“I never received it, which is not strange, as I journeyed so much from place to place and had my mail sent after me,” Mr. Grey rejoined, and Mrs. Storms continued, “I remember now that after my letter was sent Laura grew worse,—crazy like, we thought, and seemed sorry I had written, and said the Greys did not like children and would take her babies from her, and when the little sickly one died she did not seem to feel so very badly and said it was safe from the Greys. She was always queer on that subject, though she never said a word against her husband. She had plenty of money, and, I supposed, was going back to Beechwood as soon as you returned. I was not with her when Mrs. Clayton died; it was sudden,—very, and I only went to the funeral. Laura told me, then, she was going home, but said she wished first to visit me. I consented, of course, though I wondered that she did not go at once. She came to me after the funeral, and stayed some time with her child, and appeared very sad and depressed, and cried a great deal at times, and then, again, was wild, and gay, and queer.” “But the child,—the little girl—How did she look?” Magdalen asked. And Mrs. Storms replied: “She was very healthy and fat; a pretty creature, with dark eyes, like her mother’s, and dark hair too. A beautiful baby I called her, who might easily grow to be just like you, miss.” She was complimenting Magdalen, whose face flushed a little as she asked: “Do you remember what the child wore when she went away? Would you know the dress if you saw it?” Mrs. Storms hardly thought she would. Mrs. Grey was in mourning, but about the baby she did not know. “Was the dress like this?” Magdalen asked, taking from her satchel the dress she had worn to Millbank, and the one found in Laura’s bag. Mrs. Storms looked at them a moment, and then a sudden gleam of intelligence broke over her face as she exclaimed: “I do remember them perfectly now. I made them myself for Mrs. Grey.” “And you are left-handed?” interrupted Magdalen. “Yes, I am left-handed. You knew that by the hems? You would make a capital lawyer,” Mrs. Storms said, laughingly. Then, excusing herself a moment, she left the room, but soon returned, bringing a patch-work quilt, made from bits of delaine. Conspicuous among these were blocks of the same material as the two spotted dresses. To these blocks Mrs. Storms called Magdalen’s attention. “I had a baby then, a boy, Charlie, he is dead now, and these are pieces of the dress Mrs. Grey gave to him. She bought enough for him and her baby, too, and I made them both and then found there was still material for another, provided the sleeves were short and the neck low. So I made that at the very last, and as Laura’s trunk was full she put it in her satchel.” Mr. Grey’s hand deepened its grasp on one whom he now knew to be his child beyond a doubt, and who said to Mrs. Storms: “Did she go from here alone to Cincinnati, and about what time?”