ventured to ask
whose taste this was.

The answer was short and had a decided ring of disapproval in it.

"Her mother's. Mrs. Ocumpaugh believes in simple surroundings for
children."

"Yet she dressed Gwendolen like a princess."

"Yes, for the world's eye. But in her own room she wore gingham aprons
which effectually covered up her ribbons and laces."

The motive for all this was in a way evident to me, but somehow what I
had just seen did not add to my courage for the coming interview.

We stopped at the remotest door of this long hall. As Miss Porter opened
it I summoned up all my nerve, and the next moment found myself standing
in the presence of the imposing figure of Mrs. Ocumpaugh drawn up in the
embrasure of a large window overlooking the Hudson. It was the same
window, doubtless, in which she had stood for two nights and a day
watching for some sign from the boats engaged in dragging the river-bed.
Her back was to me and she seemed to find it difficult to break away
from her fixed attitude; for several minutes elapsed before she turned
slowly about and showed me her face.

When she did, I stood appalled. Not a vestige of color was to be seen on
cheek, lip or brow. She was the beautiful Mrs. Ocumpaugh still, but the
heart which had sent the hues of life to her features, was beating
slow--slow--and the effect was heartbreaking to one who had seen her in
her prime and the full glory of her beauty as wife and mother.

"Pardon," I faltered out, bowing my head as if before some powerful
rebuke, though her lips were silent and her eyes pleading rather than
accusing. Truly, I had ventured far in daring to recall to this woman an
hour which at this miserable time she probably would give her very life
to forget. "Pardon," I repeated, with even a more humble intonation than
before, for she did not speak and I hardly knew how to begin the
conversation. Still she said nothing, and at last I found myself forced
to break the unbearable silence by some definite remark.

"I have presumed," I therefore continued, advancing but a step toward
her who made no advance at all, "to send you a hurried sketch of one who
says he knows you, that you might be sure I was not one of the many
eager but irresponsible men who offer help in your great trouble without
understanding your history or that of the little one to whose seemingly
unaccountable disappearance all are seeking a clue."

"My history!"

The words seemed forced fro