A great wave of pity suddenly swept over Mollie. She shivered as if cold. "I feel es ef sumpin' had happened," she said to herself. "Thet seemed 'most es ef God hed spoke. I reckon Pete's dead." CHAPTER XXVIII A WOMAN'S CONFESSION "The wicked are overthrown and are not; but the house of the righteous shall stand."--Prov. xii, 7 After making their way from the perilous swamp in which they had seen the hog-farmer engulfed, the detectives, with Wayne, made all haste to the Grimes farm, hoping they might find the kidnapped child there unharmed. Their interview with Maria, however, had been bitterly disappointing. When she told of Mollie's venture into the swamp, with little Doris strapped on her back, Wayne collapsed and had to be taken home. The horrible death of Grimes which he had just witnessed, convinced him that a similar fate must have overtaken his baby. The pictures his imagination conceived as to what took place after the children had passed beyond Maria's range of vision were more than any father could endure with stoicism. Maria, when they told her of Peter's tragic end, manifested no trace of grief or affection. She dropped down on the door-step with a sigh that was plainly one of relief. The wild, hunted look which had for so many years dwelt in her eyes, giving her an aspect of fierceness which she was far from feeling, gave place to the stupid dullness and placidity that had been hers before Peter Grimes ever walked into her life and home. "Then I reckon I kin tell yo'-all jist how mean he war," she remarked in a voice that was not unpleasant. "Thar wa'n't a dangder scoundrel ever trod shoe leather. He needed killin'. He war jus' nachully mean. Ary man, woman er child on earth thet went contrary ter him he'd fling in th' bog es quick es scat. Ef I be alive ter-day hit air becus I allus done whut he sed. Many's th' time I'd a-gi'n them young-uns sumpin' ter eat ef I didn't know he'd pitch me inter th' bog fer doin' hit. Thet thar Mollie war th' bes' leetle gal on earth. I knowed th' dawg hain't a-goin' ter harm 'em when I sic'd 'im onter them. But Pete tol' me ter do hit an' I knowed I mus'." Poor thing. She was actually trembling. Fourteen years of living under such a strain would have told upon a stronger mentality than Maria's. "An' I got thet brat," she went on, indicating Ambrose. "When he war leetle I thunk mebbe he'd grow up ter be a good son ter me, but he's jes' like his Pappy an' orter be put away whar he cain't do nobody no harm. I'm mos' es skeered o' him es I war o' Pete."