MRS. MONTAGUE QUESTIONS MONA.
"Where did you learn to play the piano, Ruth?" Mrs. Montague inquired the
next morning, while Mona was engaged in assisting her to dress, and she
turned a searching glance upon her as she put the question.
To conceal the flush that mounted to her brow, Mona stooped to pick up a
pin.
It had not occurred to her, when she offered to play for the dancing the
previous evening, that such proficiency in music would be regarded as
something very unusual in a sewing-girl, and might occasion remark.
Her only object had been to oblige Kitty McKenzie and avoid dancing with
the guests.
"I had a relative who gave me lessons for a while," she said, in reply to
Mrs. Montague's query.
"For a while!" repeated that lady, who had not been unobservant of the
flush. "You finger the piano as if you had been accustomed to diligent
practice all your life, and you must have had the best of instruction,
too."
"I am very fond of music, and it was never any task to me to practice,"
Mona remarked. Then she added, to change the topic: "Shall I baste this
ruffle in the full width, or shall I set it down a trifle?"
Mrs. Montague smiled at the tact of her pretty companion, in thus
attempting to draw her attention to her own affairs.
A good many things had convinced her of late that her seamstress had not
been reared in poverty, and certain suspicions, that had startled her
when she first saw her, were beginning to force themselves again upon
her.
"You can set it down a trifle," she replied; then she asked, persistently
returning to the previous question: "Why do you not give music lessons,
since you play so well, instead of sewing for your living? I should
suppose it would be a much more congenial occupation."
"There are so many music teachers, and one needs a reputation in order to
obtain pupils; besides, people would doubtless regard me as too young to
have had much experience in teaching. There, I have finished this--is
there anything else I can do for you?" and Mona laid the dress she had
been at work upon on a chair, and stood awaiting further orders.
"Yes; the buckle on this slipper needs to be more securely fastened. It
is true that there are legions of music teachers. Was this relative of
yours a teacher?"
"Oh, no; he simply bore the expense of my instruction."
"I suppose he cannot be living, or you would not be sewing for me," Mrs.
Montague remarked, with another searching glance.
"No," was the brief reply, and hot tears rushed to Mona's eyes, blinding
her so that she could hardly see where to put her needle.
She then made some remark to the effect that she needed some stronger
silk, and left the room to hide the grief which she found so hard to
control.
"Aha! this relative must be the friend for whom she is in mourning--he
cannot have been dead very long, for the girl is unable to speak of him
without tears," muttered Mrs. Montague, thoughtfully, a heavy frown
settling on her brow. "There is some mystery about her which I am bound
to ferret out; she is exceedingly reticent about herself--I wonder if my
suspicions can be correct?" she continued, her face settling into hard,
revengeful lines. "She certainly looks enough like that girl to be her
child. If I were sure, I would not spare her; I would crush her, for the
hate that I bore her mother, notwithstanding she is so useful to me. Ha,
ha!" and the laugh was exceedingly bitter, "it would seem like the irony
of fate to have her child thrown thus into my power. But if she is Mona
Montague why does she call herself Ruth Richards? what can be her object?
Can it be possible," she added, with a startled look, "that she has been
told her history, and she has engaged herself to me with the purpose of
trying to obtain the proofs of it? Is she deep enough for that? or has
she been advised to adopt such a course? She seems to be very frank and
innocent, intent only upon doing her work well and pleasing me. Yet, if
she should get hold of any of those proofs, she could make a great deal
of trouble for me. I believe I shall have to destroy them, although I
always feel as if a ghost were haunting me whenever I touch them. I shall
never be satisfied until I learn Ruth's history. I'll attack her about
the Palmers; if she is Mona Montague--the girl that Ray Palmer loves--she
certainly will betray herself if I take her unawares; although she did
not appear to know Mr. Palmer, last evening."
Mona returned at this moment, and Mrs. Montague's musings were cut short.
The young girl had recovered her self-control, and was as calm and
collected as usual; even more so, for she had told herself that she
must be more on her guard or she would betray her identity.
Mrs. Montague appeared to have forgotten all about their recent
conversation, and chatted sociably about various topics for a while.
But suddenly she asked:
"Did you observe the new arrival last night, Ruth?"
"Do you mean that portly gentleman, who is slightly bald, and with whom
you went out for refreshments?" Mona inquired, lifting a frank, inquiring
look to her companion, though her heart beat fast at this reference to
Ray's father.
"Yes; he is very fine-looking, don't you think so?"
"Perhaps so--rather," replied Mona, reflectively.
"That is 'rather' doubtful praise, I am afraid," observed Mrs. Montague,
with a light laugh. "I think he is a very handsome old gentleman, and he
is certainly a decidedly entertaining companion. You know who he is, I
suppose."
"I do not think that I heard anybody address him by name while I was in
the drawing-room; of course; I was not introduced to any one," Mona
evasively answered.
"His name is Palmer," Mrs. Montague remarked, as she bent a searching
look upon the young girl.
But Mona had herself well in hand now, and she made no sign that the name
was a familiar one to her.
"He has a son who is strikingly good looking, too," Mrs. Montague
continued. "I met them both at a reception in New York a little while
ago, and was greatly attracted to them, though just now the young man
is rather unhappy--in fact, he is wearing the willow for some girl whom
he imagines he loves."
Mrs. Montague paused to note the effect of this conversation, but Mona
had finished fastening the buckle on the slipper, and quietly taken up
some other work, though her pulses were beating like trip-hammers.
"It seems," the woman resumed, her keen eyes never leaving the fair face
opposite to her, "that he has long been very fond of a girl whose surname
is the same as mine--a Miss Mona Montague. She was a niece of that
wealthy Mr. Dinsmore, who died so suddenly in New York a short time ago."
It seemed to Mona that her heart must leap from her bosom as she listened
to this reference to herself; but, with every appearance of perfect
composure, she measured off some ribbon that she was making into bows,
and severed it with a sharp clip of her scissors.
"Perhaps you do not know whom I mean," said Mrs. Montague, and paused,
determined to make the girl speak.
"Oh, yes, I have heard of him, and I remember reading the notice of his
death in a paper," Mona compelled herself to say, without betraying
anything of the pain which smote her heart in recurring thus to her great
loss.
Mrs. Montague frowned.
She was not progressing as well as she could have wished in her "pumping"
operation; but she meant to probe the matter as far as she dared.
"Well," she went on, "this niece was supposed by everybody to be Mr.
Dinsmore's heiress; but a discarded wife suddenly made her appearance,
after his death, and claimed the whole of his property, and the girl was
left without a penny. She must have been terribly cut up about it, for
she suddenly disappeared, and cannot be found, and it is this that has so
upset young Palmer. He had not committed himself, his father informed me,
but was just on the point of declaring his love when Mr. Dinsmore died;
and the girl, evidently crushed by her loss, has hidden herself so
securely that no one can find her."
It was fortunate for Mona that her recent troubles had taught her
something of self-control, or she must have betrayed herself at this
point.
She realized that Mrs. Montague must have a purpose in relating all this
to her, and feared it was to verify some suspicion regarding herself.
She now believed that the woman must know all her mother's history, and
certain facts regarding her own birth, which she felt that Mr. Dinsmore
had, for some reason, withheld from her. This conviction had grown upon
her ever since she had been a member of her family, and she hoped, by
some means, if she remained long enough with her, to learn the truth.
Still she feared that if Mrs. Montague should discover that she was her
husband's daughter she might be so prejudiced against her she would at
once dismiss her from her employ, and she would then lose her only chance
to solve the questions that puzzled her. But she found it very hard to
conceal the great and sudden joy that went thrilling through her as she
listened to these facts regarding Ray Palmer's affection for and his
loyalty to her.
He had not been unworthy and faithless, as she had imagined; there had
been some good reason why he had not come to her during the early days of
her trouble. He might have been called suddenly away from New York on
business and not been able to return until her home was broken up; and
now he was grieving--"wearing the willow," as Mrs. Montague expressed
it--because he could not find her. He loved her! he had been upon the
point of telling her so, and this blissful knowledge made the world seem
suddenly bright again to the hitherto depressed and grieving girl.
But it would never do to betray anything of this, for then Mrs. Montague
would know at once that _she_ was Mona Montague; so she made no sign that
she was any more interested in this little romance regarding Ray Palmer's
love, than she would have been in that of any stranger. She even forced
herself to ignore him altogether, and ask, in a matter-of-fact way:
"Is it not strange, if Mr. Dinsmore had a wife living, that he did not
make some provision for his niece, by will?"
"The girl _isn't_ Mona Montague after all, or she never would have asked
such a question with that innocent air," said Mrs. Montague to herself,
with some disappointment; "the strange resemblance must be only a
coincidence, striking though it is. But I would really like to know where
Walter Dinsmore's niece is. I feel as if I had an enemy in ambush all the
time, for she would have it in her power to do me a great deal of harm if
she could prove her identity. I am half sorry that Ruth doesn't prove to
be she, for having her here, under my eye, I could manage her capitally."
"Why, the papers discussed all that at the time," she remarked aloud,
with some surprise. "There was considerable excitement over the affair,
and sympathy was very strong for the niece. Didn't you read about it?"
"No, I was very much engaged just then, and I did not read any account of
it. There, these bows are ready, and I will sew them to the dress," Mona
concluded, rising to get the garment, but trembling with nervous
excitement in every limb.
"Ah!" she added, glancing at her fingers, three of which were stained
with blood. "I have pricked myself with my needle; I hope I have not
soiled the ribbon. No, fortunately, I have not," as she carefully
examined it, "but I will step into the bath-room to wash my hands. I will
not be long," and she immediately left the room again. She had purposely
run the needle into her delicate flesh to obtain this respite, for she
felt as if she could no longer endure the trying conversation.
"Oh, how she has tortured me!" she sobbed, as she swung the door to after
her, and dashed from her eyes the tears which she could no longer
restrain. "I could not bear it another moment, and I must not give way,
even now, or she will see that I am unnerved, but I cannot be wholly
wretched now that I know that _Ray loves me_!"
A vivid blush mounted to her brow as she whispered the sweet words, and
she dashed the cold water over her burning cheeks to cool them.
"Ah!" she continued; "I judged him wrongfully, and I am sorry. It will be
all right if we can but meet again. It must be true that he loved me; he
must have confessed it, or his father would not have told Mrs. Montague
so."
She hastily dried her face, and hands, then composing herself, returned
to Mrs. Montague's room to find her with her dress on and looking very
fair and lovely in the delicately tinted blue cashmere, with the soft
ruching in the neck and sleeves and the shining satin bows at her waist.
The woman glanced sharply at Mona as she entered, but, for all that she
could see, the sweet face was as serene as if she were intent only upon
her duties as waiting-maid, instead of thrilling with joy over the
knowledge of being beloved by one whom, until that hour, she had believed
lost to her.
"I will submit her to one more test, and if she can stand it I shall be
satisfied," she said to herself, as she fastened a beautiful pin at her
throat, and then turned smilingly to Mona, but with the most innocent
air in the world.
"Am I all right, Ruth? Is the dress becoming?" she asked.
"Exceedingly," Mona returned; "the color is just suited to you."
"Thank you, I wonder if Mr. Palmer will also think so. Do you know," with
a conscious laugh and forced blush, but with a covert glance at the girl,
"I am becoming very much interested in that gentleman. I like the son,
too, but chiefly for his father's sake. By the way, young Mr. Palmer is
to be here for the ball on Monday evening; at least his father is going
to telegraph him to come."
"Is he?" said Mona, absently, while she appeared to be engrossed with
something which she had suddenly discovered about the new morning robe.
But the statement that Ray was coming to Hazeldean had given her an
inward start that made every nerve in her body bound as if an electric
current had been applied to them. "This skirt does not seem to hang just
right," she added, dropping upon her knees, as if to ascertain the cause.
"Ah! it was only caught up--it is all right now."
She smoothed the folds into place and arose, while, the breakfast-bell
ringing at that moment, Mrs. Montague passed from the room, very nearly
if not quite satisfied that Ruth Richards was an entirely different
person from Mona Montague.
Poor over-wrought Mona, however, fled into her own chamber, and locked
the door the moment she was alone.
She sank into the nearest chair, buried her face in her hands, and fell
to sobbing nervously.
"How can I bear it?" she murmured. "It is perfectly dreadful to have to
live such a life of deception. I never would have been guilty of it if I
had not been caught just as I was; but I could not give her my real name,
for she would have known at once who I am; and I do so want to find out
just why my father deserted my mother, and what there was between him
and Uncle Walter that was so terrible. Perhaps I never shall, but I mean
to stay with her for a while and try. She is a strange woman," the young
girl went on, musingly. "Sometimes I think she is kind and good, then
again she seems like a designing and unprincipled person. Can it be
possible that she is contemplating an alliance with Mr. Palmer? She
certainly received his attentions last evening with every appearance of
pleasure, and he seemed to be equally delighted with her society. I
wonder if Ray will like it? Somehow the thought of it is not agreeable
to me, if--if--"
A vivid blush suffused Mona's cheeks as she reached this point in her
soliloquy, as if she was overcome at having allowed her thoughts to run
away with her to such an extent.
"So Ray is coming to Hazeldean for the ball on Monday evening," she
continued, after a while. "Shall I see him? Yes, I shall try to," with an
air of resolution. "If he loves me as well as I love him, why should any
foolish sensitiveness prevent my allowing him to make it manifest, if he
wishes? I do not believe I have any right to ruin both our lives by
hiding myself from him. I will prove him in this way; but I must see him
alone, so that no one will know that I am Mona Montague, instead of Ruth
Richards, the sewing-girl. What if _he_ should ignore me?" she added,
with sudden fear and growing very white; then, with renewed confidence:
"He will not; if he has been noble enough to confess his feelings to
his father, he will not hide them from me. He is noble and true, and
I will not doubt him."