"I found the house," he said, wiping his glasses. "She was there, all
right, not so close as we had thought, but as close as she could get."
"And can you trace her?" I asked.
His face changed and saddened. "Poor child!" he said. "She is dead,
Mrs. Pitman!"
"Not she--at Sewickley!"
"No," he said patiently. "That was Jennie Brice."
"But--Mr. Howell--"
"Mr. Howell is a young ass," he said with irritation. "He did not take
Jennie Brice out of the city that morning. He took Alice Murray in
Jennie Brice's clothing, and veiled."
Well, that is five years ago. Five times since then the Allegheny
River, from being a mild and inoffensive stream, carrying a few boats
and a great deal of sewage, has become, a raging destroyer, and has
filled our hearts with fear and our cellars with mud. Five times since
then Molly Maguire has appropriated all that the flood carried from my
premises to hers, and five times have I lifted my carpets and moved
Mr. Holcombe, who occupies the parlor bedroom, to a second-floor room.
A few days ago, as I said at the beginning, we found Peter's body
floating in the cellar, and as soon as the yard was dry, I buried him.
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