“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: