"Wonder what detains Mr. Lanier!"

Tremblingly Paul opens the door between the rooms, and there are many surprised remarks, followed by explanations.

Agnes says: "I heard the bell, and supposed you entered the sitting-room. I continued my toilet, and was delayed by missing articles of apparel. The new servant, in her zeal, disarranged everything.

Without directions from me about your expected appearance, the servant ushered you by mistake into my uncle's private room."

The bewitching manner and artless talk of Agnes soon quiet Paul's excited nerves. No hint is given of his strange apparition. The evening pa.s.ses pleasantly, though at times Paul feels a creepy sense of dread.

He is loth to leave. From mute signs he concludes it is better to go.

Paul hurries away about midnight.

Within half an hour the rooms occupied by Sir Charles and Agnes are vacated. Two figures in male attire enter a closed conveyance, and are driven rapidly in an opposite direction from that taken by Paul Lanier.

CHAPTER IX

THE HOSPITAL CONFESSION

Sir Donald Randolph and Esther remained several months at Paris.

While keeping fully advised of all developments reported to the London detective bureau, Sir Donald seemed absorbed in sight-seeing. His zeal in unmasking the conspiracy resulting in the double murder was unabated.

That Paul Lanier, at the instigation of his father, committed the homicides, partial developments tended to prove. From Calcutta and Bombay advices received at London there was no doubt that some fraud had been perpetrated against the estate of William Webster by his partner in India.

Sir Donald felt much concern for the welfare of Esther. Not having his retributive zeal to support her in this trial, she brooded more over the recent past. He tried to divert her mind to pleasant subjects, thereby weaning from sorrowful memories.

There was much in Paris life to engross youthful attention. This, with her generous sympathy for her father's troubles and effort to mitigate his painful remembrances, prevented gloomy melancholy. Yet Esther could not be joyous. Both Oswald and Alice were transfigured. Her love for the one and pity for the other grew in tender pathos. Oswald Langdon ever would be an ideal of courteous, refined, considerate, earnest, high-souled manhood, whose last of life had touched her being's most sensitive vibratory chords.

Father and daughter were much admired by Parisian social elite. Their rare intelligence, culture, and refined manners had an irresistible charm. However, there was that about both which repelled familiar personal a.s.sociation. They moved amid gay festivities as if their thoughts were elsewhere.

This abstraction and mutual care for each other's wants tinged their conduct with romantic interest. In all the whirl and surge of Parisian life, these unique faces never failed to attract notice. Neither seeking nor avoiding social recognition, they became quite extensively known among prominent French families and cosmopolitan notables domiciled at this Mecca of migratory moneyed aristocracy.

Sir Donald's intellectual ac.u.men and rare versatility could not fail to impress all with whom he came in contact. His elegance of manner and diction, easy grace, with air of accustomed self-poise suggested habitual luxurious environment.

Esther's finely molded, expressive features, faultless form, pensive grace, and rare feminine accomplishments seemed natural paternal dower.

Doors flew open as if by magic; desired entree smiled eager beckoning; refined circles gave freedom of their domain. Many arts of indirection were employed by eligible madames, monsieurs, and visiting notables of both s.e.xes to remove that invisible yet formidable barrier of reserve.

Courteous evasion or mild indifference or other countercraft parried every a.s.sault. In some few instances, vague or more positive-mannered "cuts" silenced curious inquiry, but these were rare. After one successful evasion, he remarked to Esther: "Refined, resolute reserve has many arts for warding off both vulgar and cultured impertinence."

Esther found time to learn much about the condition of Paris poor. Sir Donald encouraged this whim as tending to divert her mind from the past and to exert a wholesome influence. Many little helpful ministries among this cla.s.s could be credited to her brief sojourn in this European capital. Esther frequently visited at the hospitals. Her calls were so ordered that notoriety was avoided. Naturally timid, she now shrank from publicity as contagion, but would take necessary hazards.

Esther's zeal grows with knowledge of human want. Service becomes high privilege. Ward of want is now sanctuary. She sometimes has glimpses of angelic compet.i.tion.

Smiling at his daughter's helpful infatuation, Sir Donald often accompanied her in these calls. He soon feels symptoms of mild interest.

The contagion is pleasing. These visits grow in length and frequency.

Sir Donald is losing zeal for man-capture. He is in danger of yielding to the delusive heresy which sees more of interest in human suffering than in crime.

One stormy day father and daughter are at a hospital. They had thought of staying away until after the rain was over, but Esther seemed lonely, and Sir Donald proposed an immediate call. They rode in a closed carriage, taking some delicacies to those who had learned to watch for their coming.

A piteous moan attracts Esther's quick ear and sympathy. Going softly down the aisle, she places her hand upon the fevered brow of a new inmate. The sufferer opens his eyes with a startled look. She asks his name and ailment. There is an expression of supplication on the pale face.

"Am I dreaming? No, it cannot be Miss Randolph."

"Yes, I am Esther Randolph. Won't you kindly tell me your name?"

Seeing his hesitation, Esther added: "Whisper it! I will not tell!" Sir Donald came near, but was motioned to stop. He understood her reason, and moved away. There was no response.

"Perhaps I can do something for you!"

"Not now. I shall soon be where help never comes."

Esther begged him to permit her to send for a minister.

"There is no use! My crimes are too great!"

Esther could not leave this strange sufferer with his goading conscience. She suggested that perhaps by telling her of his past life some good might result to the living. He remained silent for a while.

"Yes; but how atone for the death of the innocent? No, I did not kill them! I never knew about the murders until both were drowned!"

He seemed in fevered reverie. Esther, now excited, but controlling her voice, soothingly said:

"Tell me all your troubles. You are safe."

"But they will kill me if I tell! They never fail to have revenge."

"But if you are dying, why go before G.o.d without telling all? How can they hurt you for telling?" whispered Esther.

"True; but if I should not die?"

"Tell all, and you shall not be harmed."

He looked long in her face and eyes.

"Yes, I will tell none but you. I have seen you and your father in London. Where is your father now?"

"Here in this ward."

There is a startled look.

"But Sir Donald Randolph is my enemy!"

Esther a.s.sured him that her father never would betray the trust of a dying man.

He seemed convinced, but indulged in further soliloquy.

"Why should they care to follow me? The case is dismissed. I had nothing to do with the murders."

Esther sees the tragic coherence of these rambling remarks. She urges him to confess all.