At times Pierre's remorse is horrible. He thinks not of defrauded, murdered ward. Paul's victims raise no spectral hands of menace. To Pierre all other crimes shrink aghast at this most heinous incarnation of a father's guilt. He becomes indifferent to his own life. In despairing solicitude, he exclaims:
"Only that some relief come to that distracted head I gladly would pay the penalties of all my crimes!"
This desperate man even beseeches heaven for his son's relief. He prays not for himself, nor cares for personal deliverance. In all-absorbing concern for the crazed Paul, he dares appeal to divine compassion, without thought of self or pardon. Strange infatuation! Pierre grows hopeful, and feels some queer sense of grateful obligation. He slowly gropes and stumbles, while tenaciously turning his soul's blind orbs toward this dimly glimmering yet hopeful ray. Pierre faintly recollects the account of the "Gadirean" tenant of the tombs.
"Paul's case is not so serious as that, but who will pity my poor crazed boy?"
Pierre thinks of Sir Donald Randolph. This high-principled champion of the defrauded, murdered Alice Webster is Pierre's and Paul's uncompromising pursuer. That any other had set or kept in operation such tireless shadowings Pierre has no thought. This man can be neither cajoled nor bribed, yet may soften at frank avowal or direct appeal.
Pierre gives no thought to his own accountings. Through troubled night he has been thinking about his crazed boy. Suppose it might transpire that the prison portal swings open and he walks forth into the light of day a free man, what is there in life for Pierre Lanier? The only ogre shape whose boding presence for him has terrors is this avenging "sprite," Paul's growing craze.
Pierre could seek respite in suicide, but not thus might escape a father's heavy accounting. He has no thought of such evasive shift. In all the worlds, it seems to Pierre, there is none but he to pity Paul. But for the irrational hope of in some way ministering to stresses of this afflicted son, that guilty, wretched parent would, with bared brow and unflinching front, welcome fate's worst.
Pierre will make a decisive throw of the fateful dice. Calling the turnkey, he asks for paper and pencil. These are brought. Pierre writes a brief note to Sir Donald Randolph, handing it open to the surprised watcher. It is a simple request that Sir Donald come at once to see Pierre Lanier upon important matters.