To ease the situation, I spoke what was in both our minds.
"I see that you are sure. That makes my duty very plain, Mrs. Ocumpaugh. My next visit must be upon Mrs. Carew."
The spirit which, from the beginning of this later interview, had infused fresh strength into her feeble frame, seemed to forsake her at this simple declaration; her whole form drooped, and the eyes, which had rested on mine, turned in their old way to the river.
I took advantage of this circumstance.
"Some one who knows you well, who knows the child well, dropped the wrong shoe into the river."
A murmur, nothing more, from Mrs. Ocumpaugh's set lips.
"Could it—I do not say that it was—I don't see any reason why it should be—but could it have been Mrs. Carew?"
Not a sound this time, not a sound.
"She was down at the dock that night. Did you know it?"
A gesture, but whether of assent or dissent I could not tell.