All seems calm at Northfield. Frictionless domestic appointments hint not the sentient pulsing of care.

Surrounded by every comfort, the idolized recipient of fatherly and brotherly attentions, Esther grows still more pensive. Many surprises are planned for her diversion. Esther tries hard to be pleased, but it is apparent that her thoughts are elsewhere.

Servants patrol the Northfield mansion grounds. There are daily and nightly watches along the shores of the lake. London communications report no changes in Lanier habits. Pierre seldom leaves that cellar room. Paul keeps up his night tableaus on the Thames.

To some vigorous suggestions of Charles, Sir Donald replies: "It is not prudent to hasten any crisis. Immature exposure would be unwise. None of the circumstances of this strange infatuation are legally conclusive of Lanier guilt. Without more direct proofs, such cogent evidence would not be even admissible.

"How establish the 'corpus delicti'? Granted that either Oswald or Alice had been murdered, Paul's significant craze is legally irrelevant. Other bodies may have found quietus in Thames depths.

"The facts in possession of London bureau are incompetent to establish guilty connivance of either Lanier in any crime except those assaults on the Dodges in Calcutta.

"Though morally certain that these were prompted through fear of Dodge revelations, yet missing links render Lanier disguises, with suggestive craft and crazes, judicially meaningless.

"Aided by proof of either death and by sworn evidence of William Dodge, all irrelevant, circumstantial happenings would become powerfully coherent. I am sure of both, but can prove neither. I would stint neither labor nor cost to procure competent evidence of Alice Webster's death at the hands of Paul Lanier. Without other justification than yet afforded, I may not betray the Dodge confidence. No motive shall prompt disclosures as to Oswald Langdon.

"However, there need be no present qualms about concealment in the Dodge matter. Upon trial of either Lanier for murder of Alice Webster, neither Esther nor I would be heard to testify about the Dodge confession. This is inadmissible hearsay. In an action against these three villains growing out of that vile conspiracy to coerce this unhappy girl into an obnoxious marriage, the Paris hospital confession might be admissible, but such reckoning now would be purposeless.

"The only way is to continue present shadowings and defensive precautions, while awaiting some decisive clews to missing links in this elusive chain."

Sir Donald's conscience is not clear as to this waiting game. The risk to innocent parties from Paul's crazed fancies and murderous tendencies is serious, while any possible disclosures are uncertain. There is danger that Paul's passionate tempers may involve him in some altercation. Such might result in his death.

Then Oswald Langdon's vindication would be remotely doubtful, and Esther's hopes—there always is a break at this point in Sir Donald's musings.

To either follow or abandon present tactics is dangerous. It weighs upon Sir Donald's troubled consciousness that on his chosen line of action hangs Esther's hopes, with this contingent menace.

An unexpected incident checks Esther's growing pensiveness.

Sir Donald has become more worried. It seems impossible to divert his daughter's mind from the sorrowful infatuation.

Revolving in his troubled thoughts ways to relieve these despondent moods, Sir Donald is returning from a trip to the station. There seems no alternative but to await the uncertain issues of Lanier exposures. His horse shies at a moving bush by the roadside. A scared face peers through the foliage. With impulsive kindness he stops and speaks assuringly to this juvenile spy.

Losing her fright, the little girl takes a few steps toward the smiling horseman, then stands shyly mute, awaiting more persuasive speech.

Interested and charmed, Sir Donald dismounts, and fondling the straggling curls, inquires about the little one's name, home, and age.

These are given with innocent candor, but Sir Donald is not familiar with "Just-Bessie-That's-All," or "Granny." Having quite thorough knowledge of places within several miles of Northfield, he never has heard about the "lane up by the meadow, down by the woods."

The little stranger has no apparent idea of what "Papa" or "Mamma" signifies. Personal acquaintance seems limited to "Granny" and "Naughty-Dick-Pulls-Bessie's-Hair."

"Five years old next summer" is quite definite. To the question, "How did my little Bessie get here?" she looks scared, and replies, "Bessie hanged on!"

Concluding that this four-year-old had clung to the rear of some passing vehicle, and then dropped off, without the driver's knowledge, Sir Donald will take her to his home and make proper inquiry for "Granny."

Placing the hatless, barefooted tot before him on the spirited horse, he is soon at the Northfield mansion.

The child eats ravenously. It is evident some considerable time elapsed between that unbidden ride and queer "find."

After a big meal, little Bessie climbs upon Sir Donald's lap and is soon asleep. This pretty picture greets Esther and Charles on their return from a lake stroll.

Esther's sympathies are aroused. She arranges the softest kind of a cot in her own room. The downy spreads seem too heavy. Looking at the portrait of Sister Edith, Esther's eyes glow with a peculiar light.

Having gently washed dirt-stains from the little hands, face, and feet, Esther leads the way to where Sir Donald reluctantly deposits his new ward.

A load lifts from his heart. Temporary specific is found for that persistent heartsickness. The remedy seems so natural. Recent Paris and Calcutta retrospect chides his dullness of perception. He now fears "Granny" may veto the treatment.

Esther does not sleep well. She makes too many inspections of that cot. The stone-bruises on Bessie's feet may prove fatal! What can cure the sun-browned face and hands? Suppose the child should roll off on the floor!

Two delicately embroidered handkerchiefs, saturated with healing lotion, she bandages around those bruised soles. Tanned face and hands are treated with other soothing liquid that does no harm. Chairs are placed at sides and ends of the cot. Bessie is "bottled" in "effective blockade" of cushioned upholstery.

A strange noise is heard. Intently watching the little sleeper, Esther locates this vocal mystery. She fears Bessie's throat and lungs are affected.

The spreads do not fit. A strange impulse comes. It dilates her vision. She trembles a little.

Looking through the open door, Esther sees the smiling portraits of her mother and Edith. Both profiles approve her caprice. She softly steps to a curtained alcove. There, in mahogany and curved-glass wardrobe, are relics of sister Edith.

Esther selects some downy hand-embroidered silk and lace-fringed spreads. These replace those covering that besieged cot.

With tremulous content she takes a long, approving look at Bessie and extinguishes the light.

Straits of one self-banished outlaw are not dreamed of this night. Indefinite perils and unmerited gallows' menace to this interesting erstwhile suitor startle not love-loyal girlish fancy.

Little bruised feet, sunburnt face and hands, with straggling blond curls, usurp such function.

There is rustle of wings and happy smiling of familiar faces! The panorama concludes with vision of sleeping waif, upon love-beleaguered cot, illumined by mystic halo, and some high-browed watchers, gazing from child to maiden, uttering strangely significant speech about "one of the least of these."

Upon the next morning both Sir Donald and Esther rise late. Bessie still sleeps. With some doubt Esther leads her father to the cot. She is not quite sure about that quilt episode.

Sir Donald gazes at the child, and his eyes grow lustrous. Stooping down, he kisses the baby brow. Giving Esther a querulous smile, he returns to the library.

Weeks have passed since the arrival of Bessie at Northfield. Sir Donald made conscientious inquiry for "Granny." No one knows the child's antecedents. Bessie can furnish no clearer clews to her identity. She is happy in her new home. Many little surprises for the pleasure of Bessie are planned by the generous Esther. Interest in childish whims is so genuine as to check pensive, abstracted moods. These ministrations revive drooping spirits. Bessie's eccentricities become Northfield household tonic.

Commenting on this change to Esther, Sir Donald says: "Relaxed emotional tension and less concentrated musings permit more hopeful view and brighter horoscope. I now feel greatly relieved. This generous disposition of yours I now regard as acme of human dower. Its Paris and Calcutta whims once seemed pretty symptoms of harmless infatuation. I am now impressed with the mystic coherence of detached coincidents. There is ever-widening horizon to that which 'cometh without observation.'"

Charles Randolph is in London. Much interested in the issue of Lanier action, Charles chafes under long delays. He so earnestly had tried to cheer Esther by favorable comments upon the conduct of Oswald Langdon and by hopeful words about early vindication as to become a most zealous advocate.

As neither Lanier knew Charles, Sir Donald consented that he visit London.

Charles called at detective headquarters. Through his father's recommendation he was taken into full confidence. He assumed a disguise and shadowed the Laniers. Both at that basement room and upon the Thames he noted Lanier crafty shifts and fearfully significant crazes.

Soon after reaching London, Charles became much interested in a middle-aged gentleman and a young lady who sometimes dined together at the same hotel where he was stopping. His diary tells its own story:

"Both have most serious, refined manners, and talk little except with each other. There seems to be some near relationship between them, but just what, I cannot determine. Occasionally the girl dines alone. Each has a low, well-modulated voice. It seems to me that there is restraint in their speech.

"The man has a dissemblingly observing glance, and while apparently unconcerned, notes all. The girl's face wears an expression of sad yet almost hopeful pensiveness.

"I rarely have seen so striking a girlish face. Such finely molded features with mobile lights and shades suggest romantic interest. It seems to me that this beautiful, pensive young woman is capable of both deathless devotion and much zeal in any fixed resolve.

"That her companion is no common mortal I clearly see. However, this impressible young man is most concerned with feminine traits.

"It dawns upon me that both are aware of my presence. There is an almost imperceptible feigning of unconcern. Occasionally their eyes exchange significant glances, followed by commonplace remark or quiet reserve.

"It seems to me that there is coincidence in dining-hours. These people never precede, but almost invariably follow my appearance in the dining-room. At rare intervals I have detected interest in their observations of my table locality. The girl has slightly colored at my guarded admiring glances, and seemed nervously affected.

"Averse to needless or indiscreet notoriety at this particular time, I refrain from inquiry. Much as antecedents and purposes of these people interest me it will not be wise to risk vocal curiosity. I feel not only the restraints of good breeding, but of the situation. The Lanier exposures may be not even remotely hampered by sentimental interest in this young woman with most potent suggestions of a romantic past.

"I resolve to dismiss this subject from further thought. I will devote my whole time clearing up the Thames tragedy. This resolution is not so easy to carry out. That fascinating, pathetically mobile face confronts my inner vision. It seems to invoke sympathy and help in some indefinite crisis.

"Such claims not lightly may be disregarded. Intangible verities are most insistent.

"Even when spying upon Paul Lanier's crazed performances, I often am startled by reflection of that other face with its questioning pathos of mute appeal.

"There has been a break in these regular nightly tableaus. Paul fails to appear. For some reason this insane actor abandons his accustomed river pantomimes. This is reported at headquarters. I wonder what has occurred to cause the change. Close watch of Lanier movements makes it certain that Paul left the cellar room, but had not returned. I spent most of the night along the river, but Paul did not appear.

"At the office there is much curiosity, but it is thought probable that upon the following night Paul will resume his fearful infatuation. He again fails to appear. An employe is sent to Northfield.

"I am absorbed in this unexpected change from Lanier habits. It is reported that Pierre knows not of his son's whereabouts. The older Lanier had gone out disguised in search of Paul. He had spent all of the previous night along the river-banks. Another day and night pass. Pierre has made inquiries at police headquarters for any news of unusual interest.

"I now recall seeing neither of those interesting strangers within the last three days. I wonder if they really are gone. Perhaps I have been so much absorbed in disappearance of Paul Lanier as not to observe them.

"Upon reflection this is impossible. The sight of that sorrowful face would have riveted my attention. I would have noted the suggestive, dissembling, observing unconcern of her companion.

"There seems connection between the disappearance of these and that of Paul Lanier. The thought is startling. I now see some sure relation between the conduct of these strangers and the Lanier case. Such erratic conviction is most illogical, but positive. It is one of those soul-sights.

"I am sitting in my room at the hotel. It is the fourth night after Paul's last crazed performance upon the Thames. I see no natural or logical coherence between Paul's disappearance and that of these interesting strangers, but cannot free myself from this queer conviction. I am feeling an uneasy sense of the mysterious. What is transpiring at Northfield?"

There is a timid tap! Going to the door, he is surprised to see a veiled female figure. The woman steps into the room.

Making a hurried, nervous apology for her strange conduct, she urges Charles to go home without delay. "There may be danger to those you love."

Much mystified and alarmed by such unlooked-for warning, he begs for an explicit statement.

The reply rebukes him.

"Is it not enough that I come to warn you? Must I explain private matters? Would I come thus without good reason? Why not act promptly and ask no questions?"

These hurried interrogatories are both command and appeal. Charles promptly apologizes, giving assurances that he will at once heed her warning. In persuasive tones he asks:

"May I see you again?"

The answer comes:

"Possibly. I must decide that."

Without further word, this visitor passes out.

Making sudden preparations, Charles calls a cab and is soon at the station. In a few minutes more he is on the way to Northfield.

The substance and manner of this warning were mysteriously suggestive. Doubtless the veiled disguise was to avoid identification or some personal complications. This woman must know something about the Thames tragedy. There is relation between her strange visit and Paul Lanier's disappearance. Paul is surely in the neighborhood of Northfield.

Charles is convinced that this visitor is one of the interesting strangers he so often has seen in the hotel dining-room. He recalls reported former mysterious shadowings at Calcutta and along the Thames. That spying upon the Laniers at the cellar room comes vividly to mind. How strange those declamatory utterances in hearing of his father and Esther, along shore of the lake. Northfield loved ones must be in imminent danger to prompt such warning.

This brooding mystery grows fearfully fascinating. It nerves Charles to intense resolve. He longs for opportunity to strike some decisive blow. Is there time to protect those at home from impending peril? The urgent warning seemed to imply that dispatch is essential and may yet avail.

The thundering train moves too slowly. It seems ages before his destination is reached. Rushing from the car, Charles soon procures a horse, and digging the spurs into sides of the animal, gallops homeward.

At the entrance to Northfield mansion grounds his horse shies at a prostrate body just inside the gate.

Dismounting, Charles is startled at an upturned bloody face. He recognizes one of the household servants. The body is yet warm.

Charles is soon upon the porch. The door is locked. Passing around beneath his father's room windows, he finds these closed. Through lace drapings of Esther's room, he sees glimmer of a light. All outside doors are securely fastened. He is completing circuit of the house, when a rope is seen dangling from a second-story window. Grasping this, Charles pulls hard. It is attached to some immovable object in the upper hallway. He pauses, puzzled, then says: "An exit has been planned, but how was the entrance effected? Some one passed into the house through that hall window, and probably now lurks within. Perhaps all within have been murdered!"

Charles ascends the rope and enters the hallway. In the dim moonlight he sees a rod with hook attached. This is flexibly adjusted to the rope and drawn across lower window-casings.

Comprehending at a glance the method of entrance, he noiselessly passes along the hall and winding aisles into a room next that occupied by Esther. The connecting door is open. Glancing at the reflecting surface of a mirror, Charles is stupefied with horror. He staggers to the door.

Knife in hand, Paul Lanier is bending over the sleeping Bessie.

Charles raises his loaded pistol, taking aim. The finger pressing lightly responsive trigger seems paralyzed.

Raptly gazing at the child's innocent face, Paul softly croons some cradle melody. Oblivious to all hazards, unmoved by murderous craze prompting this night attempt upon lives of Northfield foes, Paul gently mutters a childhood refrain, thereby seeking to lull fancied wakefulness of this sleeping waif, of whose existence until then he had not known.

Still standing at the open door, with cocked pistol aimed at this crazed outlaw, Charles trembles violently. The sight and Paul's words unnerve his will.

The child moves upon her cot, talking disconnectedly.

"Please, Granny, don't cry! Bessie hanged on!"

Esther partially awakens. Vacantly gazing at the cot, she slumbers on.

Paul furtively looks about. Glaring at Esther, he moves toward the open door, stops, and then inspects his bloody knife. Muttering, Paul tiptoes back to Bessie's cot.

Again Charles raises his pistol, ready to fire.

Like robed priest upon ordained human sacrifice, Paul gazes at this dreaming four-year-old. Gently drawing the blade across his finger-tips, he sighs deeply. With low moan and gestured dissent, Paul again sheathes the knife. Moving away rapidly, by Charles, through adjoining room, he unerringly retraces his way to the hall window. Descending the pendent rope, Paul disappears in the darkness.

In explanation, Charles afterward said: "No one but me witnessed this scene. I followed Paul to the window and witnessed his descent. To have slain this outlaw would have been easy. Only to save life would I take this responsibility. Sight of any Northfield sleeper under Paul's uplifted knife would have nerved me to unerring shot. However, too much had been said about the necessity of Lanier exposures for reckless attack upon Paul. This worthless life is too valuable for inconsiderate squandering. Upon its precarious, oft-jeopardized tenure hang potent issues and kindred weal.

"I called one of the laborers upon the premises. Together we carried into a small building the lifeless form found at entrance to the mansion grounds.

"The dead man had been repeatedly stabbed. From his torn clothing and Paul's bloody, dirt-begrimed appearance, it was evident there had been a fierce struggle. This servant was surprised and assaulted while on guard.

"I did not awaken any of the family. It was not thought prudent to follow Paul. At such dark hour the craft of this madman would elude pursuit.

"Paul had entered the house to slay his enemies, and was restrained only by sight of Bessie. This surprise had diverted his murderous thoughts, thereby saving the lives of father and Esther."

Charles and his assistant remain on guard until morning. It is not much feared that Paul will return that night, but they take precautions.

Sir Donald rises early. He is greatly surprised at seeing Charles in the library. The night's experiences are graphically narrated. Sir Donald is profoundly moved. That London warning is mysterious. Murder of the faithful servant grieves him sorely. Paul's queer entrance evinces strange cunning. That this madman with bloody knife unhindered had entered Esther's room, and only by merest, unaccountable, crazed caprice was diverted from his murderous purpose, is too horrible for thought.

To allay his father's fears requires repeated assurances from Charles that both Esther and Bessie are safe. Sir Donald clings to his son's arm for support. Again looking proudly at Charles, he fondles this smiling youth, and excitedly hails him "Savior of Northfield!"

Charles restrains his father from calling Esther and Bessie.

"It will be better not to say anything about Paul's entering the house. It would worry sister."

Servants are called, and the dead body is moved to a vacant building some distance from the mansion grounds. After official inquiry into the cause of death, the deceased is buried.

Sir Donald feels conscious-smitten. To Charles he says: "This life has been sacrificed to promote Esther's welfare. In pursuance of questionable tactics and furtherance of doubtful ends one death just has occurred. That many others have not been chronicled is surprising.

"Looking at Esther and Bessie, gratitude for their preservation from Paul Lanier's murderous knife is blended with grief for the dead servant and an insistent sense of indirect, personal accounting.

"Selfish, exclusive Randolph tactics always have failed. That our beloved Esther has not fallen a victim to her father's deliberate precautions resulted mainly from accidental finding of a juvenile human estray, without known guardian or antecedents. Even that mysterious warning was far more availing for fireside defense than my fatherly solicitude and protecting care. Nothing but a strange, crazed diversion restrained that blood-stained dagger. But for that, your unerring aim would have been too late.

"I am now resolved that this insane wretch no longer shall menace human life. Lanier exposures must abide safe public interests. It now seems criminally imbecile longer to permit this madman to jeopardize lives of so many. Even Paul Lanier's own existence demands his detention in a madhouse."

Sir Donald determines that on the following day he will insist upon Paul's arrest. Only formal official inquiry as to the death of the servant prevents him taking the first train for London. This disposed of, the trip is made upon the following day.

Going to detective headquarters, Sir Donald is admitted to the chief's room. This man of many shifts is but coldly courteous. He awaits Sir Donald's explanations without interruptions. The whole tragic affair is explained, but there is no responsive suggestion.

Sir Donald urges the necessity of Paul's arrest and detention.

The chief is strangely reticent.

Sir Donald looks at him inquiringly, then detects a sneering expression. Waiting for some response, he is silent for a few moments. Rising with dignity, Sir Donald moves toward the door. This unfeigned resentment convinces the chief that there is a mistake. Sir Donald Randolph has not been playing double. The indignant pathos of that honest face precludes dissembling. Hastening to apologize for his error, the chief informs Sir Donald that both Pierre and Paul Lanier are in custody.

"This morning the arrests were made, but without coÖperation of our agency.

"Paul has been at Northfield. He haunted the shores of the lake. Our employe sent from London saw Paul lurking in the woods, and followed him to a steep ravine. Here Paul vanished. The spy waited, screened by some bushes, expecting to see him again. This watch was continued until daylight.

"Paul did not appear upon the following day. The employe returned to London and reported. About same hour the watcher assigned to duty in neighborhood of the Lanier room saw Paul go down the basement stairs. This was after four in the morning. Neither Lanier left the room that day or the following night.

"Charles did not report to the office, and we could not locate him anywhere in London. It was thought that Paul had been at Northfield, but attempted no violence, and that moved by some insane influence he had returned to London.

"Awaiting Northfield advices and Charles' appearance, the agency was dumfounded at news that both Laniers had been arrested. It occurred about eight o'clock this morning. We are not yet advised as to the causes for this unexpected move. The matter is being investigated.

"Because of Charles' disappearance without notice, and these unaccountable arrests, we believed that you were in league with other parties to bring about Lanier accounting for their many crimes.

"It was known that a veiled woman called upon Charles the night he left London. After the arrests it had been rumored that Charles left London for Northfield on the night of this mysterious call and did not return. This female stranger and a middle-aged man were often together, and shadowed the Laniers. Our agency employes kept close watch of that spy who witnessed Paul's Thames crazes, and from his alley window overlooked the basement entrance. He had been followed and repeatedly seen with this male companion. That both the man and woman boarded at the same hotel where Charles stopped had been discovered. This spy sometimes called there. Charles had said nothing about these circumstances, and, we suspected, did not care to confide in the agency.

"The manner of Lanier arrests strongly confirmed our suspicions that some independent procedure was being pressed, with your knowledge and approval.

"I was indignant at such supposed double-dealing. Strenuous, untiring efforts for years have been made to unravel this Lanier web. The agency dealt frankly with you, and is entitled to like treatment. You always insisted on caution and against premature action. The trials and convictions of these villains for double murder of Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon were not to be hampered by any other criminal issue. Taking into consideration all of these facts, your sudden change of purpose and advocacy of Paul's immediate arrest seemed the climax of insincerity.

"Believing that you were cognizant of all that had been done and procured the arrests, your report of recent Northfield incidents still further nettled me. To advise immediate arrests already made at your instigation was insulting effrontery. This apparently hypocritical talk intensified my suspicions into positive conviction of your deceit. Now I am sure there is a mistake somewhere. All of us are victims to counter-purposes of mysterious allied agencies."

Sir Donald saw the force of these explanations. He excused all as natural to the circumstances.

Both discussed the arrests in many possible and probable bearings. It was concluded that these bore relation to those before made in Calcutta. They can only wait. The mystery will soon clear.

For a while at least there will be no danger from Paul's murderous mania. If these outlaws again are released, Sir Donald will procure Paul's detention as a madman. He will stay a few days in London, ready for any emergency.

Though Paul is in close confinement, securely ironed, Sir Donald feels uneasy for the safety of Esther and Bessie. He sends for them and Charles. They join him in London. All find accommodations at the hotel where Charles had stopped.

The family and Bessie are seated in the dining-room. Soon those interesting strangers slowly enter and take seats at a near table, not appearing to notice the Randolph group. The woman faces Sir Donald and Esther, but keeps her eyes cast down, coloring deeply. Her companion notes the gossiping shades, but appears unconcerned. It is evident that without looking at any person in particular, he critically surveys those staring in that direction.

Esther is pale and tremulous with excitement. Sir Donald's view has been riveted upon that same fascinating face; he longs for a look at those downcast eyes; the outlines and expression are familiar.

Fine, glossy, raven-black hair is combed in profusion over brow and temples, but to him the disguise is apparent. An upward glance reveals that her identity is suspected. Esther's concentrated, startled stare and Sir Donald's look of recognition cannot be misunderstood. Charles sees that there is some strange discovery pending. From Esther and Sir Donald he looks inquiringly to that other troubled, flushed face.

The object of such combined curiosity casts an appealing glance at her companion, then quickly rising, leaves the dining-room.

Waiting for a few moments, the man, slowly and with no appearance of concern, follows.

Sir Donald briefly hesitates, then abruptly quits the table. Stepping to the stairway, he sees the man ascending. Calling to him, Sir Donald craves an interview upon "very important business."

With show of hesitation and vexed impatience, the stranger answers, "Well?"

Sir Donald ascends, and begging pardon for his abrupt manners, says:

"If I am not mistaken, the young lady who just left the table in such distress is supposed to be dead."

The man looks blank.

"Years ago she was reported drowned in the Thames."

Sir Donald sees that he is right.

"Her name is Alice Webster."

Raising his hand appealingly, the stranger beckons Sir Donald to follow. They enter a room at the extreme rear of the building. It connects with one adjoining. This door is quickly closed. Offering Sir Donald a seat at the farther side, the stranger asks him to speak in low tones.

Comprehending that the woman is in the other room and that her companion desires her not to hear their talk, Sir Donald does as requested.

"I am overjoyed that Alice is alive."

"Why?" is the brief response.

Sir Donald hesitates; then cautiously replies:

"For many reasons."

Realizing that this man is craftily fencing against some hazard, Sir Donald will await more definite disclosures.

The stranger perceives this. He must confide in Sir Donald, and thereby secure his aid.

"Suppose it should prove that you are right, what then?"

"We all would be too happy," is the guarded reply.

"Would you and your family keep such knowledge secret until we consented to its publicity?"

Here Sir Donald judiciously temporizes.

"No light consideration would prompt any of us to oppose your wishes. However, to save an innocent person from suspicion of murder or to promote the happiness of some loved one, I would tell all."

The stranger here looks puzzled.

"I cannot grasp your meaning. Who is suspected of murder? Whose happiness could be promoted by such disclosures?"

Sir Donald is now sure that this man knows nothing of the facts prompting these reservations.

"Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon are supposed to be dead. Alice is alive and now in the adjoining room. Paul Lanier committed the assault. Pierre Lanier has defrauded Alice out of a large estate. She is alive and interested in recovery of the property. I would do all in my power to aid her. Against any breaches of confidence I decline to make pledges. The time and money I have spent to right her wrongs show my sincerity. What assurances should you require that I will not betray this poor, long-suffering girl?"

The stranger seems affected by Sir Donald's positive speech and honest look. He is silent for a few moments, then rises and tells Sir Donald that what has been said will be considered.

"I doubt not we can arrive at some friendly understanding. If desired I will meet you here this evening at eight. It will not be necessary to suggest that nothing be said about our conversation."

Sir Donald promises to call at the appointed hour.

Esther and Charles were in her room. Neither felt further table interest after this morning's surprise. Esther had told her convictions to Charles, and he was much elated. By turns she looked scared and joyous. With much impatience both awaited their father's return.

His report excites them still more. The time between morning and that evening appointment seems very long.

It is now sure that in some mysterious way Alice Webster escaped death at the hands of Paul Lanier. This simplifies all. Oswald Langdon needs no longer wander. That heavy load of fatherly care is about to lift forever. Esther's troubles will vanish. Storm-clouds will cease to lower over the Randolph fireside.

Only fear that through some fateful perversity he might lose the opportunity of seeing Alice and of clearing up this vexing affair nerved Sir Donald to such abrupt manners. This was an emergency in which decorum would be imbecile. What if these now escape? Possibly this cautious, far-seeing man may advise Alice to deny her identity or to remain in seclusion. There may be good reasons why the girl should seek to avoid scandal.

Sir Donald will take every precaution to prevent their escape. He suggests these thoughts to Charles, and they are on guard. Both watch outside entrances to the hotel.

Neither the girl nor man appears at either meal. This further arouses suspicion. Just after dark a man and woman pass out of the side hall door. Charles follows them. The two move rapidly down the street. Charles crosses to the opposite side and keeps them in view. For some distance this line of action is pursued. They enter a passing cab, and Charles returns.

This move is bewildering. Sir Donald is now aroused. He will keep this appointment, and if the stranger fail to appear, take decisive steps. He has seen Alice Webster, and would swear to her identity. This pair shall be traced, and the facts be given publicity. He will write to Oswald Langdon that Alice is surely alive. He sends Charles to detective offices with advices for the shadowing of these runaways.

He makes the appointed call. The other is there, receiving him courteously. His presence mystifies Sir Donald. It is impossible that this man could have gone out and returned.

The stranger opens with the remark:

"I talked the matter over with the girl, and she is undecided."

Sir Donald responds, "About what?"

"She does not understand what you mean by your references to some one who may be suspected of murder and to some loved one whose happiness might be promoted by disclosures."

Sir Donald replies:

"These are matters I will not discuss further."

The man irritably responds:

"Then we decline to talk any more upon the subject. You are welcome to your delusion."

Here Sir Donald grows indignant.

"Alice Webster is alive and subject to your control. Through your advice she has left this house, intending to evade discovery. You are both watched. I know facts which would overjoy Alice. I may not confide them to either until her identity is confessed and her conduct explained. I have no desire to reveal a single fact about her escape from the Thames or her strange concealment, until she can be protected. I doubt not Alice feels regrets for the past. It is positively known that she had nothing to do with the assault upon Oswald Langdon. An eye-witness to this crime saw Alice and Oswald both fall into the river. Fully confide in me, and I will aid you in recovery of the big estate taken from Alice by Pierre Lanier. Do this without explicit pledges of any kind. I make no promises."

The stranger hesitates.

"If we are to tell you all, why do you refuse us your confidence?"

Sir Donald replies:

"When the existence of Alice Webster is clearly proven, and her strange disappearance accounted for, I will explain what you ask."

There is a long pause. The stranger looks into Sir Donald's face fixedly, then grasping his hand, says:

"I will trust you implicitly. We will now find my niece."

The two pass out, down the stairs, and upon the street. The stranger beckons to a cabman. In about half an hour they stop in front of an inn. Giving the driver instructions, the stranger leads the way to a door, which he unlocks. Both enter, and Sir Donald is left with assurance that the man soon will return.

In about fifteen minutes Alice Webster appears, followed by this male enigma. She looks scared and greatly confused.

Sir Donald advances, and with courtesy says:

"I am happy to see you, Alice!"

The girl stammers and sinks back on the sofa. She soon becomes calmer, and presents her uncle, Thomas Webster.

After a few remarks, the uncle leaves Sir Donald and Alice alone.

Seeing Alice's embarrassment, Sir Donald kindly says:

"I have not the least criticism of your conduct, Alice. Tell me all, and I will be your friend. It has turned out gloriously!"

Thus encouraged, the girl begins her strange recital.

How years before, with Oswald Langdon, she took the night row on the Thames, strolled along the river-bank, and chatted at the rustic seat, is brokenly described. The assault and fall of both into swollen stream are shudderingly explained. Alice pauses.

"Must I tell the rest?"

Sir Donald speaks assuringly.

They hear suppressed murmurs at outside entrance to the hallway. Thomas Webster goes to the door. Three men are in sight. One inquires for Sir Donald Randolph.

"It is important that we see him at once."

Alice still pauses.

Hurriedly her uncle enters. He advises Sir Donald to see these callers without delay.

Going to the hall door, Sir Donald recognizes Charles, who explains their unceremonious call.

"I went as directed to the detective office and reported. After some little time employes who had shadowed that Thames spy arrived. These expressed the opinion that the couple who left the hotel were the girl and this same mysterious watcher, and that they went directly to this inn. The strange spy often had gone there, presumably to report. These two employes and I took a cab to the hotel where we have stopped. We there learned that you and a middle-aged man a short time before entered a cab and were driven away. Then we believed that the two had gone to this inn. To circumvent any escape or trick upon you, I then insisted on finding you without delay. We have just arrived and will do as you think advisable."

Sir Donald stepped back into the room and briefly explained to Thomas Webster what had occurred. They decided it would be better not to tarry longer. On the next day Alice could finish her story. These detective employes need not further trouble themselves in this matter. Scandal easily could be avoided. The next day, at three o'clock, Alice and her uncle would meet Sir Donald at his hotel, and she would tell all. Sir Donald would return with Charles and the detectives.

Bidding the two good-night, Sir Donald, Charles, and the detectives return at once to the hotel. Cautioning these sleuths still to shadow this pair and report, Sir Donald and Charles join Esther, who, with the sleeping Bessie in her arms, has been awaiting their return.

These talk over the probable facts of this strange romance, and agree that whatever may have been her conduct, they will befriend Alice. The poor girl doubtless suffered greatly. What sorrowful memories were suggested by that sad face! All soon will be cleared. Oswald Langdon now may return without shame. Esther's eyes are tearfully luminous; Charles looks proudly expectant; over Sir Donald's fascinating features settles a gravely wistful smile.

Triple content concentrates in mute benediction upon curly head of baby tramp, dreaming unspeakable mysteries upon the arm of Esther.