“Lost her baby,—the little child I stood for! Didn’t have it when she got home, nor her baggage either! it takes my breath away! Of course she was crazy. I can see it now, though I did not suspect it then. I only thought her queer at times.”
“Yes, but tell us; begin at the beginning,” Magdalen exclaimed, too impatient to wait any longer. And thus entreated, Mrs. Storms began:
“I knew Mrs. Clayton in New Orleans, before she moved to Cincinnati, or I was married and came here. I had seen Laura when a little girl, but did not know much of her until she came home after her marriage. Then I saw her every time I was at her mother’s, which was quite often, considering the distance between here and Cincinnati, and the tedious way we had then of getting there by stage. My husband, who is dead now, and myself were sponsors for her baby, whom she called Magdalen.”
“Was there one or two children? Tell me that first, please,” Magdalen said, and when Mrs. Storms replied, “She had two, but one died before it was christened,” she gave a sudden scream, and staggered a step towards Mr. Grey, who, almost as white and weak as herself, laid his hand with a convulsive grasp upon her shoulder and said, “Two children! twins! and I never knew it!”
“Never knew it!” Mrs. Storms repeated. “I wrote it to you myself the day after they were born. I happened to be there, and Laura asked me to write and tell you, and I did, and directed my letter to Rome.”
“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: