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.