“A crimson delaine, dotted with black,” Mrs. Seymour repeated, while her hands began to tremble nervously and her voice to grow a little unsteady. “There was _such_ a dress in Laura’s satchel; baby’s dress, she told us, and Alice has it in her drawer.” “Get it, get it, and we will compare the two,” Magdalen cried, and seizing Mrs. Seymour’s hand she dragged rather than led her to the door of Alice’s room; then, going hastily to her trunk, she took from it the dress which she had worn to Millbank. “Here it is,” she cried, turning to Mrs. Seymour, who came in with another dress, at sight of which Magdalen uttered a wild exultant cry, while every particle of color faded from Mrs. Seymour’s face, and her eyes wore a frightened kind of look. _The dresses were alike!_ The same material, the same size, the same style, except that Mrs. Seymour’s was low in the neck, while Magdalen’s was high, and what was still more confirmatory that they had belonged to the same person, the buttons were alike, and Magdalen pointed out to the astonished woman the same peculiarity about the button holes and a portion of the work upon the dresses. The person who made them must have been left-handed, as was indicated by the hems where left-handed stitches would show so plainly. “I am astonished, I am confounded, I am bewildered, I feel like one in a dream,” Mrs. Seymour repeated to herself. Then she dropped panting into a chair, and wiping the perspiration from her face, continued: “The coincidence is most remarkable; the dresses _are_ alike; and still it is no proof. Was there nothing else?” “Yes. Do you recognize this? Did you ever see it before?” Magdalen said, holding up the little locket which had been fastened about her neck when she came to Millbank. Mrs. Seymour took it in her hands and examined it closely, then passed it back with the remark, “I never saw it before, to my knowledge.” “But the initials, ‘L. G.’—did you notice those?” Magdalen continued, and then Mrs. Seymour took the locket again, and glancing at the lettering whispered rather than said aloud: “‘L. G.’ That stands for Laura Grey. It may be. I wish Arthur was here, for I don’t know what to think or do.”