There are upon the faces of that early-risen household looks of expectation. All seem self-possessed, except Esther. While bewitchingly trying to be very circumspect, Esther is consciously excited. Starting up, checking the impulse, with forced composure slowly sitting down, Esther steals glances at Alice and Charles, asks questions, answers to which do not interest her in the least, then hugs the spoiled Bessie, and quits the room.
Sir Donald drives alone to the station. Soon the train arrives. After greetings, Oswald enters the carriage, and they slowly drive toward that elegant home. Sir Donald notes Oswald's subdued responses. His intuition suggests some recent sad revelation at the parental fireside. He inquires about Oswald's home visit and the health of his parents. The reply sounds like echo of requiem toll.
"Mother went away!"
Words of condolence would be incongruous. Silence is more expressive. Without reference to past tragic happenings, these talk about current matters of incidental interest, and are soon at the Northfield mansion.
Entering the family sitting-room, Charles is first presented. Then from an obscure corner, with scared smile upon her face, advances Alice Webster. Both look inquiringly as they extend their hands. Bessie gazes with large, curious eyes, and all are seated.
Sir Donald has relieved the tense embarrassment by some casual comments, when in the next room is heard timid, hesitating steps. Turning toward the connecting arch, Oswald's eyes meet those of Esther Randolph. Timidly advancing, Esther extends her hand, which soon trembles in his own, but hints not at withdrawal. That palm's tremulous lingering is most subtle, yet ingenuous assurance. Oswald's heart quickens at the sign.
The evening is passed in refined conversation. Oswald's pensive musings cannot last in such environment. There is no haste to talk over past sorrows. Both Oswald and Charles recall having met on that "tramp" steamer.
As if for Oswald's better assurance, Esther lingers near, never seeming at ease except in his presence. At times she gazes upon that erratic erstwhile suitor as if fearful he again may leave upon some strange journey. Often to Esther it seems Oswald is unduly reserved, fearing long looking into her eyes or lingering touches of that confiding hand as useless toying with forbidden things. Her woman's intuition suggests the cause. Upon the lake's wooded shore years ago did she not respond to that eloquent avowal with stated consecration upon the altar of self-sacrifice? Oswald may believe that this decision is final. Too, this handsome, fascinating, imperious, masterful man has been away ample time to grow cold or meet some other attraction.
In their tête-à-têtes Esther shows continuing interest for charitable matters. She tells about Paris and Calcutta hospitals. Those calls at cabins in Calcutta suburb are related with harrowing incidents of the mothers' poverty. Oswald listens intently, but does not moralize. Esther looks troubled, and refers to happenings when Oswald first visited Northfield and Alice Webster was her guest. That quiet listener hears all, but seems in pensive reverie.