"No, sir. I am positive. It was a woman's. It was pitched too high for a man's voice or a boy's. It could not have been anything but a woman's."
"I see. And now tell us, Mrs. Donahue—you see this dot on the map showing where the body of Roberta Alden was found?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you see this other dot, over those trees, showing approximately where your boat was?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think that voice came from where this dot in Moon Cove is?"
(Objected to. Sustained.)
"And was that cry repeated?"
"No, sir. I waited, and I called my husband's attention to it, too, and we waited, but didn't hear it again."
Then Belknap, eager to prove that it might have been a terrified and yet not a pained or injured cry, taking her and going all over the ground again, and finding that neither she nor her husband, who was also put on the stand, could be shaken in any way. Neither, they insisted, could the deep and sad effect of this woman's voice be eradicated from their minds. It had haunted both, and once in their camp again they had talked about it. Because it was dusk he did not wish to go seeking after the spot from which it came; because she felt that some woman or girl might have been slain in those woods, she did not want to stay any longer, and the next morning early they had moved on to another lake.