"But," he interrupted, excitedly.

"Let me finish," she persisted, lifting her hand to stay his words. "No woman should ever become the wife of a man she cannot love. I do not love you, Mr. Hamblin, and knowing this, you would not respect me if I should yield to your suit. Let me assure you that I honor you for some things you said to-day—that you would be willing to work for one whom you loved; that you would even relinquish a fortune for her sake. Believe me, I respect you and appreciate such an avowal, and only regret that your regard could not have been bestowed upon some one who could return such devotion. I cannot, but, Mr. Hamblin, I feel more friendly toward you at this moment than I have ever felt before. I beg, however," she concluded, sadly, "that you will never address me thus again, for it gives me pain to know that any one's life should be marred through me; put this affection away from you—crush it in your heart, and seek some dear, good girl who will love you and make you happier than I possibly could, if I should yield to your suit without any heart to give you."

"Put this love out of my heart! crush it!" burst forth the young man, with pale lips. "Could you do that, Mona Montague, if the man you loved should stand coldly up before you and bid you to do so?"

Mona flushed, and hot tears sprang into her eyes. She knew, but too well, that she could never crush out of her heart her love for Raymond Palmer.

If Louis Hamblin had bestowed but a tithe of such affection upon her there was indeed a sad future in store for him, and the deepest sympathies of her nature were aroused for him.

"I am sorry—" she began, falteringly, as she lifted her swimming eyes to his face, and both look and tone stirred him to hot rebellion, for he knew well enough of what she had been thinking.

"How sorry are you?" he cried, in a low, intense tone; "sorry enough to try to do for me what you have bidden me do for another? Will you crush your love for Ray Palmer, and bestow it upon me?"

Mona recoiled beneath these fierce, hot words, while she inwardly resented the selfishness and rudeness of his question.

Still she tried to make some allowance for his bitter disappointment and evident suffering.

"I do not think you have any right to speak to me like that," she said, in tones of gentle reproof, though her face was crimson with conscious blushes.

"Have I no right to say to you what you have said to me?" he demanded. "You have said that no woman should marry a man whom she does not love, while, in the very next breath you bid me go 'seek for some dear, good girl,' and ask her to marry me, who can never love any woman but you. Are you considerate—are you consistent?"

"Perhaps not," she returned, sorrowfully, "but I did not mean to be inconsistent or to wound you—I could hardly believe that you cared so deeply! I hoped you might be mistaken in your assertion that no other affection could be rooted in your heart."

"There may be other natures besides your own that are capable of tenacious affection," he retorted, with exceeding bitterness.

"True," Mona said, sighing heavily, "but," driven to desperation, and facing him with sudden resolution, "I cannot respond to your suit as you wish; I can never be your wife, for—perhaps, under the circumstances, I ought to make the confession—I am already pledged to another."



CHAPTER XII.

THE SECRET OF THE ROYAL MIRROR.

Mona's eyes were averted and she was greatly embarrassed as she made the acknowledgment of her engagement, therefore she could not see the look of anger and evil purpose which suddenly swept every expression of tenderness from Louis Hamblin's face.

He could not speak for a moment, he was so intensely agitated by her confession.

"Of course, I cannot fail to understand you," he remarked, at last. "You mean that you are engaged to Ray Palmer, and that accounts for the attentions which he bestowed upon Ruth Richards at Hazeldean. You two were very clever, but even then I had read between the lines and knew what you have just told me."

"You knew, and yet presumed to make this avowal? You dared to ask another man's promised wife to marry you!" Mona exclaimed, all her embarrassment now gone, her scornful eyes looking straight into his.

"Well, perhaps I should not say I knew, but I surmised," he confessed, his glance wavering beneath hers.

"That is but a poor apology," she retorted, in the same tone as before; "you certainly have betrayed but very little respect for me if you even 'surmised' the truth, and would ask me to regard my plighted troth so lightly as to break it simply to gratify your own selfishness."

"And your respect for me has waned accordingly, I suppose you would be glad to add," Louis Hamblin interposed, with a sneer.

Mona made him no answer. She began to think that she had overestimated the purity of his motives—that all her recent sympathy had been expended upon an unworthy object.

"You will not forget, however, that I made the promise to surrender certain proofs and keepsakes conditional upon your yielding to my suit," he added, with cold resoluteness.

"No honorable man would make such conditions with the woman he professed to love," retorted Mona, with curling lips.

"A man, when he is desperate, will adopt almost any measure to achieve his object," her companion responded, hotly.

"We will not argue the matter further, if you please," Mona said, frigidly, as she took up her book, which she had laid upon the table when she arose, and started to leave the room.

"Mona, do not go away like this—you shall not leave me in such a mood!" the young man cried, as he placed himself in her path. "Do you not see that I am filled with despair—that I am desperate?"

"I am sorry," she answered, gravely, "but I can tell you nothing different—my answer is final, and your own sense of what is right should make you realize and submit to it."

"Then you do not care for the marriage certificate and other proofs?" he said.

Again the young girl's lips curled with infinite scorn.

"Did you suppose that my love and my hand were, like articles of merchandise, to be bought and sold?" she asked, with scathing sarcasm. "Yes, I do care for—I do want the proofs; but they are not to be mentioned in connection with such sacred subjects," she went on, with dignity. "If you were really my friend you would never have suggested anything of the kind; you would have been glad to help me to any proof that would relieve my mind and heart from the harassing doubts regarding the history of my parents. If such proofs exist, as you claim, they rightly belong to me, and you are uncourteous, not to say dishonorable, in keeping them from me."

"People are not in the habit of resigning important documents simply for the sake of preserving themselves from the charge of discourtesy," Louis laconically observed.

"I am to understand from that, I suppose, that you will not give them to me," Mona remarked. "Well, since I know that there was no blame or shame attached to my mother—since I know that she was only a victim to the wickedness of others—it will not matter so very much if I do not have the tangible proofs you possess, and I must try to be content without them."

She made another attempt to leave the room, but he still stood in her way.

"I cannot—I will not give you up," he said, between his tightly locked teeth.

"You will be kind enough to let me pass, Mr. Hamblin." Mona returned, and ignoring his excited assertion.

"No, I will not," he fiercely replied.

She lifted her eyes, and met his angry glance with one so proudly authoritative that he involuntarily averted his own gaze.

"I beg that you will not cause me to lose all faith in you," she quietly remarked.

A hot flush surged to his brow, and he instantly stepped aside, looking crestfallen and half-ashamed.

Without another word, Mona passed from the room and entered her own chamber.

As soon as she had closed and locked the door, she sat down, and tried to think over all that had been said about her mother; this one subject filled all her mind to the exclusion of everything else.

But for Louis Hamblin's last remarks, and the betrayal of his real nature, and his selfish, ignoble purpose, she would have been grieved on his account, but she saw that he was unworthy of her regard, of even one sorrowful thought.

"These papers and keepsakes of which he has told me are mine," she said to herself; "they belong by right to me, and I must—I will have them. That certificate, oh! if I could get but that, I could give myself to Ray without a scruple, and besides I could secure this property which Homer Forester has left to my mother, and then I need not go to Ray quite penniless. These things must be in either Louis Hamblin's or Mrs. Montague's possession—doubtless they are even now somewhere in the house in West Forty-ninth street. I shall tell Mr. Corbin immediately upon my return, and perhaps he will know of some way by which they can be compelled to give them up."

She fell to musing over the matter, little suspecting that the most important treasure of all—the contested marriage certificate—had already fallen into her lover's hands, and was at that moment safely locked in Mr. Corbin's safe, only awaiting her own and Mrs. Montague's return from the South to set her right before the world, both as to parentage and inheritance.

Louis Hamblin remained in Mrs. Montague's parlor until her return from the concert, brooding over the failure of his purpose, and trying to devise some scheme by which he could attain the desire of his heart.

He then gave her a faithful account of his interview with Mona, and they sat far into the night and plotted how best to achieve their object.

Mrs. Montague was now as eager to have Louis marry Mona as she had previously been determined to oppose it.

"I am bound that she shall never go into the Palmer family, if I can prevent it," she said, with a frowning brow. "If I am to be mistress of Mr. Palmer's home, I have no intention of allowing Mona Forester's child to be a blot on my future happiness."

"You are complimentary, Aunt Marg, in your remarks regarding my future wife," Louis sarcastically observed.

"I can't help it, Louis. I bear the girl no good-will, as you have known from the first, and you must make up your mind to accept matters as they are. You are determined to have her and I have given my consent to the marriage from purely selfish motives," Mrs. Montague returned, in a straightforward, matter-of-fact tone. "I would never have consented," she added, with a frown "if I had not feared that there is proof—besides what we possess—of Mona Forester's legal marriage, and that through it we might some time lose our fortune. I should be in despair to be obliged to give it up—life without plenty of money is not worth living, and I consider that I was very shrewd and fortunate in getting possession of that certificate and those other things."

"Did you bring them with you when you left home?"

"No; I never thought of them," Mrs. Montague responded, with a start and a look of anxiety. "It is the first time I ever came away from home without them; but after I received that telegram and letter I had plenty on my mind, I assure you—my chief aim was to get that girl out of New York, and away to some safe place where we could work out our scheme."

"But you ought never to leave such valuables behind," said her nephew; "the house might take fire, and they would be all destroyed."

"That would be but a small loss," the woman retorted. "I have thought a hundred times that I would throw them all into the fire, and thus blot out of existence all that remained of the girl I so hated; but whenever I have attempted to do so I have been unaccountably restrained. But I will do it as soon as we get home again," she resolutely concluded.

Louis Hamblin's eyes gleamed with a strange expression at this threat; but he made no reply to it.

"But let us settle this matter of your marriage," she resumed, after a moment of thought. "The girl shall marry you—I have brought her here for that purpose, and if she will not be reasoned into compliance with our wishes, she shall be compelled or tricked into it. But how, is the question."

"I will agree to almost anything, so that I get her," remarked her nephew, with a grim smile.

The clock on the mantel-piece struck two before they separated, but they had decided on their plan of action, and only awaited the coming day to develop it.

Meanwhile strange things had been happening in Mona's room.

We left her musing over her recent interview with Louis, and deeply absorbed in making plans to obtain possession of the proofs of her mother's marriage, which he had asserted he could produce.

The more she thought of the matter the more determined she became to accomplish her purpose, and she began to grow very anxious to return to New York to consult with Ray and Mr. Corbin.

"I wonder how much longer Mrs. Montague intends to remain here," she murmured. "She said she should return within a fortnight, but nearly that time has expired already. I cannot understand her object in prolonging her stay, since she was disappointed about coming with the party. I believe I will ask her to-morrow how soon we are to go back."

Mona felt very weary after the unusual excitement of the evening; her nerves were also considerably unstrung, and she resolved not to wait for Mrs. Montague's return, but retire at once.

She arose and began to prepare for bed, but having sent some clothing away to be washed that morning, she found that her night-robe had gone with the other articles, and unlocking her trunk, she began to look for another.

"I thought I put an extra one in the tray," she mused, as she searched for but failed to find it.

This obliged her to remove the tray and to unpack some of the contents beneath.

While thus employed she took out a box, and without thinking what it contained, carelessly set it across a corner of the trunk.

She finally found the garment she needed, and then began to replace the clothing which she had been obliged to remove during her search.

While thus engaged she turned suddenly to reach for something that had slipped from her grasp, and in the act she hit her elbow against the box setting on the corner of her trunk, and knocked it to the floor.

"Oh! my mirror!" she cried, in a voice of terror, and hastily gathering up the box, uncovered it to see if the precious relic had been injured.

To her great joy she found that it had not been broken by the fall; but as she lifted it from the box, to examine it still further, the bottom of the frame dropped out, and with it the things which Mr. Dinsmore had concealed within it.

"Mercy!" Mona excitedly exclaimed; "it looks like a little drawer, and here are some letters and a box which some one has hidden in it! Can it be that these things once belonged to Marie Antoinette, and have been inclosed in this secret place all these long years?" she wonderingly questioned.

"No, surely not, for they would be yellow with age," she continued, as she began to examine them.

"Ah!" with a start, and growing pale, "here is a letter addressed to me—For Mona—and in Uncle Walter's handwriting! He must have known about the secret of this mirror, and put these letters here with some special object in view. What can it mean?"

She grew dizzy—almost faint with the excitement of her discovery, and the things dropped from her nerveless fingers upon her lap.

"There is some secret here!" she whispered, as she gazed down at them, an expression of dread in her startled eyes. "Perhaps it is the secret which I have so long wanted to know! Can it be that the mystery of my mother's sad fate is about to be solved—that Uncle Walter had not the courage to tell me all, that never-to-be-forgotten morning, but wrote it out and hid it here for me to find later? Ah!" and she lifted her head as if suddenly recalling something, "this was what he tried to make me understand the day he died! He sent me for the mirror, not to remind me to keep it always, as I thought at the time, but to explain the secret of it, so that I could find what he had hidden here. Oh, how he suffered because he could not show me! Why could I not have understood?" and her tears fell thick and fast, as she thus lived over again that painful experience.

She soon brushed them away, however, and lifting the mirror, examined it carefully.

She found that the tiny drawer would shove smoothly in and out, and she pushed it almost in, but took care not to quite close it.

"There must be a spring somewhere to hold it in place," she murmured, regarding it curiously. "Ah! now I feel it! But how is it operated? How can the drawer be opened again if I shut it entirely?"

She looked the mirror over most carefully, both on the back and front, but at first could detect nothing. But at length, as she still continued to work the drawer in and out, she noticed that the central pearl and gold point at the top of the frame moved slightly as she pressed the drawer close upon the spring, and she believed that she had discovered the Secret of the Royal Mirror.

With a resolute air she shut it entirely and heard the click of the spring as it shot into its socket. Her reason told her that pressure applied to that central point of pearl and gold would at once release the drawer again.

She tried it, and instantly it dropped out upon her lap.

"It is the strangest thing in the world. I feel almost as if I had opened a grave," she murmured, a shiver running along her nerves. "My heart almost fails me when I think of examining its contents—this letter addressed to me, this package of letters, and the tiny box. I wonder what there is in it?"

She looked strangely beautiful as she sat there upon the floor, her face startlingly pale, her eyes seeming larger than ever, with that wondering expression in their liquid depths, while she turned that little box over and over in her trembling hands, as if she tried to gather courage to untie the string that bound its cover on and look within it.

At last she threw up her head with a determined air, gathered up all the things she had found in the secret drawer, and rising, drew a chair to her table, where she sat down to solve the mystery.



CHAPTER XIII.

"I SHOULD THINK WE WERE OUT AT SEA!"

Mona's curiosity prompted her to examine the contents of the little box first.

She untied the narrow ribbon that was bound about it, lifted the cover and a layer of cotton, and discovered the two rings which we already know about.

"My mother's wedding and engagement-ring!" Mona breathed, seeming to know by instinct what they were. "They must have been taken from her fingers after she was dead, and Uncle Walter has kept them all these years for me. Oh, why could he not have told me about them? I should have prized them so." She lifted them from their snowy bed with reverent touch, remarking, as she did so, the size and great beauty of the diamond in the engagement-ring.

"My dear, deeply wronged mother! how I should have loved you!" she murmured. "I wonder if you know how tenderly I feel toward you; if you can see me now and realize that I, the little, helpless baby, for whose life you gave up your own, am longing for you with all my heart and soul."

She touched the rings tenderly with her lips, tears raining over her cheeks, while sob after sob broke from her.

She wiped away her tears after a little, and tried the rings upon her own fingers, smiling sadly to see how perfectly they fitted.

"Mamma's hand must have been about the size of mine," she said. "I think I must be very like her in every way."

She slipped the heavy gold band off and bent nearer the light to examine the inside, hoping to find some inscription upon it.

She found only the date, "June 6th, 1861."

"The date of her marriage," she whispered, a little smile of triumph lighting her face, then removing the other ring from her hand, she laid them both back in the box and put it one side, "Now for the letters," she said, taking up the one addressed to herself and carefully cutting one end across the envelope with a little knife taken from her pocket.

She unfolded the closely written sheets, which she drew from it, with hands that trembled with nervous excitement.

The next moment she was absorbed in their contents, and as she read a strange change came over her.

At first there was a quick start, accompanied by a low exclamation of surprise, then a look of wonder shot into her great brown eyes. Suddenly, as she hungrily devoured the pages, her color fled, even her lips became white, and an expression of keen pain settled about her mouth, but she read on and on with breathless interest, turning page after page, until she came to the last one, where she found her uncle's name signed in full.

"Now I know!" burst from her trembling lips, as the sheets fell from her nerveless hands and her voice sounded hollow and unnatural. "How very, very strange! Oh! Uncle Walter, why didn't you tell me? why didn't you—tell me?"

Her lips only formed those last words as her head fell back against her chair, all the light fading out of her eyes, and then she slipped away into unconsciousness. When she came to herself again she was cold, and stiff, and deathly sick.

At first she could not seem to remember what had happened, for her mind was weak and confused. Then gradually all that had occurred came back to her.

She shivered and tried feebly to rub something of natural warmth into her chilled hands, then suddenly losing all self-control, she bowed her face upon them, and burst into a passion of tears.

"Oh, if I had only known before," she murmured over and over again, with unspeakable regret.

But she was worn out, and this excitement could not last.

She made an effort to regain her composure, gathered up the scattered sheets of her uncle's letter, restoring them to the envelope, and then took up the other package which was bound with a scarlet ribbon.

There were half a dozen or more letters and all superscribed in a bold, handsome hand.

"They are my father's letters to my mother," Mona murmured, "but I have no strength to read them to-night."

She put them back, with the other things, into the secret drawer in the mirror, which she restored to its box, and then carefully packed it away in her trunk, with all her clothing except what she wished to put on in the morning.

"I shall go back to New York to-morrow," she said, with firmly compressed lips, as the last thing was laid in its place. "I cannot remain another day in the service of such a woman; and, since I have now learned everything, there is no need; I must go back to Ray and—happiness."

A tender smile wreathed her lips as she prepared to retire, but she could not sleep after she was in bed, even though she was weak and exhausted from the excitement of the last few hours, for her nerves throbbed and tingled with every beat of her pulses, and it was not until near morning that slumber came to her relief.

She was awake long before the gong for breakfast sounded, however, and rising immediately dressed herself for traveling, after which she finished packing, and then went down to breakfast with a grave, resolute face, which betrayed that she had some fixed purpose in her mind.

Mrs. Montague regarded her with some surprise as she noticed her dress, but she made no remark, although she looked troubled and anxious.

As soon as they arose from the table Mona went directly up stairs again, and waited at the door of Mrs. Montague's parlor until that lady made her appearance.

Louis was with her, but Mona ignored his presence, and quietly asked:

"Can I see you alone for a few moments, Mrs. Montague?"

"Certainly," she replied, giving the girl a sharp, curious glance, and immediately preceded her into the room. "Well?" she inquired, turning and facing her, the moment the door was closed, as if already she suspected what was coming.

"I simply wanted to tell you that I am going to return to New York to-day," Mona said, in a tone which plainly indicated that no argument would serve to change her determination.

"Aren't you somewhat premature in your movements? What is your reason for wanting to go home in such a hurry?" Mrs. Montague demanded, with some asperity.

"There are a number of reasons. I have some business to attend to, for one thing," Mona answered.

Mrs. Montague appeared startled by this unlooked-for reply. She had expected that she would complain of Louis' persecution of the previous evening.

"Do you think it just fair, Ruth, to leave me at such short notice?" she inquired, after thinking a moment.

"I am very sorry if my going will annoy you," Mona said, "but you will have Mr. Hamblin for an escort, and so you will not be left alone. I have made up my mind to go, and I would like to leave at as early an hour as possible."

Mrs. Montague saw that it would be useless to oppose her, but a look of cunning leaped into her eyes as she returned, with an assumption of graceful compliance:

"Then we will all go. A few days will not matter much with me; I have been disappointed in almost everything since leaving home, and I am about ready to go back myself. I am sure I do not wish to keep you if you are unhappy or discontented, and so we will take the afternoon boat if you like. I feel a certain responsibility regarding you, and could not think of allowing you to return alone and unprotected," she interposed, a curious smile curving her lips; then she added: "I will have Louis go to secure staterooms immediately, and you can do your packing as soon as you like."

"It is all done. I am ready to go at any hour, but," and Mona flushed, "I should prefer to go by rail, as we could reach New York much more quickly than by boat."

Mrs. Montague frowned at this remark.

"Pray do not be in such an unnecessary hurry, Ruth," she said, with some impatience. "It is much pleasanter traveling by boat than by rail at this season of the year, and I enjoy the water far more. I think you might oblige one by yielding that much," and the woman watched her anxiously as she awaited her reply.

"Very well," Mona said, gravely, though reluctantly. "I will do as you wish. At what hour does the steamer leave?"

"I don't know. I shall have to ask Louis, and I will tell you later. Now, I wish you would baste some fresh ruching on my traveling dress, then you may hem the new vail that you will find upon my dressing-case," and having given these directions, Mrs. Montague hurried from the room to find her nephew.

She met him in the hall, where he had been walking back and forth, for he surmised what the nature of Mona's interview would be, and knew that the time had come for him to act with boldness if he hoped to win the prize he coveted.

"Come into your room, where we shall not be overheard," Mrs. Montague whispered, and leading the way thither, they were soon holding an earnest consultation over this unexpected interruption of the scheme which they had arranged the night before.

They talked for half an hour, after which Mrs. Montague returned to her parlor and Louis at once left the hotel.

He did not return until nearly lunch time, when, in Mona's presence, he informed his aunt that the staterooms were secured, and the boat would leave at seven that evening.

"If you will get your trunks ready I will send them aboard early, and then I shall have no trouble about baggage at the last moment, and can look after your wraps and satchels," he remarked, as he glanced significantly at his aunt.

"Mine are ready to strap, and Ruth's was packed before breakfast, so they can be sent off as soon as you like," Mrs. Montague returned.

He attended to the strapping of them himself, and a little later they were taken away.

Mona wondered somewhat at this arrangement. She thought the trunks might just as well have gone with them, but concluded that Louis did not wish to be troubled with them at the last moment, as he had said.

At half-past six they left the hotel, and drove to the pier where the steamboat lay.

Louis hurried the ladies on board, and to their staterooms, telling them to make haste and get settled, as dinner would be served as soon as the boat left the landing.

He had secured three staterooms for their use, another circumstance which appeared strange to Mona, as she and Mrs. Montague had occupied one together in coming down the river.

"Perhaps," she said to herself, "she is angry because I insisted upon going home, and does not wish to have me with her. I believe, however, I shall like it best by myself."

She arranged everything to her satisfaction, and then sat down by her window to wait until the gong should sound for dinner, but a strange feeling of depression and of homesickness seemed to settle over her spirits, while her thoughts turned with wistful fondness to her lover so far away in New York, and she half regretted that she had not insisted upon returning by rail.

She wondered that she did not hear Mrs. Montague moving about in her stateroom, but concluded that she had completed, her arrangements for the night and gone on deck.

Presently the last signal was given, and the steamer swung slowly away from the levee. A few moments later the gong sounded for dinner, and Mona went out into the saloon to look for her companions.

She met Louis Hamblin at the door leading to the dining-saloon, but he was alone.

"Where is Mrs. Montague?" Mona inquired, and wondering if he was going to be sick, for he looked pale, and seemed ill at ease.

"Hasn't she been with you?" he asked, appearing surprised at her question. "I thought she was in her stateroom."

"No, I did not hear her moving about," Mona replied, "so supposed she had come out."

"Perhaps she is on deck; if you will wait here I will run up to look for her," Louis remarked, and Mona sat down as he walked away.

He presently returned, but alone.

"She is not up stairs," he said; "I will go to her stateroom; perhaps she has been lying down; she said she had a headache this afternoon."

Again he left Mona, but came back to her in a few minutes, saying:

"Yes, it is as I thought; she isn't feeling well, and doesn't care to go down to dinner. I am to send her a cup of tea, and then she will retire for the night. Shall we go down now? You must be hungry," he concluded, smiling.

Mona would have much preferred to go by herself, and have him do the same, but she did not wish to have any words with him about it, so quietly followed him to the table, and took her seat beside him.

He was very polite and attentive, supplying all her wants in a thoughtful but unobtrusive way, and did not once by word or look remind her of anything disagreeable.

The dinner was a lengthy affair, and it was after eight when they left the dining-saloon, when Mona at once retreated to her stateroom to rid herself of Louis Hamblin's companionship. On her way thither she rapped upon Mrs. Montague's door, and asked:

"Cannot I do something for you, Mrs. Montague?"

There was no response from within, and thinking she must be asleep, Mona passed on to her own room.

It was growing quite dark, and Mona, feeling both weary and sleepy from the restlessness and wakefulness of the previous night, resolved to retire at once.

She felt really relieved, although a trifle lonely to be in a stateroom by herself, but she fell asleep almost immediately, and did not awake until the gong sounded for breakfast.

She felt much refreshed, and after dressing went and knocked upon Mrs. Montague's door to inquire if she had rested well, and if she could do anything for her.

There was no reply, and thinking perhaps she was still asleep, or had already arisen, she went up on deck to get a breath of air before going to breakfast.

"Why!" she exclaimed on looking around her, as she reached the deck, "how very wide the river must be just here; I did not observe it to be so when we came down; perhaps, though, we passed this point during the night, but I did not suppose we could get out of sight of land on the Mississippi."

A storm was evidently brewing; indeed, it was already beginning to rain, the wind blew, and the vessel rolled considerably.

Mona could see nothing of either Mrs. Montague or Louis, and found that she could not walk about to search for them, for all at once she began to feel strangely dizzy and faint.

"Can it be that I am going to be sick?" she murmured, "I was not coming down, for there was not much motion to the boat, but now it rolls and pitches as if it were out on the broad ocean."

She was growing rapidly worse, and, retreating to her stateroom, she crept again into her berth, and rang for the stewardess.

She was ill all that day—so ill that she could not think of much but her own feelings, although she did wonder now and then if Mrs. Montague was prostrated like herself. She must be, she thought, or she certainly would come to her.

Once she asked the stewardess if she was ill, and the woman had briefly replied that everybody was sick, and then hurried out to answer some other call.

But during the next day Mona began to rally, and the stewardess advised her to go up on deck, saying that the fresh air would do much toward improving her condition. She assisted her to dress, and helped her up stairs to a chair, covered her with a warm robe, and then left her alone.

Mona at first was so faint and weary from her exertions that she did not pay much attention to her surroundings. She lay with her eyes closed for a while, but finally the air made her feel better, and she began to look about her.

An expression of wonder and anxiety instantly overspread her white face.

Where were the banks of the river, so green and bright, which had made the southward trip so delightful?

The sun was shining brightly, for the storm had passed and the sky was cloudless, but, looking in every direction, she could discern no land—all about her was but a wide waste of deep blue water.

"Why!" she cried, "I should think we were out at sea!"

She looked greatly disturbed, but just at that moment she saw Louis Hamblin coming toward her, and she noticed that he also looked somewhat pale, as if he, too, had been suffering from sea-sickness.

"You are really better," he smilingly observed as he reached her side; "you have had a severe siege as well as I."

"Then you have been sick?" Mona observed, but turning away from the intense look which he bent upon her.

"Indeed, I have. I have but just ventured out of my berth," he returned, shrugging his shoulders over painful memories.

"How is Mrs. Montague? I have not seen her since we left New Orleans," Mona inquired.

A peculiar look came into Louis Hamblin's eyes.

"Well, she has been under the weather, too, and has not cared to see any one," he said. "She simply wants to be let alone, like most people who suffer from sea-sickness."

"That accounts for her absence and silence," thought Mona. Then she asked: "Is it not very strange that we do not see the banks of the river? One would almost imagine that we were far out at sea."

Again that peculiar look swept over the young man's face.

"And so we are," he quietly answered, after a momentary pause.

"What?" exclaimed Mona, in a startled tone, and turning her blanched face upon him with a look of terror.

"Do not be excited, Miss Montague," he coolly observed. "Aunt Margie simply took a sudden freak to go home by sea; she thought the voyage would be beneficial to her. She did not confide her plans to you, as she feared you would object and insist upon going home alone by rail."

Mona flushed hotly. She was very indignant that Mrs. Montague should have done such a thing without consulting her, and she deeply regretted that she had not insisted upon acting according to her own wishes.

She had no suspicion even now of the wretched deception that had been practiced upon her, but she did not now wonder so much that the woman had so persistently kept out of her way, and she felt so angry that she did not care to meet her again until they should land.

"When shall we get to New York?" she inquired, in a low, cold tone.

"We shall land some time this evening," Louis Hamblin evasively replied, but watching her with curious interest.

Mona gave utterance to a sigh of relief, but did not appear to notice how he had worded his sentence.

She believed that in a few hours more she would forever sever all connections with this bold, bad woman who had been guilty of so much wrong; that she would forever be freed from the society and attentions of her no less unprincipled and disagreeable nephew.

She resolved to go at once to Mr. Graves, then send word to Ray of her return, when she would reveal all that she had learned about herself, and all her troubles would be over. There was now no reason why she should not become his wife as soon as he desired.

She lay back in her chair and closed her eyes, thus signifying to Mr. Hamblin that she did not wish to continue their conversation.

He moved away from her, but continued to watch her covertly, smiling now and then to himself as he thought of the developments reserved for her.

When the sun began to decline Mona arose to return to her stateroom, but she was still so weak she could not walk steadily.

The young man sprang at once to her side.

"Let me help you," he cried, offering his arm to her.

She was obliged to take it, much as she disliked to do so, and he assisted her to the door of her stateroom, where, touching his hat politely, he left her.

She lay down to rest for a while before gathering up her things preparatory to going ashore, but the effort of coming down stairs had so wearied her that almost immediately she fell into a sound sleep.



CHAPTER XIV.

MONA FINDS FRIENDS.

When Mona awoke again it was dark.

The lamps were lighted in the saloon, however, and shone dimly into her stateroom through the glass in the door.

She at once became conscious that the steamer had stopped, while the confusion and bustle on deck told her that they had arrived in port and the vessel was being unloaded.

She hastily arose and dressed to go ashore, and she had hardly completed her toilet when some one rapped upon her door.

Opening it she found Louis Hamblin standing outside.

"We have arrived," he said. "How soon can you be ready to go ashore?"

"Immediately," Mona replied, then asked: "Where is Mrs. Montague?"

"Waiting for us in the carriage. I thought I would take one invalid at a time," he responded, smiling.

"What time is it, please?" the young girl asked, thoughtfully.

"Nearly ten o'clock. We are very late arriving to-night."

Mona looked blank at this reply, for she felt that it would be too late to go to Mr. Graves' that night. She would be obliged to go home with Mrs. Montague after all, and remain until morning. So she said nothing about her plans, but followed Louis above to the deck, out across the gangway to the pier, where a perfect babel prevailed, although at that moment, in the excitement of getting ashore, she did not notice anything peculiar about it.

The young man hurried her to the carriage, which proved to be simply a transportation coach belonging to some hotel, and was filled with people.

"We have concluded to go to a hotel for to-night, since it is so late and the servants did not know of our coming," Louis explained, as he assisted his companion to enter the vehicle, which, however, was more like a river barge than a city coach.

"I do not see Mrs. Montague," Mona said, as she anxiously tried to scan the faces of the passengers, and now noticed for the first time that most of them appeared to be foreigners, and were talking in a strange language.

"Can it be possible that I have made a mistake and got into the wrong carriage?" said Louis, with well-feigned surprise. "There were two going to the same hotel, and she must be in the other. She is safe enough, however, and it is too late for us to change now," he concluded, as the vehicle started.

Mona was very uncomfortable, but she could not well help herself, and so was obliged to curb her anxiety and impatience as best she could.

A ride of fifteen or twenty minutes brought them to the door of a large and handsome hotel, where they alighted, and Louis, giving her bag and wrap to the porter, who came bowing and smiling to receive them, told Mona to follow him into the house while he looked after the trunks.

Without suspecting the truth, although she was sure she had never been in that portion of the city before, the young girl obeyed, but as she stepped within the handsomely lighted entrance, she was both confused and alarmed by the fact that she could not understand a word of the language that was being spoken around her, while she now observed that the hotel had a strangely foreign air about it.

"There is something very wrong about this," she said to herself. "It does not seem like New York at all, and I do not like the idea of Mrs. Montague keeping herself so aloof from me. Even if she were sick, or angry with me, she might at least have shown some interest in me. I do not like Louis Hamblin's manner—he does not appear natural. I wish—oh, I wish I had gone home by rail. I am sure this is not New York. I am afraid there is something wrong."

She arose and walked about the room, into which the porter had shown her, feeling very anxious and trembling with nervousness. It was very strange, too, that Louis did not make his appearance.

Even while these thoughts occupied her mind he came into the room, and Mona sprang toward him.

"What does this mean?" she demanded, confronting him with blazing eyes and burning cheeks.

"What does what mean?" he asked, but his glance wavered before hers.

"This strange hotel—these foreign-looking, foreign-speaking people? Why does not Mrs. Montague come to me? Everything is very mysterious, and I want you to explain."

"Aunt Margie has gone to her room, and—" Louis began, ignoring every other question.

"I do not believe it!" Mona interrupted, with a sinking heart, as the truth began to dawn upon her. "I have not seen her since we left New Orleans. I have seen only you. There is some premeditated deception in all this. I do not believe that we are in New York at all. Where are we? I demand the truth."

Louis Hamblin saw that he could deceive her no longer; he had not supposed he could keep the truth from her as long as he had.

"We are in Havana, Cuba," he braced himself to reply, with some appearance of composure, which he was far from feeling.

"Havana!—Cuba!" cried Mona, breathlessly. "Ah! that explains the foreign language—and I do not know Spanish." Then facing him again with an air and look that made him cower, in spite of his bravado, she sternly asked: "Why are we here?"

"We are here in accordance with Mrs. Montague's plans," he answered.

"Mrs. Montague had no right to bring me here without consulting me," the young girl returned, passionately. "Where is Mrs. Montague?"

"I expect that Aunt Marg is in New York by this time," Louis Hamblin now boldly asserted.

"What?" almost shrieked Mona, smitten to the heart with terror at this intelligence. "Oh! you cannot mean to tell me that you and I have come to Havana alone! That—that—"

A hot blush mounted to her forehead, and for a moment she was utterly overcome with shame and horror over the terrible situation.

"Yes, that is just what we have done," Louis returned, a desperate gleam coming into his eyes, for he began to realize that he had no weak spirit to deal with.

There was a prolonged and ominous silence after this admission, while Mona tried to rally her sinking spirits and think of some plan of escape from her dreadful position.

When she did speak again she was white to her lips, but in her eyes there shone a resolute purpose which plainly indicated that she would never tamely submit to the will of the man before her.

"How have you dared to do this thing?" she demanded, but so quietly that he regarded her in astonishment.

"I have dared because I was bound to win you, Mona, and there seemed no other way," he returned, in a passionate tone.

"And did you imagine for one moment that you could accomplish your purpose by decoying me into a strange country?"

"Yes; but, Mona—"

"Then you have yet to learn that you have made a great mistake," was the haughty rejoinder. "It is true that I am comparatively helpless in not being able to understand the language here; but there are surely people in Havana—there must even be some one in this hotel—who can speak either French or German, if not English, and to whom I shall appeal for protection."

"That will do you little good," retorted Louis, flushing with anger at the threat, "and I may as well tell you the truth first as last. Mona, you will have to give yourself to me, you will have to be my wife. Mrs. Montague and I have both decided that it shall be so, and we have taken pains to prevent any failure of our plan. You may appeal as much as you wish to people here—they cannot understand you, and you will only lay yourself liable to scandal and abuse; for, Mona, you and I came to Havana, registered as man and wife, and our names stand upon the register of this hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin, of New York, where already the story of our elopement from New Orleans has become the talk of the town."

The deadly truth was out at last, and Mona, smitten with despair, overcome by the revelation of the dastardly plot of which she was the victim, sank helplessly upon the nearest chair, quivering with shame and horror in every nerve, and nearly fainting from the shock which the knowledge of her terrible danger had sent vibrating through her very soul.

She covered her face with her hands, and tried to think, but her temples throbbed like hammers, her brain seemed on fire, and her mind was in a perfect chaos.

She sat thus for many minutes, until Louis Hamblin, who was hardly less excited than herself in view of his anxiety as to what would be the result of this critical interview, could endure the silence no longer, and quietly but kindly remarked:

"Mona, I think it is best that you should go to your room and rest; it is late, and you are both weary and excited. To-morrow we will talk this matter over again, and I hope that you will then be more reasonable."

The sound of his voice aroused all her outraged womanhood, and springing to her feet again, she turned upon him with all the courage of a lioness at bay.

"I understand you," she cried. "I know why you and that unprincipled woman have so plotted against me. You were afraid, in spite of what I told you the other night, that I would demand your fortune, if I once learned the whole truth about myself. I have learned it, and I have the proof of it also. A message came to me, after my interview with you, telling me everything."

"I do not believe you," Louis Hamblin faltered, but growing very pale at this unexpected information.

"Do you not? Then let me rehearse a little for your benefit," Mona continued, gathering courage as she went on, and in low but rapid tones she related something of the secret which she had discovered in the royal mirror—enough to convince him that she knew the truth, and could, indeed, prove it.

"Now," she continued, as she concluded this recital, "do you think that I will allow you to conquer me? You have been guilty of a dastardly act. Mrs. Montague has shown herself to be lacking in humanity, honor, and every womanly sentiment; but I will not be crushed; even though you have sought to compromise me in this dreadful way I will not yield to you. Your wife I am not, and no writing me as such upon steamer and hotel registers can ever make me so. You may proclaim from one end of New York to the other that I eloped with you from New Orleans, but it will not serve your purpose, and the one for whom I care most will never lose faith in me. And, Louis Hamblin, hear me; the moment I find myself again among English-speaking people, both you and Mrs. Montague shall suffer for this outrage to the extent of the law. I will not spare you."

"That all sounds very brave, no doubt," Louis Hamblin sneered, but inwardly deeply chagrined by her dauntless words and bearing, "but you are in my power, Miss Montague, and I shall take measures to keep you so until I tame that haughty spirit somewhat. You will be only too glad to marry me yet, for I have gone too far in this matter to be balked now. When you leave Havana you will go as Mrs. Louis Hamblin, or you will never go."

"I would rather never go than as your wife, and I will defy you until I die!" was the spirited retort, and the man before her knew that she meant it.

He wondered at her strength of purpose and at her courage. Many girls, finding themselves in such a woeful strait, would have been entirely overcome—would have begged and pleaded in abject fear or weakly yielded to circumstances, and married him, but Mona only seemed to gather courage as difficulties closed around her.

She looked very lovely, too. She had lost a little flesh and color during her illness on shipboard, and her face was more delicate in its outlines than usual. She would have been very pale but for the spot of vivid scarlet that glowed on each cheek, and which was but the outward sign of the inextinguishable spirit that burned within her. Her eyes gleamed with a relentless fire and her slight but perfect form was erect and resolute in its bearing.

Louis Hamblin for the moment felt himself powerless to combat with such mental strength, and ignoring entirely what she had just avowed, again asked:

"Will you go to your room now?"

He did not wait for any reply, but touched a bell, and a waiter almost immediately appeared to answer the call.

Louis signified to him that his companion wished to retire, whereupon the man took her bag and wrap and motioned Mona to follow him.

With despair in her heart, but a dauntless mien, the fair girl obeyed, and crossing the wide entrance hall, mounted the great staircase to the second story.

As they were passing through a long upper hall a door suddenly opened, and a gentleman came out of one of the rooms.

Mona's heart gave a leap of joy as she saw him, for she was almost sure that he was an American, and she was on the point of speaking to him, but he passed her so quickly she had no opportunity.

She was rejoiced, however, to observe that her guide stopped before the door of a room next to the one which the stranger had just left, and she resolved that she would listen for his return, and manage to communicate with him in some way before morning.

The porter threw open the door, and stood aside to allow her to pass in.

The room was lighted, and she saw that while it was not large, it was comfortably furnished, and her trunk stood unstrapped in one corner. The next moment the door closed upon her, and she heard the key turned in the lock.

A bitter sob burst from her as she dashed the hot tears from her eyes, and a low, eager cry broke from her lips as she noticed that a door connected her room with the one from which the gentleman had issued a few moments before.

She sprang toward it, and turned the handle.

It was locked, of course. She told herself she might have known it would be, but she had acted upon an uncontrollable impulse.

But as she released her hold upon the knob she thought she heard some one moving about within the other room.

Perhaps the gentleman had his wife with him, and impelled by a wild hope, Mona knocked upon a panel to attract attention, and the next moment she was sure she caught the rustle of skirts as some one glided toward her.

Putting her lips to the key-hole, she said, in a low, appealing tone:

"Oh! can you speak English, French, or German? Pray answer me."

She thought she had never heard sweeter music than when the clear, gentle voice of a woman replied:

"I can speak English, but no other language."

"Oh! I am so glad!" almost sobbed Mona. "Please put your ear close to the key-hole, and let me tell you something. I dare not talk loud for fear of being overheard. I am a young girl, a little more than eighteen years old, and I am in a fearful extremity. Will you help me?"

"Certainly, if you are in need of help," returned the other voice.

"Oh, thank you! thank you!" cried Mona, and then in low, rapid tones she briefly told her story to the listener on the other side of the door.

When she had concluded, the woman said, wonderingly:

"It is the most dreadful thing I ever heard of. My brother, with whom I am traveling, will soon be back. We are to leave early in the morning, and he has gone down to the office to settle our bill and make necessary arrangements. I will tell him your story, and we will see what can be done for you."

Mona again thanked her, but brokenly, and then overcome by this unexpected succor she sank prone upon the floor weeping passionately; the tension on her nerves had given way and her overwrought feelings had to have their way.

Presently a hand touched the key in her door.

Startled beyond measure, she sprang to it, feeling sure that Louis Hamblin stood without.

"Do not dare to open this door," she cried, authoritatively.

"Certainly not; I simply wished to ask if you have everything you wish for the night," the young man returned, in perfectly courteous tones.

"Yes."

"Very well, then; good-night. I hope you will rest well," he said, then drawing the key from the lock, he passed on, and the next moment Mona heard a door shut across the hall.

It was scarcely five minutes later when she heard some one enter the room next to hers, and her heart leaped again with hope.

Then she heard a gentleman and lady conversing in low tones, and knew that her story was being repeated to one who had the power, if he chose to use it, to save her from her persecutor.

A little later she heard the gentleman go to a window and open it.

Then there came a gentle tap upon the door, and the lady said to the eager ear at the key-hole:

"There is a little balcony outside our window and another outside yours with only a narrow space between. My brother says if you will go out upon yours he will help you across to us, then we can talk more freely together, and decide upon the best way to help you. Turn down your light first, however, so that no one outside will see you."

"Yes, yes," breathed Mona, eagerly, and then putting out her light, she sprang away to the window.

She raised it as cautiously as she could, crept out upon the narrow iron balcony, and found a tall, dark figure looming up before her upon the other.

"Give me your hands," said the gentleman, in a full, rich voice that won the girl's heart at once, "then step upon the railing, and trust yourself entirely to me; you will not fall."

Mona unhesitatingly reached out her hands to him; he grasped them firmly; she stepped upon the railing, and the next moment was swung safely over the space between the two balconies, and stood beside her unknown friend.

He went before her through the window, and assisted her into the darkened room; the curtain was then lowered, and the gas turned up, and Mona found herself in the presence of a tall, handsome man of about thirty-three years, and a gentle, attractive-looking woman a few years his senior.



CHAPTER XV.

MONA'S ESCAPE.

The gentleman and lady both regarded the young girl with curious and searching interest as she stood, flushed and panting from excitement, in the center of the room beneath the blazing chandelier.

"Sit here, Miss Montague," said the gentleman, pulling forward a low rocker for her, "but first," he added, with a pleasant smile, "allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cutler—Justin Cutler, and this lady is my sister, Miss Marie Cutler. Now, it is late—we will waive all ceremony, so tell us at once about your trouble, and then we will see if we cannot help you out of it."

Mona sat down and briefly related all that had occurred in connection with her trip since she left New York, together with some of the circumstances which she believed had made Mrs. Montague and Louis Hamblin so resolute to force her into a marriage with the latter.

Her companions listened to her with deep interest, and it was plain to be seen that all their warmest sympathies were enlisted in her cause.

Mr. Cutler expressed great indignation, and declared that Louis Hamblin merited the severest sentence that the law could impose, but, of course, he knew that nothing could be done to bring him to justice in that strange country; so, after considering the matter for a while, he concluded that the best way to release Mona from her difficulties would be by the use of strategy.

"We are to leave on a steamer for New York to-morrow morning, and you shall go with us," Mr. Cutler remarked, "and if we can get you away from the hotel and on board the boat without young Hamblin's knowledge, you will be all right, and there will be no disagreeable disturbance or scandal to annoy you. Even should he discover your flight, and succeed in boarding the vessel before she sails, he will be helpless, for a quiet appeal to the captain will effectually baffle him. But how about your baggage?" he asked in conclusion.

"My trunk is in my room," Mona returned.

"Of course you must have that," said Mr. Cutler; "the only difficulty will be in getting it away without exciting suspicion. We must have this door between these rooms opened by some means. I wonder if the key to ours would fit the lock."

He arose immediately and went to try it, but it would not work.

"No. I did not expect our first effort would succeed," he smilingly remarked, as he saw Mona's face fall. "There is one way that we can do if all other plans fail," he added, after thinking a moment; "you can go back to the other room and unpack your trunk, when I could easily remove it through the window, and it could be repacked in here; but that plan would require considerable time and labor, and shall be adopted only as a last resort. But wait a minute."

He sprang to his feet, and disappeared through the window, and the next moment they heard him moving softly about in the other room.

Presently he returned, but looking grave and thoughtful.

"I hoped I might find a key somewhere in there," he explained, "but the door bolts on that side. There should, then, be a key to depend upon for this side. I wonder—"

He suddenly seized a chair, placed it before the door, stepped upon it, and reached up over the fanciful molding above it, slipping his hand along behind it.

"Aha!" he triumphantly exclaimed all at once, "I have it!" and he held up before their eager gaze a rusty and dusty iron key.

A moment later the door was unlocked, and swung open between the two rooms.

Five minutes after, all Mona's baggage was transferred to Miss Cutler's apartment, the door was relocked and bolted as before, and the fair girl felt as if her troubles were over.

Overcome by the sense of relief which this assurance afforded her, she impulsively threw her arms about Miss Cutler, laid her head on her shoulder, and burst into grateful tears.

"Oh, I am so glad—so thankful!" she sobbed.

"Hush, dear child," said the gentle lady, kindly, "you must not allow yourself to become unnerved, for you will not sleep, and I am sure you need rest. I am going to send Justin away at once, then we will both retire."

"Yes, I will go directly," Mr. Cutler remarked, "but I shall call you early. I will have your breakfast sent up here, when your trunks can be removed. Then, Miss Montague, you are to put on a wrap belonging to my sister, and tie a thick veil over your face. I will come to take you to the carriage, and no one will suspect but that you are Marie. Meantime she will slip down another stairway, and out of the private entrance; then away we will speed to the steamer, and all will be well. Now, good-night, ladies, and a good sleep to you," he concluded, cheerfully, as he quietly left the room.

Miss Cutler and Mona proceeded to retire at once, but while disrobing the elder lady told her companion how it happened that she and her brother were in Havana so opportunely. She had been out of health, and had come to Cuba early in the fall to spend the winter. Her brother had come a few weeks earlier to take her home, and they had been making excursions to different points of interest on the island.

"I am so glad," she said, in conclusion, "that we decided to take rooms at this hotel during our sojourn in Havana. At first I thought I would like to go to some more quiet place, but Justin thought we would be better served here, and," with a gentle smile, "I believe it was wisely ordered so that we could help you."

Mona feared that she should not be able to sleep at all, her nerves had been so wrought upon, but her companion was so cheerful and reassuring in all that she said that before she was hardly aware that she was sleepy she had dropped off into a sound slumber.

At six o'clock the next morning a sharp rap on their door awakened the two ladies.

They arose immediately, and had hardly finished dressing when an appetizing breakfast appeared. Miss Cutler received the tray at the door, so that the waiter need not enter the room, and then was so merry and entertaining as, with her own hands she served Mona, that the young girl forgot her nervousness, in a measure, and ate quite heartily.

By the time their meal was finished another rap warned them that the porters had come for their trunks.

"Step inside the closet, dear," said Miss Cutler, in a whisper, and Mona noiselessly obeyed her.

The door was then opened, and both trunks were removed, apparently without exciting any suspicion over the fact that there were two instead of one as when Miss Cutler arrived.

A few minutes later Mr. Cutler appeared, and Mona, clad in Miss Cutler's long ulster—which she had worn almost every day during her sojourn there—and with a thick veil over her face, took her tall protector's arm, and went tremblingly out.

Her heart almost failed her as she passed through the main entrance hall, which she had crossed in such despair only a few hours previously; but Mr. Cutler quietly bade her "be calm and have no fear," then led her down the steps, and assisted her to enter the carriage that was waiting at the door.

The next moment another figure stepped quickly in after her, Mr. Cutler followed, the door was closed, and they were driven rapidly away.

Arriving at the steamer-landing, they all went on board, and after attending to the baggage, Mr. Cutler conducted his ladies directly to their stateroom.

"I will get you a room by yourself, if you prefer;" he said to Mona, "but I thought perhaps you might feel less lonely if you should share my sister's."

"Thank you, but I should much prefer to remain with Miss Cutler if it will be agreeable to her," Mona returned, with a wistful glance at the lady.

"Indeed, I shall be very glad to have you with me," was the cordial reply, accompanied by a charming smile, for already the gentlewoman had become greatly interested in her fair companion.

"That is settled, then," said the gentleman, smiling, "and now you may feel perfectly safe; do not give yourself the least uneasiness, but try to enjoy the voyage—that is, if old Neptune will be quiet and allow you."

"You are very kind, Mr. Cutler, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am to both yourself and your sister," Mona said, feelingly. "But, truly," she added, flushing, "I shall not feel quite easy until we get off, for I am in constant fear that Mr. Hamblin will discover my flight, and come directly here to search for me."

"Well, even if he does, you need fear nothing," Mr. Cutler returned, reassuringly; "you shall have my protection, and should Mr. Hamblin make his appearance before we sail and try to create a disturbance, we will just hand the young man over to the authorities. The only thing I regret in connection with him," the gentleman concluded, with a twinkle in his eye, "is that I cannot have the pleasure of witnessing his astonishment and dismay when he makes the discovery that his bird has flown. Now, ladies, make yourselves comfortable, then come and join me on deck."

He left them together to get settled for their voyage, and went up stairs for a smoke and to keep his eye upon the shore, for he fully expected to see Louis Hamblin come tearing down to the boat at any moment. The reader has, of course, recognized in Justin Cutler the gentleman who, at the opening of our story, was made the victim of the accomplished sharper, Mrs. Bently, in the diamond crescent affair. It will be remembered also that he came on to New York at the time of the arrest of Mrs. Vanderheck, and that he informed Detective Rider of his intention of going to Cuba to meet his invalid sister and accompany her home, and thus we find him acting as Mona's escort and protector also.

While the three voyagers were settling themselves and waiting for the steamer to sail, we will see how Louis Hamblin bore the discovery of Mona's escape.

He did not rise until eight o'clock, and after having his bath and a cup of coffee in his own room, he went to Mona's door and knocked.

Receiving no answer, he thought she must be sleeping, and resolved that he would not arouse her just then.

He went down stairs, and had his breakfast, then strolled out to smoke his cigar, after which he went back, and again tapped upon Mona's door.

Still no answer.

He called her name, but receiving no response, he took the key from his pocket and coolly unlocking the door, threw it wide open.

The room was, of course, empty.

There were no signs that the bed had been occupied during the night, and both the girl and her trunk were gone.

With a fierce imprecation of rage, the astonished young man rushed down to the office to interview the proprietor as to the meaning of the girl's disappearance.

Although Mona had supposed there was no one in the house who could speak English, there was an interpreter, and through him Louis soon made his trouble known.

"Impossible!" the amazed proprietor asserted; "no trunk had been removed from Number Eleven, and no young lady had left the house that morning."

Louis angrily insisted that there had, and in company with the landlord and the interpreter, he returned to Mona's room to prove his statement.

At first the affair was a great mystery, and created considerable excitement, but it was finally remembered that Americans had occupied the adjoining rooms, and it was therefore concluded that the young girl had managed in some way to make her situation known to them, and they, having left that morning, had, doubtless, assisted her in her flight.

"Who were they, and where were they going?" Louis demanded, in great excitement.

"Cutler was the name, and they had left early to take the steamer for New York," they told him.

"What was her hour for sailing?" cried the young man.

"Nine-thirty," he was informed.

Louis looked at his watch.

It lacked fifteen minutes of the time.

"A carriage! a carriage!" he cried, as he dashed out of the hotel and down the steps at a break-neck pace.

He sprang into the first vehicle he could find, made the driver understand that he wanted him to hasten with all possible speed to the New York steamer, and enforced his wishes by showing the man a piece of glittering gold.

He was terribly excited; his face was deathly white, and his eyes had the look of a baffled demon. But he was not destined to have the satisfaction of even seeing Mona, for he reached the pier just in season to see the noble steamer sailing with stately bearing slowly out into the harbor, and he knew that the fair girl was beyond his reach.

Meantime, as soon as she had seen Louis and Mona safely on board the steamer, bound for Havana, Mrs. Montague, instead of going into the stateroom that had been engaged for her only as a blind, slipped stealthily back upon deck, hastened off the boat, and into her carriage, which had been ordered to wait for her, and was driven directly to the railway station, where she took the express going northward.

She did not spare herself, but traveled day and night until she reached New York, when she immediately sent a note to Mr. Palmer, notifying him of her return and desire to see him.

He at once hastened to her, for she had intimated in her communication that she was in trouble, and upon inquiring the cause of it, she informed him, with many sighs and expressions of grief, that her nephew and prospective heir had eloped with her seamstress.

Mr. Palmer looked amazed.

"With that pretty, modest girl, whom you had at Hazeldean with you?" he exclaimed, incredulously.

"Yes, with that pretty, modest girl," sneered Mrs. Montague. "These sly, quiet things are just the ones to entrap a young man like Louis, and there is poor Kitty McKenzie who will break her heart over the affair."

The wily widow's acting was very good, and Mr. Palmer sympathized with her, and used his best efforts to comfort her. But all that Mrs. Montague had cared to do was to set the ball rolling so that Ray might get it, and gradually led the conversation into a more interesting channel, and they discussed at length the subject of their own approaching union.

Mr. Palmer urged an early date, and after a little strategic hesitation, Mrs. Montague finally consented to make him happy, and the wedding was set for just one month from that day. This matter settled, the sedate lover took his leave, and his fiancee with a triumphant look on her handsome face, went up stairs to look over her wardrobe to see what additions would be needed for the important event.

"Whether Louis succeeds in making the girl marry him or not, she will have been so compromised by this escapade that Ray Palmer will, of course, never think of making her his wife, and my purpose will be accomplished," she muttered, with an evil smile.

She did not give a thought to the wanderers after that, but went about the preparations for her approaching marriage with all the zeal and enthusiasm that might have been expected in a far younger bride-elect.

Mr. Palmer went home feeling a trifle anxious as to how Ray would receive the news that the day was set for making Mrs. Montague his wife.

To see that he dreaded revealing the fact expresses but little of what he felt, but he had never taken any important step of late years without consulting his son, and he did not feel at liberty to now ignore him upon a matter of such vital interest.

So, after tea that evening, when they sat down to read their papers, he thought the opportunity would be a favorable one to make his confession.

Ray seemed anxious and depressed, for he had not received his usual semi-weekly letter from Mona that day, and was wondering what could be the reason, when Mr. Palmer suddenly remarked:

"Mrs. Montague has returned."

"Ah!" said Ray, and instantly his face brightened, for his natural inference was that Mona had, of course, returned with Mrs. Montague, and that accounted for his having received no letter that day.

"Yes, she arrived this morning," said his father.

"She is well, I suppose?" Ray remarked, feeling that he must make some courteous inquiry regarding his stepmother-elect.

"Yes, physically; but that scapegrace of a nephew has been giving her considerable trouble," Mr. Palmer observed.

"Trouble?" repeated his son.

"Yes, he eloped with a girl from New Orleans. They went on board a steamer bound for Havana, registered as man and wife, and that is the last she has heard of him, while she was obliged to return to New York alone," explained Mr. Palmer, wondering how he was going to introduce the subject of his approaching marriage.

"Is that possible? Who was the girl?" exclaimed Ray, astonished and utterly unsuspicious of the blow awaiting his fond heart.

"Mrs. Montague's seamstress—Ruth Richards."



CHAPTER XVI.

MONA CALLS ON MRS. MONTAGUE.

Mr. Palmer's unexpected announcement fairly stunned Ray for a moment. His heart gave a startled bound, and then sank like a lump of lead in his bosom, while a deadly faintness oppressed him.

Indeed the blow was so sharp and sudden that it seemed to benumb him to such an extent that he made no outward sign—he appeared to be incapable of either speech or motion. His face was turned away from his father, and partially concealed by his newspaper, so that Mr. Palmer, fortunately, did not observe the ghastly pallor that overspread it, and not knowing that Ruth Richards was Mona Montague, he was wholly ignorant of the awful import of his communication.

"Ruth Richards?" Ray finally repeated, in a hollow tone, which, however, sounded to his father as if he did not remember who the girl was.

"Yes, that pretty girl that Mrs. Montague had with her at Hazeldean—the one to whom you showed some attention the night of the ball—surely you cannot have forgotten her. It seems," the gentleman went on, "that young Hamblin has been smitten with her ever since she entered his aunt's service, but she has opposed his preference from the first. He followed them South, and met them at New Orleans, and it seems that the elopement was arranged there. They were very clever about it, planning to leave on the Havana steamer on the very day set for their return to New York. Mrs. Montague learned of it at almost the last moment, and that they had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin, although she did not ascertain that there had been any marriage beforehand, and, overcome by this unexpected calamity, she took the first express coming North."

It was well for Ray that his father made his explanation somewhat lengthy, for it gave him time to recover a little from the almost paralyzing shock which the dreadful announcement had caused.

He was as white as a ghost, and his face was covered with cold perspiration.

"This terrible thing cannot be true," he said to himself, with a sense of despair at his heart. "Mona false! the runaway wife of another! Never!"

Yet in spite of his instinctive faith in the girl he loved, he knew there must be some foundation for what had been told to his father. Mrs. Montague had come home alone. Louis and Mona had been left behind! What could it mean?

His heart felt as if it had been suddenly cleft in twain. He could not believe the dreadful story—he would not have it so—he would not submit to having his life and all his bright hopes ruined at one fell blow. And that, too, just as he had learned such good news for his darling—when he had been planning to give her, upon her return, the one thing which she had most desired above all others—the indisputable proof of her mother's honorable marriage; when it would also be proved that she was the heir to the property which Homer Forester had left, and could claim, if she chose, the greater portion of the fortune left by her father.

Ray had been very exultant over the finding of that certificate in Mrs. Montague's boudoir, and had anticipated much pleasure in beholding Mona's joy when he should tell her the glorious news.

But now—great heavens! what was he to think?

Then the suspicion came to him, with another great shock, and like a revelation, that it was all a plot; that Mrs. Montague had perhaps discovered Mona's identity and possibly the loss of the certificate, which, she might think, had fallen into the young girl's hands. He had felt sure, from the quizzing to which Louis Hamblin had subjected him at Hazeldean, that that young man's suspicions had been aroused, and possibly this sudden flitting to the South had been but a plot, from beginning to end, to entrap Mona into a marriage with the young man in order to secure the wealth they feared to lose.

"When did Mrs. Montague leave New Orleans?" he inquired, when his father had concluded, while he struggled to speak in his natural tone.

"On Tuesday evening."

"And you say that the Havana steamer sailed that same day?"

"Yes."

"What was the name of the steamer?"

"I do not know. I did not ask," Mr. Palmer replied. He was thinking more about his own affairs than of the alleged elopement of the young people, or he must have wondered somewhat at his son's eager questions. "And, Ray," he added, as the young man suddenly laid down his paper and arose, "there is one other thing I wanted to mention—Mrs. Montague has consented to become Mrs. Palmer on the thirtieth of next month. I—I hope, my dear boy, that you will be prepared to receive her cordially."

"You know, father, that I would never willfully wound you in any way, and when Mrs. Montague comes as your wife, I shall certainly accord her all due respect."

Ray had worded his reply very cautiously, but he could not prevent himself from laying a slight emphasis upon the adverb, for he had resolved that if Mrs. Montague had been concerned in any way in a plot against Mona's honor or happiness, he would not spare her, nor any effort to prove it to his father, and thus prevent him, if possible, from ruining his own life by a union with such a false and unscrupulous woman.

"Thank you, Ray," Mr. Palmer replied, but not in a remarkably hopeful tone, and then remarking that he had a little matter of business to attend to, Ray went out.

Late as it was, he hastened to a cable office, hoping to be able to send a night dispatch to Havana, but he found the place closed, therefore he was obliged to retrace his steps, and wait until morning.

There was not much sleep or rest for him that night. His faith in Mona's truth and constancy had all returned, but he was terribly anxious about her, for the more he thought over what he had heard, the more he was convinced that she was the victim of some cunning plot that might make her very wretched, even if it failed to accomplish its object. He knew that she was very spirited, and would not be likely to submit to the wrong that had been perpetrated against her, and this of itself might serve to make her situation all the more perilous.

He was at the cable office by the time it was opened the next morning, and dispatched the following message to the American Consul in Havana:

"Couple, registered as Mr. and Mrs. Louis Hamblin, sailed from New Orleans for Havana, April 28th. Search for them in Havana hotels. Succor young lady, who is not Mrs. Hamblin. Answer."

Ray felt that this was the very best thing that he could do.

He would gladly have gone himself to Havana, and longed to do so, but he was sure that if she should escape from her abductor—for so he regarded Louis Hamblin—Mona would be likely to return immediately to New York and to him. Thus he concluded it would be best to send the above message and await an answer from the consul, then if he could learn nothing about the couple he would go himself to search for Mona.

The day seemed interminable, and he was nearly distracted when night came, and he received no answer to his dispatch. He had not been able to apply himself to business all day, but wandered in and out of the store, looking wan and anxious, and almost ill.

This led his father to imagine that he was unhappy over his contemplated marriage—a conclusion which did not serve to make the groom-elect feel very comfortable.

On the next morning, however, Ray received the following cablegram:

"Young lady all right; sailed for New York yesterday, May 1st."

The relief which these few words afforded Ray's anxious heart can better be imagined than described.

Mona was true to herself and him, and he knew well enough that she never would have returned to New York if she had been guilty of any wrong. She would soon be with him, and then he would know all.

He ascertained what steamer left Havana on the first, and when it would be likely to arrive in New York, and as the hour drew near, he haunted the pier, that he might welcome his darling, and give her his care and protection the moment she arrived.

Meantime Mona, her mind relieved of all anxiety, was having a very pleasant passage home with Justin Cutler and his sister.

The weather was delightful, the sea was calm, and none of them was sick, so they spent most of their time together upon deck, and Mona was so attracted toward her new friends that she confided to them much more of her history than she had at first done that evening in the Havana hotel. In so doing she had mentioned the Palmer robbery and what she had discovered in connection with it while she was in St. Louis.

This led Mr. Cutler to relate his own experience with the crescents, and also the similar deception practiced upon Mrs. Vanderheck, and he mentioned that it was the opinion of the detective whom he had employed to work up the case, and whom Mona had met in St. Louis, that the same parties were concerned in all three operations.

"They are a very dexterous set of thieves, whoever they are," he remarked, while they were discussing the affair, "but though I never expect to see those crescents again, for I imagine that the stones have been unset and sold, it would afford me a great deal of satisfaction to see that woman brought to justice."

"I have the bogus crescents in my possession," Miss Cutler smilingly remarked to Mona. "Justin has given them to me to keep for him. Would you like to see them, dear?"

"Yes, indeed," Mona replied, "and I, too, hope that woman may yet be found. The affair is so like a romance, I am deeply interested in it."

Mr. Cutler colored slightly as she spoke of the romance of the experience, for he was still quite sensitive over the cruel deception that had been practiced upon him, although he had never confessed to any one how deeply and tenderly interested he had become in the captivating widow who had so successfully duped him.

When the steamer arrived in New York, almost the first person Mona saw was Ray, who stood upon the pier searching with anxious eyes among the passengers for the face of his dear one.

A cry of glad surprise broke from her, and, snatching her handkerchief from her pocket, she shook it vigorously to attract his attention, her lovely face all aglow with joy at his unexpected appearance.

He caught sight of the fluttering signal almost immediately, and his heart leaped within him as he looked into her beaming countenance. Truth and love and purity were stamped on every expressive feature.

He sprang across the gang-plank, and in less time than it takes to tell it he was beside her, while oblivious, in his great thankfulness for her safety, to the fact that others were observing them, he caught her close to him in a quick embrace.

"My darling!" he whispered. "Oh, you can never know how thankful I am to have you safe in my arms once more! What an escape you have had!"

"Why, Ray! how did you know?—who told you?" Mona exclaimed, astonished, as, with a blushing face, she gently freed herself from his embrace, although she still clung almost convulsively to his hand.

"I will tell you all about it later," he returned, in a low tone, and now recalled to the proprieties of life. "I can only say that I learned of the plot against you, and have been nearly distracted about you."

"Ah, Mrs. Montague told you that I had eloped with her nephew," the young girl said, and now losing some of her bright color, "but," lifting her clear, questioning eyes to her lover's face, "you did not believe it; you had faith in me?"

"All faith," he returned, his fingers closing more firmly over the small hand he held.

She thanked him with a radiant smile.

"But how did you know I would come home on this steamer?" she persisted, eager to know how he happened to be there to meet her.

"I cabled the American Consul to search for you, and render you assistance. He replied, telling me that you had already sailed for New York," Ray explained.

"That was thoughtful of you, dear," Mona said, giving him a grateful look, "but I found friends to help me. Come and let me introduce you to them."

She led him to Mr. Cutler and his sister, who had quietly withdrawn to a little distance—for, of course, they took in the situation at once—and performed the ceremony, when, to her surprise, Mr. Cutler cordially shook her lover by the hand, remarking, with his genial smile:

"Mr. Palmer and I have met before, but my sister has not had that pleasure, I believe."

Ray greeted them both with his habitual courtesy, and then in a frank, manly way, but with slightly heightened color, remarked:

"My appearance here perhaps needs some explanation, but it will be sufficient for me to explain that Miss Montague is my promised wife."

"I surmised as much, not long after making the young lady's acquaintance," Mr. Cutler remarked, with a roguish glance at Mona's pink cheeks and downcast eyes. "But," he added, with some curiosity, "it is a puzzle to me how you should know that she would arrive in New York on this steamer to-day."

Ray explained the matter to him, and then they all left the vessel together.

Mr. and Miss Cutler were to go to the Hoffman House, and invited Mona to be their guest during their stay in the city, but thanking them for their kindness, she said she thought it would be best for her to go directly to Mr. Graves, as she had business which she wished him to attend to immediately.

She also expressed again her gratitude to them for their exceeding kindness to her, and promised to call upon them very soon, then bidding them an affectionate good-by she left the wharf with her lover.

They went for a drive in Central Park before going to Mr. Graves, for Ray was anxious to learn all the story of the plot against her and to talk over their own plans for the future.

He found it very difficult to restrain his anger as she told him of her interview with Louis Hamblin in New Orleans, and how she had been decoyed upon the steamer for Havana, with the other circumstances of the voyage, and her arrival there.

"The villain will need to be careful how he comes in my way after this," he said, with sternly compressed lips and a face that was white with anger. "I will not spare him—I will not spare either of those two plotters; but you shall never meet them again, my darling," he concluded, with tender compassion in his tones, as he realized how much she must have suffered with them.

"I shall have to go to West Forty-ninth street once more, for I have a good many things there, and shall have to attend to their removal myself," Mona returned, but looking as if she did not anticipate much pleasure from the meeting with Mrs. Montague.

"Well, then, if you must go there, I will accompany you," Ray said, resolutely. "I will never trust you alone with that woman again. And now I have some good news to relate to you."

He told her then of his discovery of the marriage certificate, and what he had done with it, after which she gave him a graphic account of the discoveries which she had made in the secret drawer of the royal mirror.

"How very strange, my darling," he exclaimed, when she concluded; "how nicely your discovery fits in with mine, and now every difficulty will be smoothed out of your way, only," with an arch glance, "I am almost afraid that I shall be accused of being a fortune-hunter when it becomes known what a wealthy heiress I have won."

Mona smiled at his remark, but she was very glad that she was not to go to him empty-handed.

"And, dear," Ray continued, more gravely, "I am going to claim my wife immediately, for, in spite of the great wealth which will soon be yours, you are a homeless little body, and I feel that you ought to be under my protection."

"Ah, Ray, it will be very nice to have a home of our own," Mona breathed, as she slipped her hand confidingly into his, and then they began to plan for it as they drove down town.

Arriving at the house of Mr. Graves, they were fortunate in finding both that gentleman and his wife at home, and Mona received a most cordial welcome, while the kind-hearted lawyer became almost jubilant upon learning all the facts regarding her parentage and how comparatively easy it would now be to prove it.

It was arranged that Mona and Mr. Graves should meet Ray and Mr. Corbin at the office of the latter on the next morning, when they would all thoroughly discuss these matters and decide upon what course to pursue in relation to them.

This plan was carried out; the certificate and contents of the royal mirror were carefully examined, and then the two lawyers proceeded to lay out their course of action, which was to be swift and sure.

The third day after Mona's arrival in New York, Ray went with her to Mrs. Montague's house to take away the remainder of her wardrobe and some keepsakes which had been saved from her old home.

Mary opened the door in answer to their ring, and her face lighted with pleasure the instant she caught sight of Mona, although it was evident from her greeting that Mrs. Montague had not told her servants the story of the elopement.

"Is Mrs. Montague in?" Mona asked, after she had returned the girl's greeting.

"No, miss, she went out as soon as she had her breakfast, and said she wouldn't be home until after lunch," was the reply.

Mona looked thoughtful. She did not exactly like to enter the house and remove her things during her absence, and yet it would be a relief not to be obliged to meet her.

Ray saw her hesitation, and understood it, but he had no scruples regarding the matter.

"It is perhaps better so," he said, in a low tone; "you will escape an unpleasant interview, and since she is not here to annoy or ill-use you, I will take the carriage and go to attend to a little matter, while you are packing. I will return for you in the course of an hour if that will give you time."

"Yes, that will be ample time, and I will be ready when you call," Mona responded.

Ray immediately drove away, while she, after chatting a few moments with Mary, went up stairs to gather up her clothing and what few treasures she had that had once helped to make her old home so dear.

She worked rapidly, and soon had everything ready. But suddenly she remembered that she had left a very nice pair of button-hole scissors in Mrs. Montague's boudoir on the day they left for the South.

She ran lightly down to get them, and just as she reached the second hall some one rang the bell a vigorous peal.

"That must be Ray," she said to herself, and stopped to listen for his voice.

But as Mary opened the door, she heard a gentleman's tones inquiring for Mrs. Montague.

"No," the girl said, "my mistress is not in."

"Then I will wait, for my errand is urgent," was the reply, and the person stepped within the hall.

Mona did not see who it was, but she heard Mary usher him into the parlor, after which she went to obey a summons from the cook, leaving the caller alone.

Mona went on into Mrs. Montague's room to get her scissors, but she could not find them readily. She was sure that she had left them on the center-table, but thought that the woman had probably moved them since her return.

Just then she thought she heard some one moving about in Mrs. Montague's chamber adjoining, but the door was closed, and thinking it might be Mary, she continued her search, but still without success.

She was just on the point of going into the other room to ask Mary if she had seen them, when a slight sound attracted her attention, and looking up, she caught the gleam of a pair of vindictive eyes peering in at her from the hall, and the next moment the door was violently shut and the key turned in the lock.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE WOMAN IN BLACK.

For a moment Mona was too much astonished to even try to account for such a strange proceeding.

Then it occurred to her that Mrs. Montague must have returned before she was expected, let herself into the house with her latch-key, and coming quietly up stairs, had been taken by surprise to find her in her room, when she had supposed her to be safely out of her way in Havana, and so had made a prisoner of her by locking her in the boudoir.

At first Mona was somewhat appalled by her situation; then a calm smile of scorn for her enemy wreathed her lips, for she was sure that Ray would soon return. She had only to watch for him at the window, inform him of what had occurred the moment he drove to the door, and he would have her immediately released.

With this thought in her mind, she approached the window to see if he had not already arrived.

The curtain was down, and she attempted to raise it, when, the spring having been wound too tightly, it flew up with such a force as to throw the fixture from its socket, and the whole thing came crashing down upon her.

She sprang aside to avoid receiving it in her face, and in doing so nearly upset a small table that was standing before the window.

It was the table having in it the secret treasures which we have already seen. She managed to catch it, however, and saved the heavy marble top from falling to the floor by receiving it in her lap, and sinking down with it.

But while doing this, the broken lid to the secret compartment flew off, and some of its contents were scattered over her.

Mona was so startled by what she had done, that she was almost faint from fright, but she soon assured herself that no real damage had occurred—the most she had been guilty of was the discovery of some secret treasure which Mrs. Montague possessed.

She began to gather them up with the intention of replacing them in their hiding-place—the beautiful point-lace fan, which we have seen before, a box containing some lovely jewels of pearls and diamonds, and a package of letters.

"Ha!" Mona exclaimed, with a quick, in-drawn breath, as she picked these up, and read the superscription on the uppermost envelope, "'Miss Mona Forester!' Can it be that these things belonged to my mother? And this picture! Oh, yes, it must be the very one that Louis Hamblin told me about—a picture of my father painted on ivory and set in a costly frame embellished with rubies!"

She bent over the portrait, gazing long and earnestly upon it, studying every feature of the handsome face, as if to impress them indelibly upon her mind.

"So this represents my father as he looked when he married my mother," she said, with a sigh. "He was very handsome, but, oh, what a sad, sad story it all was!"

She laid it down with an expression of keen pain on her young face and began to look over the costly jewels, handling them with a tender and reverent touch, while she saw that every one was marked with the name of "Mona" on the setting.

"These also are mine, and I shall certainly claim them. How strange that I should have found them thus!" she said, as she laid them carefully back in the box. Then she arose and righting the table, replaced the various things in the compartment.

In so doing she stepped upon a small box, which, until then, she had not seen.

The cover was held in place by a narrow rubber band.

She removed it, lifted the lid, and instantly a startled cry burst from her lips.

"Oh, what can it mean? what can it mean?" she exclaimed, losing all her color, and trembling with excitement.

At that moment the hall-bell rang again, and Mona turned once more to the window, now fully expecting to find that Ray had come.

No, another carriage stood before the door, but she could not see who had rung the bell.

She wondered why Ray did not come; it was more than an hour since he went away, and she began to fear that her captor was planning some fresh wrong to her, and he might be detained until it would be too late to help her.

She was growing both anxious and nervous, and thought she would just slip into Mrs. Montague's bedroom and see if she could not get out in that way.

Suiting the action to the resolve, she hastened into the chamber, and tried the door.

No, that was locked on the outside, and she knew that the woman must have some evil purpose in thus making a prisoner of her.

She turned again to retrace her steps, that she might keep watch for Ray at the window, when her eyes encountered an object lying upon the bed which drove the color from her face, and held her rooted to the spot where she stood!

* * * * *

About nine o'clock of that same morning, a woman might have been seen walking swiftly down Murray street, in the direction of the Hudson River, to the wharf occupied by the Fall River steamers.

She was tall and quite stout, but had a finely proportioned figure, and she walked with a brisk, elastic tread, which betrayed great energy and resolution.

She was dressed in deep mourning, her clothing being made of the finest material, and fitting her perfectly.

A heavy crape vail covered her head and partially enveloped her figure, effectually concealing her features, and yet a close observer would have said that she had a lovely profile, and would have noticed, also, that her hair was a decided red.

She appeared to be in a hurry, looking neither to the right nor left, nor abating her pace in the least until she reached the dock where the Fall River boat, Puritan, had but a little while previous poured forth her freight of humanity and merchandise.

As she came opposite the gang-plank a low whistle caused her to look up.

A man stationed on the saloon deck, and evidently watching for some one, made a signal, and with a nod of recognition, the woman passed on board and up the stairs to the grand saloon, where a man met her and slipped a key into her hand, then turned and walked away without uttering a word.

"Two hundred and one," she muttered, and walked deliberately down the saloon glancing at the figures on the doors of the various staterooms until she came to No. 201, when she unlocked it and went in.

Ten minutes later the man who had stood on deck as she came aboard, followed her, entered the stateroom, and locked the door after him.

The two were closeted there for nearly an hour, when the woman in black came out.

"I shall look for you at three precisely; do not fail me," said a low voice from behind the door.

"I will not fail you; but keep yourself close," was the equally guarded response, and then the heavily draped figure glided quickly down stairs and off the boat.

She crossed West street, passed on to Chambers, and turned to walk toward Broadway, passing, as she did so, a group of three or four men who were standing at the corner.