hould have had the
greatest interest in establishing this evidence was leaning on the arm
of Miss Porter and directing, with wavering finger and a wild air, the
movements of the men, who, in a frenzy caught from her own, dug here and
dug there as that inexorable finger pointed.

Sobs choked Miss Porter; but Mrs. Ocumpaugh was beyond all such signs of
grief. Her eyes moved; her breast heaved; now and then a confused
command left her lips, but that was all. Yet to me she was absolutely
terrifying, and it took all the courage left from my disappointment for
me to move so as to attract her attention. When I saw that I had
succeeded in doing this, I regretted the impulse which had led me to
break into her mood. The change which my sudden appearance caused in her
was too abrupt; too startling. I feared the effects, and put up my hand
in silent deprecation as her lips essayed to move in what might be some
very disturbing command. If she heeded it I can not say. What she said
was this:

"It's the child--I'm looking for the child! She was brought here. You
proved that she was brought here. Then why don't we find her, or--or her
little innocent body?"

I did not attempt an answer; I dared not--I merely turned away into a
corner, where I should be out of the way of the men. A thought was
rising in my mind; a thought which might have led to some definite
action if her voice had not risen shrilly and with a despairing
utterance in these words:

"Useless! It is not here she will be found. I was mad to think it. Pull
up your spades and go."

A murmur of relief from one end of the cellar to the other, and every
spade was drawn out of the ground.

"I could have told you," ventured one more hardy than the rest, "that
there was no use disturbing this old clay for any such purpose. Any one
could see that no spade has been at work here before in years."

"I said that I was mad," she repeated, and waved the men away.

Slowly they retreated with clattering spades and a heavy tread. The
murmur which greeted them above slowly died out, and the bungalow was
deserted by all but our three selves. When quite sure of this, I turned,
and Miss Porter's eyes met mine with a reproachful glance easy enough
for me to understand.

"I will go, too," whispered Mrs. Ocumpaugh. "Oh! this has been like
losing my darling for the second time!"

Real grief is unmistakable. Recognizing the heartfelt tone in which
these words were uttered, I recurred to