There is regret at this waiting, but all approve Oswald's doing as advised by the physician.
Alice and Charles are not pensive over any delays. In conscious adjustment to the happy present, neither past nor future clouds their clear, sunlighted skies. Both feel that their lives soon will blend. Before that expected proposal neither doubted its utterance or acceptance. It came as easily as come responsive, happy greetings from eager lips and lustrous eyes. There is no doubt of that uncle's approval, but the nuptial ceremony can abide his return from Calcutta.
The next day after this betrothal came another letter from Oswald to Sir Donald, telling of his safe arrival at Southampton. He will visit his parents, and in three days from that date be at Northfield.
All experience a sense of expectant pleasure. Sir Donald feels that past worries are receding into waning retrospect. Charles is happy in his own right. Alice longs for a sight of that Thames resurrection while looking into the handsome face then smiling its admiration of her own. Bessie—well, this little fair-haired "find" says all sorts of pretty, indiscreet things, interrupts tête-à-têtes, intrudes upon conferences, artlessly domineers over everybody, closing each day's performances by going to sleep upon the arm of Sir Donald.
Without mishap Oswald reaches Southampton. The ocean voyage had been pleasant, and he feels buoyantly hopeful. He is impatient for the home reunion with father and mother. Anticipating their glad surprise at his safe return, Oswald pauses at the familiar portal out of which he had fled a disguised fugitive years before. He hesitates, then rings the bell. The door is opened, and his father looks inquiringly. There is glad recognition, and the rector leads his son to a chair, but both remain standing. Looking tearfully upward, the father holds Oswald's hand and says nothing. Both fix their eyes upon a new oil portrait. Sinking into a chair, Oswald whispers:
"Where is mother?"
To this comes only:
"Gone home!"
For an hour these stricken ones sit with clasped palms, neither crying nor indulging in spoken grief. Then, as if by mutual impulse, both talk of other things.
Oswald speaks of past troubles and present deliverances. He is now free from all suspicion, and can face the world without fear. Alice Webster is alive, and the Laniers are in custody.