The Millionaire Baby | Page 5

become insupportable to Mrs.
Ocumpaugh. Though no blame could be rightfully attached to her, it
was certainly true that the child had been carried off while in her charge,
and however hard it might be for her, few could blame the mother for
wishing her removed from the house desolated by her lack of vigilance.
But she was a good girl and felt the humiliation of her departure almost
in the light of a disgrace.
As we came again into an open portion of the lawn, she stopped short
and looked back.
"Oh!" she cried, gripping me by the arm, "there is Mrs. Ocumpaugh
still at the window. All night she has stood there, except when she flew
down to the river at the sound of some imaginary call from the boats.
She believes, she really believes, that they will yet come upon
Gwendolen's body in the dock there."
Following the direction of her glance, I looked up. Was that Mrs.
Ocumpaugh--that haggard, intent figure with eyes fixed in awful

expectancy on the sinister group I could picture to myself down at the
water's edge? Never could I have imagined such a look on features I
had always considered as cold as they were undeniably beautiful. As I
took in the misery it expressed, that awful waiting for an event
momently anticipated, and momently postponed, I found myself,
without reason and simply in response to the force of her expression,
unconsciously sharing her expectation, and with a momentary
forgetfulness of all the probabilities, was about to turn toward the spot
upon which her glances were fixed, when a touch on my arm recalled
me to myself.
"Come!" whispered my trembling companion. "She may look down
and see us here."
I yielded to her persuasion and turned away into the cluster of trees that
lay between us and that opening in the hedge through which our course
lay. Had I been alone I should not have budged till I had seen some
change--any change--in the face whose appearance had so deeply
affected me.
"Mrs. Ocumpaugh certainly believes that the body of her child lies in
the water," I remarked, as we took our way onward as rapidly as
possible. "Do you know her reasons for this?"
"She says, and I think she is right so far, that the child has been bent for
a long time on fishing; that she has heard her father talk repeatedly of
his great luck in Canada last year and wished to try the sport for herself;
that she has been forbidden to go to the river, but must have taken the
first opportunity when no eye was on her to do so; and--and--Mrs.
Ocumpaugh shows a bit of string which she found last night in the
bushes alongside the tracks when she ran down, as I have said, at some
imaginary shout from the boats--a string which she declares she saw
rolled up in Gwendolen's hand when she went into the bungalow to
look at her. Of course, it may not be the same, but Mrs. Ocumpaugh
thinks it is, and--"
"Do you think it possible, after all, that the child did stray down to the
water?"

"No," was the vehement disclaimer. "Gwendolen's feet were
excessively tender. She could not have taken three steps in only one
shoe. I should have heard her cry out."
"What if she went in some one's arms?"
"A stranger's? She had a decided instinct against strangers. Never could
any one she did not know and like have carried her so far as that
without her waking. Then those men on the track,--they would have
seen her. No, Mr. Trevitt, it was not in that direction she went."
The force of her emphasis convinced me that she had an opinion of her
own in regard to this matter. Was it one she was ready to impart?
"In what direction, then?" I asked, with a gentleness I hoped would
prove effective.
Her impulse was toward a frank reply. I saw her lips part and her eyes
take on the look which precedes a direct avowal, but, as chance would
have it, we came at that moment upon the thicket inclosing the
bungalow, and the sight of its picturesque walls, showing brown
through the verdure of the surrounding shrubbery, seemed to act as a
check upon her, for, with a quick look and a certain dry accent quite
new in her speech, she suddenly inquired if I did not want to see the
place from which Gwendolen had disappeared.
Naturally I answered in the affirmative and followed her as she turned
aside into the circular path which embraces this hidden retreat; but I
had rather have heard her answer to my question, than to have gone
anywhere or seen anything at that moment. Yet,