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Updated: May 15, 2025
Ocumpaugh; not in the continuous and detailed manner I have here set down, but in disjointed sentences and wild bursts of disordered speech. When it was finished she turned upon me eyes full of haggard inquiry. "Our fate is in your hands," she falteringly declared. "What will you do with it?" It was the hardest question which had ever been put me.
Where was the wagon found? Who is with it? And how much of all this have you told Mrs. Ocumpaugh?" With the last question she had risen, involuntarily, it seemed, and as though she would rush to her friend if I did not at once reassure her of that friend's knowledge of a fact which seemed to throw a gleam of hope upon a situation hitherto entirely unrelieved. "Mrs.
Mrs. Ocumpaugh, whose false strength was fast leaving her, now muttered some words which were quite unintelligible to me, though they caused Miss Porter to make me a motion very expressive of a dismissal. I did not accept it as such, however, without making one effort to regain my advantage. At the foot of the steps I paused and glanced back at Mrs. Ocumpaugh.
Ocumpaugh or of myself pass here." This was a speech calculated to restore my self-possession. With a bow which evidently surprised her, I answered with just enough respect to temper my apparent presumption: "I am here in the interests of Mrs. Ocumpaugh, to assist her in finding her child. Moments are precious; so I ventured to approach by the shorter way." "Pardon me!"
The whole place new brick and old stone seemed doomed to a common fate under the hand of time, when the present Philo Ocumpaugh, succeeding to the property, brought new wealth and business enterprise into the family, and the old house on the hill was replaced by the marble turrets of Homewood, and this hut or rather the portion open to improvement was restored to some sort of comfort, and rechristened the bungalow.
Ocumpaugh, if you will let me advise you, as a man intensely interested in the happiness of yourself and husband, I would suggest your meeting him at quarantine and telling him the whole truth." "I would rather die," said she. "Yet only by doing what I suggest can you find any peace in life.
I am here on behalf of Mrs. Ocumpaugh, whose child you have at this moment under your roof." It was a direct attack and for a minute I doubted if I had not made a mistake in making it so suddenly and without gloves. His face purpled, the veins on his forehead started out, his great form shook with an ire that in such domineering natures as his can only find relief in a blow.
That was a picture of the Madonna opposite the bed, and that was beautiful. But the frame was of the cheapest a simple band of oak. Catching Miss Porter's eye as we quietly withdrew, I 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."
It was hard to think it; it would be harder yet to act upon it; but the longer I stood there brooding, the more I felt my conviction grow that from her and from her alone, we should yet obtain definite traces of the missing child, if only Mrs. Ocumpaugh would uphold me in the attempt. But would Mrs. Ocumpaugh do this? I own that I had my doubts.
Meanwhile, to the infinite dismay of both, the matter had been placed in the hands of the police and word sent to Mr. Ocumpaugh, not that the child was dead, but missing. This meant world-wide publicity and the constant coming and going about Homewood of the very men whose insight and surveillance were most to be dreaded. Mrs. Ocumpaugh sank under the terrors thus accumulating upon her; but Mrs.
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