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Updated: May 15, 2025
His son, who inherited it, Judge Philo Ocumpaugh, grandfather of the present Philo, was as studious as his father, but preferred to read and write in the quaint old library up at the house, famous for its wide glass doors opening on to the lawn, and its magnificent view of the Hudson.
She glanced at the paper I had placed in her hand. It was a folded one, fastened something like an envelope. "I can not conceive, " she began. I did not scruple to interrupt her. "Mrs. Ocumpaugh has a right to the privilege of seeing what I have sketched there," I said with what impressiveness I could, though my heart was heavy with doubt.
You presume, sir, and make me lose confidence in your judgment." "Not at all. Mrs. Carew's feet have been all over that cellar floor. She accompanied me through it last night, at the time I found this crushed bonbon." I could see that Mrs. Ocumpaugh was amazed, well-nigh confounded, but her manner altered from that moment. "Tell me about it." And I did.
"You," I rejoined, all afire with the prospect of listening to her remarkable voice in what I had every reason to believe would call forth its full expression. "Only let me look at those sheets first, and understand as perfectly as I may, just what it is you are going to read to me." "It's an explanation written for his heirs by Mr. Ocumpaugh.
One of the girls up at the house one as I knows pretty well tells me I don't care who hears it now that it was written across a card which was left at the door for Mrs. Ocumpaugh, and all in the same handwriting, which is not a common one, as you can see. This means something, seeing it was the date when our bad luck fell on us." He had noted that.
Feeling my position keenly, I walked to the window, but soon turned and came back in response to her cry: "I must see Mrs. Carew instantly. Give my orders. I will start at once to New York. They will think I have gone to be on hand to meet Mr. Ocumpaugh, and will say that I have not the strength. Override their objections. I put my whole cause in your hands. You will go with me?"
I will solve this mystery and earn your money if not that of Mr. Ocumpaugh, with no assistance save that afforded by my own wits."
However, she did not hasten me. "What are you going to do next?" she inquired, as she courteously led the way through the piles of heaped-up boxes and baskets, the number of which had rather grown than diminished since my visit the evening before. "Pardon my asking." "Resort to my last means," said I. "See and talk with Mrs. Ocumpaugh."
Waiting till the doctor had finished his task and drawn back from the bedside, I repeated the question and with increased emphasis: "Where, then, is Gwendolen Ocumpaugh?" Still the doctor did not answer, though he turned my way and even stepped forward; his long visage, cadaverous from fatigue and the shock of his disappointment, growing more and more somber as he advanced.
"Will you believe that what I ask is for the best and take this envelope to her? It may mean the ultimate restoration of her child." "This paper?" "Yes, Miss Porter." She did not try to hide her incredulity. "I do not see how a picture yet you seem very much in earnest and I know she has confidence in you, she and Mr. Ocumpaugh, too.
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