"What has happened?--I thought I heard a fall," came the response in the anxious tones of Mona's voice.

"Nothing very serious has happened," returned Mrs. Montague, frowning, for the girl, who so closely resembled the rival she hated, coming to her just at that moment, irritated her exceedingly. "I simply upset something just as you knocked. What do you want?"

"I only came to ask if I should finish your tea-gown in the morning, or do the mending, as usual;" Mona replied.

"Finish the tea-gown. I shall need it for the afternoon."

"Very well; I am sorry if I disturbed you, Mrs. Montague. Good-night,"

and Mona turned away from the door wondering what could have caused such a clatter within the woman's room.

Mrs. Montague went back to the bay-window, righted the table, rearranged its contents, and fitted the broken lid over them with hands that still trembled with her recent excitement.

"What a pity that the lid is broken," she muttered, impatiently, "for now it will do no good to lock it. I cannot help it, however, and perhaps no one will suspect that there is a secret compartment beneath the slab."

She carefully replaced the heavy marble, moved the table to its usual position, and then, worn out with the conflict she had experienced, retired for the night.

But she did not sleep well; she was nervous, and tossed uneasily upon her bed until far into the small hours of the morning, when she finally dropped into a fitful slumber.

She was aroused from this about eight o'clock the following day by Mary, who came as usual to bring her a cup of coffee, which she always drank before rising. There also lay upon the tray a yellow official-looking envelope.

"What is this?" Mrs. Montague demanded, as she seized it and regarded it with some anxiety.

"A telegram, marm. A messenger brought it just as I was coming up stairs," the girl replied.

Her mistress tore it open and devoured its contents with one sweeping glance.

Instantly her face flushed a deep crimson, and she crushed the message hastily within her hand, while she began to drink her coffee, but seemed to become deeply absorbed in her own thoughts while doing so.

A few moments later she arose and dressed herself rapidly, but all the time appeared preoccupied and troubled about something.

"I believe I shall let Louis marry her if he wants to. I could settle the hundred thousand on him, and stipulate that they go West, or somewhere out of the State, to live. I believe I'll do it," she murmured once, while thus engaged, "that is, if--"

She did not finish the sentence, but, with a resolute step and air, went down to her breakfast.

She had no appet.i.te, however, and after dallying at the table for half an hour or so, she went up stairs again and entered the sewing-room.

She found Mona busy at work upon the tea-gown--a beautiful robe of old-rose cashmere, made up with a lighter shade of heavy armure silk.

"Can you finish it in season?" she inquired.

"Oh, yes, easily. I have about an hour's more work to do upon it," the young girl answered.

"That is well, for I want you to go down town to do some shopping for me.

I cannot attend to it, as I wish to keep fresh for my high-tea this afternoon," Mrs. Montague returned, flushing slightly. Then she added: "I will make out a list of what I need, and you may go as soon as the dress is done."

Mona was pleased with the commission, for the morning was lovely, and she had felt unusually weak and weary ever since rising. The close application to which she had been subjected since her return from Hazeldean--for she had been hurried with spring sewing--had worn upon her.

A feeling of discouragement had also taken possession of her, for she seemed no nearer learning the truth about her mother than when she had first come there.

She was confident that Mrs. Montague had been her father's second wife, and she fully believed that she must have in her possession papers, letters, or some other doc.u.ments that would reveal all that she wished to know regarding Richmond Montague's first marriage, and give her some information regarding the great sorrow that had so blighted the life of his beautiful young wife.

She had promised that she would give herself to Ray at the end of three months; he still held her to that promise, and six weeks of the time had already elapsed, and she seemed to be no nearer the attainment of her desires than when she had made it.

True, she had found the picture of her mother, and learned that her name was Mona Forester. She had also discovered that a relative had been seeking for her with the desire of leaving her all that he possessed.

But all this was very unsatisfactory, for she had not gained the slightest clew by which to prove herself to be the child of Mona Forester, or any one else.

It was all a wearisome and harrowing tangle, and it wore both upon her spirits and her strength.

It was true, too, that she had found Ray, and learned that he loved her.

This was a great comfort, and she knew she had but to tell him that she was ready to go to him, and he would at once make her his wife; but--a flush of shame flooded her face every time she thought of it--she was continually haunted by the fear that her mother might never have been Richmond Montague's wife--that possibly she might have no legal right to the name she bore, in spite of her uncle's a.s.surance to the contrary, and she shrank from marrying Ray if any such stigma rested upon her.

She had never breathed these fears to him--she kept hoping that some accident, or some remark from Mrs. Montague, would throw light on the perplexing mystery.

But Mrs. Montague never referred in any way to her past life in her presence. She had never once mentioned her husband, and, of course, Mona had not dared to ask her any questions upon these subjects.

"I can never marry Ray until I know," she had told herself over and over in great distress, "for I love him too well ever to bring any blight upon his life."

She had had a dim hope that Mr. Corbin might in some way manage to unravel the mystery, and yet she could not see that he had anything more tangible to work upon than she herself had.

Mona finished the dress and carried it to Mrs. Montague, who seemed very much pleased with it.

"You are a lovely seamstress, Ruth, and a good, faithful girl," she said, as she carefully examined the neatly made garment. "But for one thing,"

she added, as she covertly searched the girl's fair face, "I believe I should grow really fond of you."

This remark put Mona on her guard in a moment, though it also set her heart to beating with a vague hope.

"Thank you for your praise of my work, Mrs. Montague," she quietly said, "but," lifting a wondering glance to her face, "what is the one thing that I lack to win your esteem? If I am at fault in any way I should be glad to know and correct it."

"You lack nothing. It is because you so much resemble a person whom I used to detest--I am unaccountably antagonized by it," said the woman, frowning, for the clear eyes, looking so frankly into hers, were wondrously like Mona Forester's.

"Oh, I suppose you refer to the person whose picture I found up stairs a while ago," said Mona.

"Yes," and Mrs. Montague looked slightly ashamed of her confession; "I imagine you think I am somewhat unjust to allow my prejudice to extend to you on that account, and I know I am; but the power of a.s.sociation is very strong, and I did hate that girl with all my heart."

Mona was trying to acquire courage to ask what reason she could have for hating any one who looked so gentle and inoffensive, when the woman resumed, with some embarra.s.sment:

"Louis scolded me for the feeling when I mentioned it to him--he is not tainted in any such way, I a.s.sure you. Do you know, Ruth," with a little laugh of a.s.sumed amus.e.m.e.nt, "that he is very fond of you?"

Mona's face was all ablaze in an instant--her eyes likewise, although she was greatly surprised to learn that the young man had betrayed his liking for her to his aunt.

"I trust that Mr. Hamblin has not led you to believe that I have ever encouraged any such feeling on his part," she coldly remarked.

"I know that you have been very modest and judicious, Ruth; but what if I should tell you that the knowledge of his preference does not displease me; that, on the whole, I rather approve of his regard for you?" questioned Mrs. Montague, observing her closely.

"From what you told me a moment ago, I should suppose you would feel anything but approval," Mona replied, without being able to conceal her scorn of this sanction to Louis Hamblin's presumption.

"What do you mean?" demanded her companion, with some sharpness.