The Northfield household was early astir upon the morning after the lake ride. Neither Oswald nor Paul had any hint of the other's fate.

Oswald possessed too much gentlemanly instinct to abate his respectful treatment of both father and daughter. Through craft, Paul was very courteous. He announced his intention to return that afternoon. With many expressions of regret, Paul left Northfield.

Pierre Lanier is in London. Paul and his father hold a conference, at which present and future plans are discussed. The refusal of Alice Webster to become Paul's wife and her apparent infatuation for Oswald Langdon are talked over. Pierre says:

"We must bring about this marriage in some way, Paul. To fail would be very serious. That other fellow shall not marry Alice. The man who came with me from Calcutta will do as I say. He shall begin the suit now. The income from this remnant of her father's fortune is Alice's sole support. She does not know of the defect in her title to the property. Alice will be frantic when the papers are served. Both of us will favor her side of the case and pose as sympathetic friends. Gradually we can show Alice our good intentions. When her helplessness and poverty become clear, how easy to renew your proposal. She will have faith in your sincerity then, Paul. To escape a life of want the girl will become the wife of wealthy Paul Lanier. You would make Alice a fine husband, Paul."

Next day an action involving the title to the London property belonging to Alice Webster, and for an accounting of accrued rents, was begun by William Dodge. Soon afterward proper papers were duly served.

Upon learning of this Alice was distracted. Trembling with excitement, she appealed to Sir Donald. This generous-hearted barrister felt much sympathy for Alice. It was decided that Sir Donald would go to London.

To divert Alice's mind from these worries, Oswald and both girls take frequent sails upon the lake. The interest of Alice in Oswald seems growing, and she is cheerful only in his company.

One day he does not join them in their lake excursion, but Sir Donald takes his place. A few hours later Oswald goes down to the shore. Not finding his friends, he sets out in a small sail-boat, expecting to see them somewhere on the lake.

Soon he sees another sail move out from the shore in the distance. Lifting his field-glasses, he learns that there are but two persons aboard, a man and woman. The boat is similar to the one which Sir Donald must have taken, but where is Esther or Alice? The boat moves away rapidly. Both figures are now standing. Applying the glasses to determine which of the girls is on board, he beholds a struggle. The girl falls overboard and sinks out of sight. The boat pulls rapidly away, passing out of view beyond a timbered point not far distant.

Oswald's sail is soon at the place where he had seen the girl disappear. Looking around, he is surprised to behold the apparently lifeless form on the surface of the water.

The mystery is cleared when he sees that a projecting bush holds up the body by contact with a knotted scarf around the neck of the drowned girl.

Oswald places the limp form in the bottom of the boat, and soon reaches the shore. Removing the body to a grassy bank, he sees Esther and Sir Donald approaching.

They are terribly shocked. He begins to explain, when there is a movement, with positive signs of returning consciousness. Soon the eyes open with a wild stare. Slowly the wet figure revives. All are surprised to recognize Alice Webster returned to life.

The girl seems dazed, but at length knows her friends. For a while explanations are deferred. Without search for the missing boat, all are taken by Oswald in his sail, and are soon at the point of embarking, where a carriage awaits them. Reaching Northfield, they enter its doors, without reference to the day's events.

In about an hour Alice is able to relate her experiences. In the mean time, Oswald had acquainted Esther and Sir Donald with his part in this mysterious drama. The explanation is startling.

"I was sitting on the shore near the boat. Both of you had taken a stroll, and were out of sight. I heard stealthy steps, and looking up was frightened to see Paul Lanier. He spoke very gently, begging my pardon for the intrusion. Then Paul said: 'I have heard of your trouble, Miss Webster, and came to offer my sympathy and help. Father and I will be able to render you some assistance, as we know all the facts. Will you do us the honor to accept our aid in thwarting this unjust attempt to rob you of all means of support?'

"I was surprised at the kind offer, and consented. After a while Paul spoke of seeing two people among the trees farther up the lake, and said he thought they must have been Miss Randolph and her father. He then said, 'Why not take a sail in that direction, and meet them returning?' I consented, and we started up the lake. The boat headed for the point extending out from the other shore. I asked Paul where we were going. He answered, 'We can reach that point over there, and get back in time to meet your friends.' His reply was testy and manner unexpected. I grew suspicious, and insisted on our return. Paul became angry, and did not heed my demands. In my fear, I arose and grasped his arm. He fiercely told me to sit down, using a fearful oath. I refused, and said some wild, bitter things. He then roughly pushed me back, and I fell overboard."

The mystery of Paul Lanier's conduct greatly puzzled all. However, it was evident that he had not intended the consequence of his rash act. This was the result of brutal passion at her resistance to some other design. What could he have intended in his deceitful ruse? He must have been convinced of her death, and fled, using the boat to gain time. All were sure that Alice nevermore would be troubled by Paul Lanier. He would flee, pursued by the supposed Nemesis of his victim.

In this their conclusion was natural, but not based on subtle knowledge of Paul's character. He possessed marvelous cunning and much personal courage. No one but Alice saw him in the boat, and he thinks she is at the bottom of the lake. His coming to Northfield was in disguise, known only to Pierre Lanier. In the same manner Paul returned to London.

The affair had taken a most unpremeditated turn, but father and son will accept the tragic result with resignation. Had their plans finally miscarried, there would have been a removal of Alice Webster. Better for their consciences that her death was due to sudden passion and accident than to "malice aforethought."

Both scanned all the daily papers for news of Alice's disappearance, but were perplexed by failure to see such reference. Not being able longer to bear the suspense, Paul, in new disguise, again appeared in the vicinity of Northfield. Inquiring as to any incidents of note occurring in that neighborhood, he learns only of other petty gossip. He dares not visit the residence, but watches for its familiar faces.

At length his tireless zeal is rewarded.

Paul is hidden in a thick undergrowth of bushes, nearly opposite the point in the lake where Alice Webster had sunk from sight. Looking from his retreat, he sees the ghost of the drowned girl approaching. In terror, Paul cowers before this supernatural figure which passes his hiding-place. Esther and Oswald come in view.

It now dawns on Paul that in some mysterious way Alice had been rescued from the lake. He fears that news of the incident has been suppressed until complete evidence can be secured against him. Doubtless Alice had informed her friends, who are now on his trail. But Paul's conduct will be other than they expect. By remaining disguised in the immediate vicinity of his crime he will keep advised of their every move.

Waiting until all have passed, Paul leaves his hiding-place and follows at safe distance. It is not his intention to be seen by any of the party, as he wishes to spy upon their movements, but in event of discovery no one will recognize Paul Lanier in such disguise.

Moving around in a circle, Paul reaches a point within hearing distance of where the three are likely to stop for rest and conversation. A narrow, steep-banked ravine will separate him from them, but near enough for distinct hearing.

Screened from view by some low, thick bushes, where he can note their actions, Paul awaits the coming of Esther, Alice, and Oswald, who are now together.

The three sit down on the grassy bank opposite Paul's retreat. Soon Alice begins to discuss the subject of her London financial trouble, and tells Oswald she intends to accompany Sir Donald there on the next day. "Will you not go with us and make my home yours while in the city?"

To this invitation, given in most bewitching manner, the young man courteously demurs. Just now he has little curiosity for London scenery. In fact, Oswald feels a lingering fondness for Northfield.

But the prospect takes an unexpected turn. Esther's sense of the proprieties asserts itself. She likes London very much, and wishes to accompany her father. "It will be so nice to see the sights with papa!"

Oswald now sees wherein he may be of service in assisting Sir Donald to understand this case. As he thinks of some time practicing the legal profession, until a wider field opens, this will be a good chance to acquire a little preliminary knowledge. He now has little doubt but that Alice will win her case. With the coÖperation of Oswald Langdon, Sir Donald Randolph cannot fail.

This confidence is contagious. Alice and Esther now feel that the case is won.

Next day Sir Donald, Oswald, Esther, and Alice go to London. On the same train there is an odd-looking, strangely dressed, heavily whiskered man, who says nothing, but keeps track of the Northfield party until all enter the home of Alice Webster.

Sir Donald learns that the plaintiff, William Dodge, is from Calcutta. Recently arrived from India, he had instituted the action. There was no record of any deed connecting the Webster estate with the original title. How the decree of court adjudging title to Alice as sole heir of William Webster had been obtained was a mystery. Perhaps some unrecorded conveyance from rightful owners to William Webster had been presented, and upon these the decree was based.

Solicitors were employed by Alice. In support of her rights they could find no record or other evidence. However, they began most exhaustive search to locate the different grantors whose names appeared in the Dodge chain of title.

Sir Donald suspected that the Dodge papers were forgeries, or were obtained from record owners who had conveyed to the father of Alice and afterward deeded the same property to the Dodge grantors. Possibly there might be a number of unrecorded deeds. Perhaps the records had been falsified.

Numberless possible contingencies were suggested to his legal acumen. Contrary to his usual secretive habit, Sir Donald suggests these to Oswald, who in turn comments upon them to Alice and Esther, with all the gravity of original discovery.

Sir Donald's reports to Alice were brief, giving little information, except ultimate facts as to results of the investigations. Upon most matters relating to proposed tactics, Sir Donald was silent.

Oswald marveled at the obtuseness of this eminent barrister. Why not unravel this web of connivance with dispatch? Time, distance, and every contingency, immediate or remote, were merely incidental. Oswald Langdon will see that the solicitors and Sir Donald Randolph do not fail.

One day Alice pressed Sir Donald for an opinion of the probable time required to have the cloud upon her title removed, and said: "I hope you will frankly tell me all the difficulties likely to confront you in the case. The matter surely can be decided in a short time. From what Oswald has told me, I certainly will win."

Sir Donald explained many uncertainties of the case. His talk was so sincere, evincing such understanding of the puzzling mazes of the matter, that Alice could not fail to see her chances of success were at best very doubtful. In spite of Sir Donald's promise to devote time and money to vindicate her title, Alice felt despondent over the outlook. She appealed to Oswald for hopeful assurance, explaining fully what had been said by Sir Donald.

Oswald saw the gravity of her trouble, and could say little to mitigate it. Naturally he was frank, and would not indulge in flattery or deceit. He longed to encourage Alice, but could find no truthful words of hope.

Alice saw his evident sympathy, and felt pleased despite her utter helplessness.

Esther proposed that they take a stroll in some of the public grounds. The three afterward were seated in Hyde Park. Esther moved away, as Alice seemed anxious to talk with Oswald upon some confidential matter.

Alice related Paul Lanier's proposal, and dwelt at length upon the many persecutions she had endured, culminating in the lake tragedy.

"I always felt an unaccountable dread of both Paul and his father. Can it be that there is some conspiracy concerning my father's estate in India? Is my existence in the way of their schemes? Would my death or marriage with Paul help them? I feel that all my acts are known. How suddenly Paul appeared at the lake! They now may be watching us!"

Looking around, Oswald was struck by the attitude of a plain-appearing man, with heavy whiskers, seated about twenty feet distant, evidently listening. Oswald said nothing about this, as he did not wish to increase her fears, and the stranger's conduct seemed due to vulgar curiosity.

Alice was so despondent over her financial stress, that she knew not what to do.

"What will become of me, Mr. Langdon, if I fail in the case?"

Oswald spoke hopefully, and thought there would be some way out of her trouble. Esther came up, and he then proposed a moonlight boat-ride on the Thames. He would rent a rowboat, and was quite good with the oars. They decided to take the ride. Soon after the three returned to the home of Alice.

Sir Donald invited both the girls and Oswald to attend an opera that evening. Esther explained that they had agreed upon a boat-ride. "But perhaps Alice and Mr. Langdon would find the opera just as pleasant."

To please Alice, the matter was finally settled by Esther accompanying her father to the opera and the others taking the ride. Oswald did not approve of this arrangement, but offered no objection.

During the evening Alice seemed nervous. She would exert her most bewitching arts to interest Oswald, and then remain silent. Many pleasant complimentary remarks would be cut off abruptly, as if the speaker refrained from further comment through maidenly hesitation or restraint. He noticed her odd manner, but being much absorbed in thoughts of the opera, was not inclined to be sensitive or critical. After some time had been passed in this manner, she suggested that they tie up the boat to a projecting bush on the bank of the stream and take a stroll along the shore.

Alice and Oswald walked along the bank for a few minutes, coming to some overhanging shrubbery, where there was a seat, used by strollers along that side of the Thames. They sat down within a few feet of the shore. The girl still acted strangely, appearing to have some matter in thought importunate for expression, but nervously suppressed. Oswald inquired if Alice were still worrying over her financial troubles, adding some hopeful remarks as to the future, even if the property should pass into the possession of another. His manner was sympathetic. Overcome by her emotions and his words, she began to cry.

Oswald was now in a dilemma. He could face danger with unflinching nerves, but was a novice in such an emergency. Doing what any young man with generous impulses naturally would do under such circumstances, he attempted to allay the fears of his hysterical companion. There was little of premeditated propriety in his words or conduct.

Alice now confessed to Oswald her love. "Much as I dread being left penniless, such poverty would be nothing compared to loss of you. With all the worry and uncertainty caused by this villainous conspiracy against my father's estate, shadowed by fear of the hateful Paul Lanier, life since meeting you at Northfield has been a joyous dream. Without you I cannot live, pursued by the cunning malice and crafty scheming of these persecutors. Will you forgive me, Mr. Langdon, for not waiting a proposal? You have been so kind, I cannot believe you insincere."

To say that Oswald was embarrassed by this unexpected burst of feminine emotion would be mild expression of his feelings. He was stunned and speechless. What could he say in reply? The utter helplessness of Alice, with her despondent future outlook, pursued by enemies whose aims were cruelly vague, against all restraints of maidenly sentiment declaring love for one having no responsive feeling other than pity, was pathetic. Had he not unwittingly contributed to her misery by his unguarded conduct? Would not his denial of her strange suit be a base betrayal? Alice had thought his conduct sincere. How could he now crush this poor girl's hopes by frank statement of his real sentiments.

With staring, inquisitive eyes Alice watched Oswald's troubled face while these thoughts were passing through his mind. She could not mistake his embarrassment. With dawning presentiment of his unspoken decision, this despairing girl, standing erect, gave one glance at the river. Her action was quickly noted by Oswald, who sprang between Alice and the shore. She begged him to have pity. "You have made me love you! Do not cast me off! Whatever happens, save me from that hateful villain, Paul Lanier!"

There is a flash of steel, a blow and thrust, followed by the splash of two bodies. A form stoops over the projecting shore until the waters have hidden both from view. By aid of the moonlight, scanning the stream far as can be seen in its onward course, this peering watcher seems fearful that his victims may escape from the river. At the sound of voices, he mutters an oath and skulks away.

Oswald rises and swims against the current. Grasping an overhanging shrub in contact with the water's surface, by great effort he manages to reach land.

Before starting upstream, Oswald looked for any appearance of Alice. There was no sign. When on the shore, he tried to go down the river in hope of rescuing her, but loss of blood and his fatigue prevented.

Hearing distant voices, it dawns on Oswald that he will be suspected of having caused the death of Alice Webster. They had gone for this night row, and were last seen together. Whether the body shall be found or not, he will be suspected of having murdered the girl. Who will believe his statement of the facts?

These thoughts and his weakened state still kept Oswald rooted to the spot, undecided what to do. The voices grow more distinct. He detects the excitement of those approaching. Shall he await their appearance, or meet them coming and explain all?

In this dilemma Oswald follows the impulse seeming to him most rational. Avoid these strangers about whom he knows nothing; confide first in his friends; with them and the police search for the body of Alice Webster.

With these conclusions rapidly formed, Oswald rises to his feet. Weak from loss of blood, but with forced energy, he starts in an opposite direction from that of the voices, intending to make a circle, and coming in their rear, follow cautiously until these strangers have passed up the stream beyond the point where the boat is tied to the shore. He then will return the boat. After reporting to Sir Donald and Esther, the police shall be notified, and together they will search for the missing body.

Oswald continued for some distance, but saw no chance, without detection, of getting back of those in the rear. In this way he traveled until entirely exhausted. Crawling a few rods out of their path, but in full view, he watched them, expecting to be seen.

Four men passed between him and the shore. One remarked: "Say, pards, that empty boat down there looks suspicious. Why hasn't anybody showed up? Wonder what's their bloody lay."

"Oh, you're a little off, old chappie, to-night! Guess that red bottle you emptied got you a bloody eye!"

The quartette gave a boisterous laugh, and passed by.

When these were out of sight, Oswald arose and started back toward the boat, but soon was compelled again to sit down. Despairing of his ability to return that night, he crawled into some bushes away from the path, and slept.

The sun is brightly shining when he awakes. His left arm is sore, but he finds that it is only a deep flesh wound, which had caused excessive flow of blood. The complications of his position daze Oswald. How can he return and give information of Alice Webster's death? What reasonable excuse can be assigned for his delay? How seemingly transparent this yarn! Will it not be evident that he manufactured a tissue of falsehoods, and to clinch these preposterous lies inflicted on himself this slight wound?

Return is not to be considered. There is no avoiding the gallows but in flight. But how escape?

Oswald feels feverish thirst, and hoping to find clear water follows toward its source a muddy little rivulet emptying into the river. In this way he travels about a mile from shore, where, in the corner of a fenced strip of ground, are a boy and a girl drinking from a clear stream.

Frightened by this pale-looking, bareheaded tramp, the children fled. Oswald drank deeply of the refreshing water, and was moving away, when a loud voice commanded him to stop. Looking up, Oswald saw a burly citizen, just over the fence, puffing with swelling sense of proprietorship.

Oswald's combative faculties are aroused, and in defiant attitude he awaits the attack.

"Who be ye, man, and what ye doing here?"

Oswald explained that he was a stranger there, and had slept on the bank of the river. His hat was lost. He hoped that no harm had been done. He had money, and would pay for all damages.

The refined manner of speech and good looks made a favorable impression upon the staring proprietor.

Oswald saw his advantage, and appealed to this red-faced inquisitor for breakfast, adding that he would pay well.

Greatly mollified, the other invited him into the house, and set before his guest a substantial meal.

It occurred to Oswald that by show of liberality he might gain very valuable assistance in extricating himself from his terrible fix. He tossed a half-crown toward his host, who stared in blank amazement.

"That is right; keep it all, my kind friend."

With much show of appreciation the coin was pocketed.

"By the way, have you a good horse and cart?"

"You bet I has!"

"Say, friend, don't you wish to make some money?"

"That's what I does!"

"Well, I must be forty miles away to-night sometime, and here are three half-crowns for the drive. How soon can you start?"

"Inside of an hour."

Tossing the coins to his excited host, Oswald said: "Get ready right off! Tell no one, and there is a sovereign at the end of our ride! Have you an old duster and hat?"

Rushing to a closet, Dick Bray produced the desired outfit, which had a most superannuated look.

"Keep the stuff, and welcome!" said Dick, with an air of much conscious generosity.

With closed lips, Dick set about preparations for the eventful journey.

In less than an hour they were jogging along the road at pretty lively gait for their slow-geared outfit.

Oswald assumed a most taciturn manner, which convinced Dick that he was some high-born chap who had been on a "lark" and wished to keep "shady." The thought of that sovereign restrained Dick's curiosity so thoroughly that but little was said by either.

Unused to such long, vigorous journeys, the horse required much urging, and then made distance slowly. At four o'clock the next morning they came within two miles of Oswald's home. Dick received the promised coin, and was advised to go back a few miles and rest up. Oswald lived near, and would walk the rest of the way.

"Say nothing, and perhaps I can do more some time!"

Thus adjured, Dick Bray parted with Oswald Langdon, fully determined to be very secretive about that mysterious drive.