"How do you do, little man? What did you say your name is?"
"Harry," this very stoutly.
"Harry what? Harry Carew?"
"No, Harry; just Harry."
"And how do you like it here?"
"I like it; I like it better than my old home."
"Where was your old home?"
"I don't know. I didn't like it."
"He was with uncongenial people, and he is very sensitive," put in Mrs.
Carew, softly.
"I like it here," he repeated, "and I like the big ocean. I am going on
the ocean. And I like horses. Get up, Dandy!" and he cracked his whip
and was off again on his imaginary trot.
I felt very foolish over the doubts I had so openly evinced. This was
not only a boy to the marrow of his bones, but he was, as any eye could
see, the near relative she called him. In my embarrassment I rose; at
all events I soon found myself standing near the door with Mrs. Carew.
"A fine fellow!" I enthusiastically exclaimed; "and startlingly like you
in expression. He is your nephew, I believe?"
"Yes," she replied, somewhat wistfully I thought.
I felt that I should apologize for--well, perhaps for the change she
must have discerned in my manner.
"The likeness caused me a shock. I was not prepared for it, I suppose."
She looked at me quite wonderingly.
"I have never heard any one speak of it before. I am glad that you see
it." And she seemed glad, very glad.
But I know that for some reason she was gladder yet when I turned to
depart. 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."
An instant of hesitation on her part, so short, however, that I could
hardly detect it, then she declared:
"But you can not do that."
"Why not?"
"She is ill; I am sure that they will let no one approach her. One of
her maids was in this morning. She did not even ask me to come over."
"I am sorry," said I, "but I shall make the effort. The illness which
affects Mrs. Ocumpaugh can be best cured by the restoration of her
child."
"But you have not found Gwendolen?" she replied.
"No; but I have discovered footprints on the dust of the bungalow floor,
and, as you know, a bit of candy which looks as if it had been crushed
in a sleeping child's hand, and I am in need of every aid possible in
order to make the most of these discoveries. They may point the way to
Gwendolen's present whereabouts and they may not. But they shall be
given every chance."
"Whoop! get up! get up!" broke in a childish voice from the upper
landing.
"Am I not right?" I asked.
"Always; only I am sorry for Mrs. Ocumpaugh. May I tell you--" as I laid
my hand upon the outer door-knob--"just how to approach her?"
"Certainly, if you will be so good."
"I would not ask for Miss Porter. Ask for Celia; she is Mrs. Ocumpaugh's
special maid. Let her carry your message--if you feel that it will do
any good to disturb her."
"Thank you; the recommendation is valuable. Good morning, Mrs. Carew. I
may not see you again; may I wish you a safe journey?"
"Certainly; are we not almost friends?"
Why did I not make my bow and go? There was nothing more to be said--at
least by me. Was I held by something in her manner? Doubtless, for while
I was thus reasoning with myself she followed me out on to the porch,
and with some remark as to the beauty of the morning, led me to an
opening in the vines, whence a fine view could be caught of the river.
But it was not for the view she had brought me there. This was evident
enough from her manner, and soon she paused in her observations on the
beauties of nature, and with a strange ringing emphasis for which I was
not altogether prepared, remarked with feeling:
"I may be making a mistake--I was always an unconventional woman--but I
think you ought to know something of Mrs. Ocumpaugh's private history
before you see her. It is not a common one--at least it has its romantic
elements--and an acquaintance with some of its features is almost
necessary to you if you expect to approach her on so delicate a matter
with any hope of success. But perhaps you are better informed on this
subject than I supposed? Detectives are a mine of secret intelligence, I
am told; possibly you have already learned from some other source the
story of her marriage and homecoming to Homewood and the peculiar
circumstances of her early married life?"
"No," I disclaimed in great relief, and I have no doubt with unnecessary
vivacity. "On the contrary, I have never heard anything said in regard
to it."
"Would you like to? Men have not the curiosity of women, and I do not
wish to bore you, but--I see that I shall not do that," she exclaimed.
"Sit down, Mr. Trevitt; I shall not detain you long; I have not much
time myself."
As she sank into a chair in saying this, I had no alternative but to
follow her example. I took pains, however, to choose one which brought
me into the shadow of the vines, for I felt some embarrassment at this
new turn in the conversation, and was conscious that I should have more
or less difficulty in hiding my only too intense interest in all that
concerned the lady of whom we were speaking.
"Mrs. Ocumpaugh was a western woman," Mrs. Carew began softly; "the
oldest of five daughters. There was not much money in the family, but
she had beauty, a commanding, all-conquering beauty; not the beauty you
see in her to-day, but that exquisite, persuasive loveliness which
seizes upon the imagination as well as moves the heart. I have a picture
of her at eighteen--but never mind that."
Was it affection for her friend which made Mrs. Carew's always rich
voice so very mellow? I wished I knew; but I was successful, I think, in
keeping that wish out of my face, and preserving my manner of the simply
polite listener.
"Mr. Ocumpaugh was on a hunting trip," she proceeded, after a slight
glance my way. "He had traveled the world over and seen beautiful women
everywhere; but there was something in Marion Allison which he had found
in no other, and at the end of their first interview he determined to
make her his wife. A man of impulses, but also a man of steady
resolution, Mr. Trevitt. Perhaps you know this?"