Mona; Or, The Secret of a Royal Mirror. Mrs. Georgie Sheldon

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ