The former Sir Donald Randolph is changed. His old philosophical, speculative, idealistic bent is as completely in abeyance as though stricken with rudimentary palsy. In their stead is an alert, untiring, relentless Nemesis, more pitiless because of intense, novel zeal.
But Sir Donald is handicapped. Not that time or money is lacking. These are available. What about Esther? Her comment upon the absence of Oswald and Alice that night had been painfully distinct. The unmistaken, mute language of her eyes and quivering lips was clearer. Her pretty, persistent dissembling was confirmation. Subsequent suspicious innuendoes had aggravated her feelings. He asks himself: "Shall I neglect this troubled child to engage in ferreting out crime? Why should Esther's sorrows merit her father's neglect?"
Seeing a picture of justice blinded, he exclaims: "What mocking irony in judicial pose of blind goddess poising nicely adjusted balance, whose crude, arbitrary registers reckon not of vicarious pain!"
Sir Donald's first duty is at home. Justice can find agents more expert than he, but its ministry is too coarse for the subtle sentiments of the fireside.
Sir Donald and Esther returned to Northfield.
Though taking her father into many little girlish confidences, Esther had not told him of her life's mission or of Oswald's proposal. She still remained silent. Both subjects were painful. Her father's worries should not be increased.
Esther sees no way to begin her chosen work. Recent troubles cloud her vision. She shrinks from the notoriety. That which was once grand charity and self-sacrifice is now crafty, hypocritical show.
She knows her father's proud sense of propriety and abhorrence of every sham profession cannot be reconciled to such step at this time. Has not this field been interdicted by Providence? Are her faculties to find employment in the more congenial ministries of home?
Esther feels a sort of vague responsibility for the tragic occurrences of the past few weeks. True, she had acted from high moral sense of duty, but conscience is often dogmatic.
Esther knows Oswald was sincere. That she loved this manly, refined, courteous suitor she is most painfully certain. But for her acquiescence in the infatuation of Alice Webster, Oswald never would have encouraged the growing sentiment of this girl. Had Esther remained at Northfield, Oswald would have stayed away from London. But for Esther's apparent desire that Oswald and Alice take the boat-ride while she accompanied Sir Donald to the opera, both now would be alive.