s not, however, till late the next afternoon that I found myself
again in Homewood. I had heard from Jupp. The steamer had sailed, but
without two passengers who had been booked for the voyage. Mrs. Carew
and the child were still at the address she had given me. All looked
well in that direction; but what was the aspect of affairs in Homewood?
I trembled in some anticipation of what these many hours of bitter
thought might have effected in Mrs. Ocumpaugh. Evidently nothing to
lessen the gloom into which the whole household had now fallen. Miss
Porter, who came in haste to greet me, wore the careworn look of a long
and unrelieved vigil. I was not astonished when she told me that she had
not slept a wink.

"How could I," she asked, "when Mrs. Ocumpaugh did not close her eyes?
She did not even lie down, but sat all night in an arm-chair which she
had wheeled into Gwendolen's room, staring like one who sees nothing out
into the night through the window which overlooks the river. This
morning we can not make her speak. Her eyes are dry with fever; only now
and then she utters a little moan. The doctor says she will not live to
see her husband, unless something comes to rouse her. But the papers
give no news, and all the attempts of the police end in nothing. You saw
what a dismal failure their last attempt was. The child on which they
counted proved to be both red-haired and pock-marked. Gwendolen appears
to be lost, lost."

In spite of the despair thus expressed my way seemed to open a little.

"I think I can break Mrs. Ocumpaugh's dangerous apathy if you will let
me see her again. Will you let me try?"

"The nurse--we have a nurse now--will not consent, I fear."

"Then telephone to the doctor. Tell him I am the only man who can do
anything for Mrs. Ocumpaugh. This will not be an exaggeration."

"Wait! I will get his order. I do not know why I have so much confidence
in you."

In another fifteen minutes she came to lead me to Mrs. Ocumpaugh.

I entered without knocking; they told me to. She was seated, as they
said, in a large chair, but with no ease to herself; for she was not
even leaning against its back, but sat with body strained forward and
eyes fixed on the ripple of the great river where, from what she had
intimated to me in our last interview, she probably saw her grave. There
was a miniature in her hand, but I saw at first glance that it was not
the face of Gwendolen over which her fingers closed so spasmo