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 of Oswald'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 every wish 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 sh.o.r.e. 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, pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sault, 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 rest.i.tution 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 nearing the 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 impa.s.sioned 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 sh.o.r.e. Both are glad to reach land, and rapidly walk homeward.

Neither is superst.i.tious, 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.

CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE "TRAMP" STEAMER

From Calcutta Oswald sails without definite destination. The ship's prospective course is unknown. This "tramp" steamer has an oddly a.s.sorted cargo. Her officers and crew are a motley mixture of different nationalities. Cabin and steerage pa.s.sengers 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 needed repairs anchors off Indian sh.o.r.e, whence she continues her eccentric course.

Long days, late into the night, are pa.s.sed by Oswald sitting on and walking the decks. This homeless wanderer on havenless seas recks little of log-book or transit. Unlike sure-winged pa.s.sage-bird, he knows not his journey's issue. So perverse have been fate's courses that this high-strung, a.s.sertive 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 a.s.surance. Hushed as by cradle-song, every hara.s.sing 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 a.s.sign 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 are not to his liking--that divinely intuitive, far-seeing, inner-focalized ray shoots straight as plummet and far as G.o.d.

Oswald observes many interesting occurrences aboard the steamer. With perceptive craft he scans faces and notes special traits of fellow-pa.s.sengers. 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. They make 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.senger. 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 of fate's perversities. From hunted sense of unmerited outlawry I have pa.s.sed 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 a.s.surance 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 lay open to 'p.r.i.c.k 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 sh.o.r.es, as if booked for its more luminous, harmonious ant.i.type.

"The younger traveler is all attention, antic.i.p.ating every want. His kindnesses, delicately un.o.btrusive, yet frank and hearty, leave no reactive friction.