MONA.
"Mona, come here, dear, please."
A gentleman, of perhaps forty-five, looked up from the desk where he
had been writing, as he uttered this request; but his voice trembled
slightly, and was replete with tenderness, as he spoke the name which
heads this chapter.
The girl whom he addressed was sitting by a window on the opposite side
of the room, and she lifted her bright brown head and turned a pair of
dark, liquid eyes upon the speaker.
"Yes, Uncle Walter," she cheerfully responded, as, laying down her book,
she arose and moved gracefully across the room toward the handsome,
aristocratic-looking man at the desk, who watched her every motion with
a fond intentness that betrayed a deep and absorbing affection for her.
He frowned slightly, however, as she spoke, and a half-bitter,
half-scornful smile curled his finely chiseled lips for an instant.
The young girl was tall and exquisitely formed, but her face was one not
easily described. Her features were delicate and clearly defined, yet
with a certain roundness about them such as one sees in a faultlessly
sculptured statue, while unusual strength of character was written
indelibly upon them. Her hair was slightly curly, and arranged with a
careful carelessness that was very becoming, while here and there a stray
ringlet, that had escaped the silver pin that confined it, seemed to
coquet with the delicate fairness of her neck and brow.
Reaching her uncle's side, she laid one white hand upon his shoulder,
then slid it softly about his neck.
"What is it, Uncle Walter? What, makes you look so sober? Have I done
something naughty that you are going to scold me for?" she concluded,
playfully, as she bent forward and looked archly into his eyes.
His face grew luminous instantly as he met her gaze, while he captured
her small hand and toyed with the rosy, taper fingers.
"Do I look sober?" and a brilliant smile chased the gloom from lip and
brow. "I did not mean to, while you know I could not scold you if you
were ever so naughty, and you are never that."
"Perhaps every one does not look upon me with your partial eyes," the
lovely girl returned, with a musical little laugh.
The man carried the hand he held to his lips and kissed it lingeringly.
"Let me see," he remarked, after thinking a moment, "isn't it somebody's
birthday to-day?"
"So it is! but I had not thought of it before," exclaimed the maiden,
with a lovely flush sweeping into her cheeks. "And," with a far-away look
in her eyes, "I am eighteen years old."
"Eighteen!" and Walter Dinsmore started slightly, while a vivid red
suddenly dyed his brow, and a look of pain settled about his mouth.
But he soon conquered his emotion, whatever it might have been, and
strove to say, lightly:
"Well, then, somebody must have a gift. What would you like, Mona?"
She laughed out sweetly again at the question.
"You know I have very strange notions about gifts, Uncle Walter," she
said. "I do not care much about having people buy me pretty or costly
things as most girls do; I like something that has been made or worn
or prized by the giver--something that thought and care have been
exercised upon. The little bouquet of blue-fringed gentians which you
walked five miles to gather for me last year was the most precious gift
I had; I have it now, Uncle Walter."
"You quaint child!" said the man, with a quiver of strong feeling in
his tone. "You would like something prized by the giver, would you?" he
added, musingly. "Well, you shall be gratified."
He turned again to his desk as he spoke, unlocked and pulled out a
drawer.
"Would you like this?" he asked, as he uncovered a box about eight inches
square.
"Why, it is a mirror! and what a queer one!" exclaimed the maiden, as she
bent forward to look, and found her lovely, earnest face reflected from a
square, slightly defaced mirror that was set in an ebony frame richly
inlaid with gold and pearl.
"Yes, dear, and it once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Doubtless it
reflected her face many times during the latter half of the last century,
as it now reflects yours, my Mona," said Mr. Dinsmore.
"To Marie Antoinette?" repeated Mona, breathlessly, "to the Queen of
France? and would you give it to me--_me_, Uncle Walter?"
"Yes, I have kept it for you many years, dear," the man answered, but
turning away from her eager, delighted eyes and glowing face, as if
something in them smote him with sudden pain.
"Oh! thank you, _thank_ you! It is a priceless gift. What can I say? How
can I show you how delighted I am?" Mona cried, eagerly.
"By simply accepting it and taking good care of it, and also by giving
me your promise that you will never part with it while you live," Mr.
Dinsmore gravely replied.
"Of _course_ I would never part with it," the young girl returned,
flushing. "The mere fact of your giving it to me would make it precious,
not to mention that it is a royal mirror and once belonged to that
beautiful but ill-fated queen. How did it happen to come into your
possession, Uncle Walter?"
The man grew pale at this question, but after a moment he replied, though
with visible effort:
"It was given to your great grandmother by a Madame Roquemaure, an
intimate friend, who was at one time a lady in waiting at the court of
Louis the Sixteenth."
"What was her name?" eagerly asked Mona--"my grandmother's, I mean."
"She was a French lady and her maiden name was Ternaux, and when her
friend, Madame Roquemaure, died, she bequeathed to her this mirror, which
once graced the dressing-room of Marie Antoinette in the Tuileries."
"What a prize!" breathed Mona, as she gazed reverently upon the royal
relic. "May I take it, Uncle Walter?"
"Certainly," and the man lifted it from the box and laid it in her hands.
"How heavy it is!" she exclaimed, flushing and trembling with excitement,
as she clasped the precious treasure.
"Yes, the frame is of ebony and quite a massive one," said Mr. Dinsmore.
"It looks like a shallow box with the mirror for a cover; but of course
it isn't, as there is no way to get into it," observed the young girl,
examining it closely.
Her companion made no reply, but regarded her earnestly, while his face
was pale and his lips compressed with an expression of pain.
"And this has been handed down from generation to generation!" Mona went
on, musingly. "Have you had it all these years, Uncle Walter--ever since
you first took me?"
"Yes, and I have been keeping it for you until you should reach your
eighteenth birthday. It is yours now, my Mona, but you must never part
with it--it is to be an heir-loom. And if you should ever be married,
if you should have children, you are to give it to your eldest daughter.
And, oh! my child," the agitated man continued, as he arose and laid his
hands upon her shoulders and looked wistfully into her beautiful face,
"I hope, I _pray_, that _your_ life may be a happy one."
"Why, Uncle Walter, how solemn you have grown all at once!" cried the
young girl, looking up at him with a smile half startled, half gay, "One
would think you were giving me some sacred charge that is to affect all
my future life, instead of this lovely mirror that has such a charming
and romantic history. I wish," she went on, thoughtfully, "you would tell
me just how you came to have it. Did it descend to you from your father's
or your mother's ancestors?"
The man sat down again before he replied, and turned his face slightly
away from her gaze as he said:
"It really belonged to your mother, dear, instead of to me, for it has
always been given to the eldest daughter on the mother's side; so, after
your mother died, I treasured it to give to you when you should be old
enough to appreciate it."
"I wish you would tell me more about my mother, Uncle Walter," the young
girl said, wistfully, after a moment of silence. "You have never seemed
willing to talk about her--you have always evaded and put me off when I
asked you anything, until I have grown to feel as if there were some
mystery connected with her. But surely I am old enough now, and have a
right to know her history. Was she your only sister, and how did it
happen that she died all alone in London? Where was my father? and why
was she left so poor when you had so much? Really, Uncle Walter, I think
I ought to insist upon being told all there is to know about my parents
and myself. You have often said you would tell me some time; why not
now?"
"Yes, yes, child, you are old enough, if that were all," the man
returned, with livid lips, a shudder shaking his strong frame from
head to foot.
Mona also grew very pale as she observed him, and a look of apprehension
swept over her face at his ominous words.
"Was there anything wrong about mamma?" she began, tremulously.
"No, no!" Mr. Dinsmore interposed, almost passionately; "she was the
purest and loveliest woman in the world, and her fate was the saddest in
the world."
"And my father?" breathed the girl, trembling visibly.
"Was a wretch! a faithless brute!" was the low, stern reply.
"What became of him?"
"Do not ask me, child," the excited man returned, almost fiercely, but
white to his lips, "he deserves only your hatred and contempt, as he has
mine. Your mother, as you have been told, died in London, a much wronged
and broken-hearted woman, where she had lived for nearly three months in
almost destitute circumstances. The moment I learned of her sad condition
I hastened to London to give her my care and protection; but she was
gone--she had died three days before my arrival, and I found only a wee
little baby awaiting my care and love."
A bitter sob burst from the man's lips at this point, but after
struggling for a moment for self-control, he resumed:
"That baby was, of course, yourself, and I named you Mona for your
mother, and Ruth for mine. The names do not go together very well, but I
loved them both so well I wanted you to bear them, I gave you in charge
of a competent nurse, with instructions that everything should be done
for your comfort and welfare; then I sought to drown my grief in travel
and constant change of scene. When I returned to London you were nearly
two years old and a lovely, winning child, I brought you, with your
nurse, to America, resolving that you should always have the tenderest
love and care; and Mona, my darling, I have tried to make your life a
happy one."
"And you have succeeded. Uncle Walter, I have never known a sorrow, you
have been my best and dearest friend, and I love you--I love you with all
my heart," the fair girl cried, as she threw her arm about his neck and
pressed her quivering lips to his corrugated brow.
Mr. Dinsmore folded her close to his breast, and held her there in a
silent embrace for a moment.
But Mona's mind was intent upon hearing the remainder of his story; and,
gently disengaging herself, she continued:
"But tell me--there is much more that I want to know. What was the
reason--why did my father--"
She was suddenly cut short in her inquiries by the opening of a door and
the entrance of a servant.
"There is a caller for you in the drawing-room, Miss Mona," the girl
remarked, as she extended to her the silver salver, on which there lay a
dainty bit of pasteboard.
Mona took it and read the name engraved upon it.
"It is Susie Leades," she said, a slight look of annoyance sweeping over
her face, "and I suppose I must go; but you will tell me the rest some
other time, Uncle Walter? I shall never be content until I know all there
is to know about my father and mother."
"Yes--yes; some other time I will tell you more," Mr. Dinsmore said, but
with a sigh of relief, as if he were glad of this interruption in the
midst of a disagreeable subject.
"I will leave the mirror here until I come back," Mona said, as she laid
it again in its box in the drawer; then, softly kissing her companion on
the lips, she went slowly and reluctantly from the room.
The moment the door had closed after her, Walter Dinsmore, the proud
millionaire and one of New York's most respected and prominent citizens,
dropped his head upon the desk before him and groaned aloud:
"How can I ever tell her?" he cried. "Oh, Mona, Mona! I have tried to
do right by your little girl--I have tried to make her life bright and
happy; must I cloud it now by revealing the wrong and sorrow of yours?
_Must_ I tell her?"
A sob burst from him, and then for some time he lay perfectly still, as
if absorbed in deep thought.
At length he lifted his head, and, with a resolute look on his fine face,
drew some paper before him and began to write rapidly.
At the expiration of half an hour he folded what he had written, put it
in an envelope, and carefully sealed it, then turning it over, wrote "For
Mona" on the back.
This done he took up the mirror which he had but just given the young
girl, pressed hard upon one of the pearl and gold points with which the
frame was thickly studded, and the bottom dropped down like a tiny
drawer, revealing within it a package composed of half a dozen letters
and a small pasteboard box.
The man was deadly pale, and his hands trembled as he took these out and
began to look over the letters.
But, as if the task were too great for him, he almost immediately
replaced them in their envelopes, and restored them to the drawer in the
mirror. Then he uncovered the little box, and two small rings were
exposed to view--one a heavy gold band, the other set with a whole pearl
of unusual size and purity.
"Poor Mona!" he almost sobbed, as he touched them with reverent fingers.
"I shall never be reconciled to your sad fate, and I cannot bring myself
to tell your child the whole truth, at least not now. I will tell her
something--just enough to satisfy her, if she questions me again--the
rest I have written, and I will hide the story with these things in the
mirror; then in my will I will reveal its secret, so that Mona can find
them. She will be older, and perhaps happily settled in life by the time
I get through, and so better able to bear the truth."
He replaced the box and letters in the secret drawer of the mirror, also
the envelope which contained what he had written, after which he
carefully closed it, and returned the royal relic to the box in his desk.
"There! everything is as safe as if it were buried in Mona's grave--no
one would ever think of looking for that history in such a place, and the
secret will never be disclosed until I see fit to reveal it."
He had scarcely completed these arrangements when Mona re-entered the
room, her face bright and smiling, a lovely flush on her cheeks, a
brilliant light in her liquid brown eyes.
"Well, my pet, you look pretty enough to kiss," exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore,
assuming a lightness of manner which he was far from feeling. "Have you
had a pleasant call?"
"Indeed I have, Uncle Walter, and I have also had an invitation to attend
the opera to-night," Mona replied, with increasing color.
"Ah! then I imagine that Miss Susie did not come alone, eh?" and Mr.
Dinsmore smiled roguishly.
"No; Mr. Palmer was with her; and just as they were at the door, he
discovered that he had forgotten his cards, so he just penciled his name
on the back of Susie's; but I did not see it, and of course did not know
he was here until I went into the drawing-room," the young girl
explained.
"Palmer! Ray Palmer, the son of Amos Palmer, the diamond merchant?"
questioned Mr. Dinsmore.
"Yes, I have met him a number of times during the past year, and at
Susie's birthday party last week he asked permission to call. May I go
to-night, Uncle Walter?" Mona asked, with downcast eyes.
"Who else is to be in the party?" gravely inquired her uncle.
"Susie, and Louis, her brother."
"Then I have no objection to your going also," said Mr. Dinsmore; then
he added, as he searched the beautiful face beside him: "I know that
Ray Palmer is an exceptionally fine young man, and any girl might feel
honored in receiving his attentions. Is he agreeable to you, Mona?"
A vivid scarlet suffused the maiden's face at this pointed question, and
the gentleman laughed out softly as he beheld it.
"Never mind, dear," he continued, lightly. "I am already answered, and
Mr. Ray Palmer has my best wishes for his future success and happiness.
There, run back now, and tell your callers that you will join their
party."
A shy, sweet smile wreathed Mona's lips as she again left the room.
But she was not gone, long--scarcely five minutes had elapsed before she
returned, and gliding to Mr. Dinsmore's side, she said, with quiet
resolution:
"Now, Uncle Walter, I want to hear the remainder of what you have to tell
me about my father and mother."