crowded or the cargo too heavy? Are there
severe storms at this season?
All these and many other items of general information about ocean travel
have been omitted.
Tremulously confiding in Brother Charles, now regarded as sufficiently
sentimental for a safe bureau agent of nautical information, all
Esther's puzzling queries are answered in clearest detail.
"Yes, there can be no doubt; Oswald took the very safest ship sailing
out of New York; that vessel is never crowded or overloaded; in fact,
only enough cargo is aboard for proper ballast; at this season the
Atlantic is very calm; the ship is now near Southampton."
This is sufficient for present assurance. As days pass without expected
letter or arrival, Esther grows skeptical as to Charles's marine lore,
and appeals to her father. Sir Donald smiles at her recital of Charles's
positive assurances, and tenderly toying with Esther's glossy tresses,
says:
"All will be well; I have no fears. Daughter mine, times and tides,
storms and calms, clouds and sunlight, come not amiss."
Next day Sir Donald received a second letter. Its contents accounted for
all delay and waiting. With certainty that Oswald will not leave New
York before two weeks from date of this letter, Esther feels a sense of
resignation. He has escaped death, and soon will start homeward. She
feels some fear of a possible relapse, but reasons that Oswald will take
proper precautions. Delaying sailing showed discretion. Esther has some
doubts about two weeks being sufficient after such a terrible sickness.
Just then she would have advised waiting a few days longer.
The next fortnight passes slowly. Then came a letter from Oswald to Sir
Donald. Under advice of his physician, he will wait another week before
starting homeward. His passage is already engaged, and he gives the
ship's name, with date when it will leave New York Harbor. After
arrival at Southampton, he will visit his parents, and then at
Northfield. Some pleasant things were written about anticipated
reunions, and the letter closed with wish for remembrance to Esther,
Alice Webster, and Charles Randolph.
There is regret at this waiting, but all approve Oswald's doing as
advised by the physician.
Alice and Charles are not pensive over any delays. In conscious
adjustment to the happy present, neither past nor future clouds their
clear, sunlighted skies. Both feel that their lives soon will blend.
Before that expected proposal neither doubted its utterance or
acceptance. It came as easily as come responsive, happy greetings from
eager lips and lustrous eyes. There is no doubt of that uncle's
approval, but the nuptial ceremony can abide his return from Calcutta.
The next day after this betrothal came another letter from Oswald to Sir
Donald, telling of his safe arrival at Southampton. He will visit his
parents, and in three days from that date be at Northfield.
All experience a sense of expectant pleasure. Sir Donald feels that past
worries are receding into waning retrospect. Charles is happy in his own
right. Alice longs for a sight of that Thames resurrection while looking
into the handsome face then smiling its admiration of her own.
Bessie--well, this little fair-haired "find" says all sorts of pretty,
indiscreet things, interrupts tete-a-tetes, intrudes upon conferences,
artlessly domineers over everybody, closing each day's performances by
going to sleep upon the arm of Sir Donald.
Without mishap Oswald reaches Southampton. The ocean voyage had been
pleasant, and he feels buoyantly hopeful. He is impatient for the home
reunion with father and mother. Anticipating their glad surprise at his
safe return, Oswald pauses at the familiar portal out of which he had
fled a disguised fugitive years before. He hesitates, then rings the
bell. The door is opened, and his father looks inquiringly. There is
glad recognition, and the rector leads his son to a chair, but both
remain standing. Looking tearfully upward, the father holds Oswald's
hand and says nothing. Both fix their eyes upon a new oil portrait.
Sinking into a chair, Oswald whispers:
"Where is mother?"
To this comes only:
"Gone home!"
For an hour these stricken ones sit with clasped palms, neither crying
nor indulging in spoken grief. Then, as if by mutual impulse, both talk
of other things.
Oswald speaks of past troubles and present deliverances. He is now free
from all suspicion, and can face the world without fear. Alice Webster
is alive, and the Laniers are in custody.
The rector tells of his continued ministerial work and lonesome life.
That evening neither referred to their great loss. Upon the following
day Oswald's father told about the mother's troubles after the son's
flight, and related some of the incidents of her last sickness. Neither
parent ever confided to any human being Oswald's plight, nor had either
the least information about his fate.
"Mother talked and dreamed of her absent son. In sleep she sang cradle
lullabys and gently reproved her 'own little Ossie.' For hours she would
sit looking out of the window, expecting your return.
"Without apparent cause came that fatal attack. After a few days the
physician said there was no hope. His diagnosis revealed no malignant
disease, but indicated a total collapse of vital forces. For hours
mother would lay at the window, clasping your boyhood miniature, often
turning it toward the light of the sun or stars. Just before going into
her last long sleep mother looked out into the rayless dark, and
whispered:
"'Percy, dear, see that star! It is coming this way. Now I will go and
find Ossie!'
"She has been dead two years."
Each bearing flowers, father and son visit the grave. Wife and mother is
not there, but these floral tokens are sacred to loving, pathetic
memories. Her ministries know, but feel not earthly limitations.
Oswald stands long with bowed, uncovered head. Neither speaks. There are
no tears. Reverend Percy Langdon passes his arm through that of his son
and slowly leads homeward.
Upon the next day Oswald starts for Northfield. He promises soon to
return and talk over plans with his father.
Upon Oswald's spirits has settled deep pensiveness, so solemn as to
check all buoyant exuberance, for the time restraining joyous tremor at
thought of those waiting Northfield greetings.
There are upon the faces of that early-risen household looks of
expectation. All seem self-possessed, except Esther. While bewitchingly
trying to be very circumspect, Esther is consciously excited. Starting
up, checking the impulse, with forced composure slowly sitting down,
Esther steals glances at Alice and Charles, asks questions, answers to
which do not interest her in the least, then hugs the spoiled Bessie,
and quits the room.
Sir Donald drives alone to the station. Soon the train arrives. After
greetings, Oswald enters the carriage, and they slowly drive toward that
elegant home. Sir Donald notes Oswald's subdued responses. His intuition
suggests some recent sad revelation at the parental fireside. He
inquires about Oswald's home visit and the health of his parents. The
reply sounds like echo of requiem toll.
"Mother went away!"
Words of condolence would be incongruous. Silence is more expressive.
Without reference to past tragic happenings, these talk about current
matters of incidental interest, and are soon at the Northfield mansion.
Entering the family sitting-room, Charles is first presented. Then from
an obscure corner, with scared smile upon her face, advances Alice
Webster. Both look inquiringly as they extend their hands. Bessie gazes
with large, curious eyes, and all are seated.
Sir Donald has relieved the tense embarrassment by some casual comments,
when in the next room is heard timid, hesitating steps. Turning toward
the connecting arch, Oswald's eyes meet those of Esther Randolph.
Timidly advancing, Esther extends her hand, which soon trembles in his
own, but hints not at withdrawal. That palm's tremulous lingering is
most subtle, yet ingenuous assurance. Oswald's heart quickens at the
sign.
The evening is passed in refined conversation. Oswald's pensive musings
cannot last in such environment. There is no haste to talk over past
sorrows. Both Oswald and Charles recall having met on that "tramp"
steamer.
As if for Oswald's better assurance, Esther lingers near, never seeming
at ease except in his presence. At times she gazes upon that erratic
erstwhile suitor as if fearful he again may leave upon some strange
journey. Often to Esther it seems Oswald is unduly reserved, fearing
long looking into her eyes or lingering touches of that confiding hand
as useless toying with forbidden things. Her woman's intuition suggests
the cause. Upon the lake's wooded shore years ago did she not respond to
that eloquent avowal with stated consecration upon the altar of
self-sacrifice? Oswald may believe that this decision is final. Too,
this handsome, fascinating, imperious, masterful man has been away ample
time to grow cold or meet some other attraction.
In their tete-a-tetes Esther shows continuing interest for charitable
matters. She tells about Paris and Calcutta hospitals. Those calls at
cabins in Calcutta suburb are related with harrowing incidents of the
mothers' poverty. Oswald listens intently, but does not moralize. Esther
looks troubled, and refers to happenings when Oswald first visited
Northfield and Alice Webster was her guest. That quiet listener hears
all, but seems in pensive reverie.
[Illustration: "THIS SAGE REPLY IS HEARD BY THE EAVESDROPPING BESSIE."]
They are sitting in secluded bower within the mansion grounds. Sir
Donald is taking his accustomed afternoon nap. Alice and Charles are out
for a drive. Bessie is just awake, and has come out to survey her vested
belongings. Esther hears the child's happy humming, and looking
appealingly at Oswald, propounds this puzzling interrogatory:
"Under all the circumstances, Mr. Langdon, would you advise a young
girl, with--with such a good home--who has such a kind father and
brother--and--well--you know--like me--to--to--spend her life in
hospitals?"
Quickly looking into that flushed face and those questioning eyes,
Oswald needs no further assurance. Impulsively encircling the
unresisting form, he answers upon those upturned lips. This sage reply
is heard by the eavesdropping Bessie, who, as self-constituted
ceremonial dictator, emerges and joins their hands in the wordless
betrothal.
Soon, slowly leading Esther and carrying that spoiled four-year-old
toward the mansion, Oswald says:
"I will speak to your father." Esther's reply is a happy smile.
Thomas Webster's Calcutta trip had been a complete success. Alice
received a letter from her Uncle Thomas, and expected him to be at
Northfield within six weeks. A double wedding is set for a date soon
after that uncle's Northfield visit. Oswald returns to his father's home
and tells the good news. By Esther's and Sir Donald's special request,
the rector soon accompanies Oswald back to Northfield. In this
hospitable mansion father and son spend much of the time until those
nuptial ceremonies.
Sir Donald receives a letter from Thomas Webster requesting him to be in
London on a certain date. These two allies hold a conference, and upon
the following day Pierre Lanier is released from prison. There had been
no formal charge requiring investigation. All concerned had acquiesced
in this irregular, unauthorized detention. Having fully accomplished
that Calcutta mission, and received, direct to Alice, transfers of all
property listed by Pierre Lanier, there could be no possible good result
from longer detention of this miserable man.
Pierre is stupefied by this unexpected release. He seems neither elated
nor curious at such good fortune. Sir Donald was at the prison when
Pierre came out. They walked away together. To Sir Donald's question:
"What can I now do for you, Mr. Lanier?" there is a long silence, then
comes reply:
"How is Paul?"
Hearing that Paul is being kindly treated, Pierre looks grateful, and
says:
"That is right. Paul is not to blame."
Sir Donald now offers to do all in his power for Pierre's future
comfort, adding:
"I will consider it a privilege to help you."
Pierre smiles vacantly, stands in reverie, then extending his hand, in
low tones says:
"My boy is innocent! His father did it all."
With Sir Donald's assurance that in a few days he will meet Pierre at a
designated place in London, and tell him some good news, they separate.
When first confined in the asylum Paul had been fierce and violent. This
was followed by more pacific moods, and he became quite tractable. At
times Paul indulged in childish speech, and cried for his father's
coming. After a long reverie Paul once said:
"No, I did not drown them! That was Alice at--at--what's the name of
that place? That strong fellow could swim. What's his name? Yes, that's
it."
Within a week after Thomas Webster's return occurred those happy
nuptials. Because of tragic happenings there were few invited guests.
All had resulted well. Past sorrows cast their inevitable forward
shadows, but the present is nevertheless joyous in full content,
luminous with halo of future hopes.
Each day Pierre Lanier calls at the asylum. Through Sir Donald's
previous suggestion, Pierre is accorded special privileges. Paul grows
hysterically joyful when his father comes. Alone after these
oft-recurring visits, Paul sobs bitterly.
From Sir Donald and Thomas Webster Pierre scrupulously declines any
offers of personal assistance. This is not through pique or pride.
That restitution had been in nature of a bid for Paul's deliverance, but
these would-be almoners were not contracting parties. To his clingingly
audacious supplications in behalf of the crazed Paul, Pierre had heard
an imperious voice whisper:
"Do equity!"
Pierre is not quite sure that this is a divinely stated "condition
precedent," but will treat it as such.
With gropingly tenacious faith he stumbles toward this hinted
adjudication. Without suspicion of selfish motive or accepted personal
benefit, Pierre will keep his part of the solemn pact.
"Paul is not to blame!" That awful inherited taint and a father's
dominating, all-consuming greed!
These are at least mitigating claims.
Who may contest Paul's right "before the face of the Most High"?
Paul seems improving. Pierre is elated. That shriveled heart pulses with
new hope. He even presumes to thank heaven for covenant fealty. With
consummate audacity Pierre now hopes there may be found some
"extenuating circumstances" in his own case.
Soon after the nuptials Sir Donald meets Pierre Lanier in London and
tells him of the marriage ceremonies. Pierre turns pale, stares, and
sinks upon the floor of his room. Sir Donald supports the trembling
form. The romantic coincidences are partly related. Pierre smiles
hopefully. Sir Donald invites him to confirm the queer story by a visit
to Northfield, but Pierre is fully convinced.
"Then Paul did not kill them! My boy is innocent! Excuse me, please; now
I will go to the asylum."
Sir Donald and Thomas Webster return to Northfield. Neither newly
married couple took a wedding journey. The four had planned spending
their honeymoons at Paris. Just before the nuptials, in presence of that
little autocrat now nearing the ripe age of five years, Sir Donald is
speaking about some objects of interest to be visited by these
travelers. Bessie begins to cry, and clinging to Esther's hand, says:
"Stay here with me and papa!"
There is instant approval. Oswald says, "Why not?" Sir Donald and Uncle
Thomas both declare in favor of the change; Alice joyously assents;
Charles announces his cheerful acquiescence; Esther kisses Bessie and is
smilingly content.
Uncle Thomas tells about meeting Mr. and Mrs. Dodge while at Calcutta.
When William Dodge was released from custody he accepted a lucrative
position obtained for him by Thomas Webster, and promised when required
to testify about the Lanier conspiracy against Alice. This
weak-principled man still retained the position, and was waiting to
comply with his agreement.
That assistant sleuth who had trailed the Laniers from Southampton to
Bombay, accompanied old "Josiah Peters" over to Calcutta, then shadowed
Sir Donald and Esther, kept track of Lanier peregrinations until this
pair landed in London, watched at the alley cabin, followed both along
the Thames, and was present at their final arrests, had gone on a recent
trip to Alaska gold fields.
Alice Randolph insists on Uncle Thomas accepting fifty thousand pounds
for his services and reimbursement. The uncle proposes a compromise of
half that sum, but Alice and Charles are obstinate. To avoid a serious
rupture between relatives, Uncle Thomas yields.
In their complete content pity is felt for Paul Lanier. Alice cannot
forget her part in that Bombay tableau or in those lake promptings.
Looking at Bessie, they often think of that crazed outlaw's strange
caprice in sparing lives of Northfield sleepers upon the memorable
night.
It is with much satisfaction that all learn of Paul's possible recovery.
Pierre's strange restitution and refusal to accept any aid from either
Sir Donald or Thomas Webster is matter for frequent Northfield comment.
Paul grows more tractable, showing signs of returning reason. Pierre
becomes devoutly thankful.
Some believe Pierre hypocritical; others say:
"He cannot fool Heaven!"
Many look upon this enigma, the while thinking of one who "went to his
own place."
Eternity is so long! A lost soul is such a fearful loss!
Possibly that ancient Tenderness, with bias for saving, hopefully
"shadows" Pierre and Paul Lanier.
Transcribers's Note:
Various inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation have been regularized,
References are to folio (page) numbers:
20 - "disposition" second "i" added
43 - terminal "e" added to "appearance"
125 - accent removed from "employe"
186 - "...into the sea." was comma
276 - "...home again." period added
355 - accent added to "elite"
381 - ""Listening at the...." double quote added
422 - terminal "s" added to "status"
List of Illustrations, 327, Illustration caption - "Car'line"
sometimes shown as "Caroline" in original
Italicized words are noted with "_"