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 fort.i.tude 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, a.s.suming 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 ident.i.ty; 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 inst.i.tuted, 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 compa.s.sion, 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 a.s.sures 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: