True Love's Reward. Mrs. Georgie Sheldon

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СКАЧАТЬ or her heirs, if any there be. Knowledge to her or their advantage is in the possession of CORBIN & RUSSEL, No.—Broadway, N. Y.

      Mona lost all her color as she read this.

      "Can it be possible that there is any connection between this Mona Forester and my history?" she murmured thoughtfully; "Mona is a very uncommon name—it cannot be that my mother's surname was Forester, since she was Uncle Walter's sister. Perhaps this Mona Forester may have been some relative for whom she was named—possibly an aunt, or even her mother, and thus I may be one of the heirs. But," she interrupted herself and smiled, "what a romantic creature I am, to be weaving such a story out of a mere advertisement! Still," she added, more thoughtfully, "this woman's heirs cannot be very numerous or it would not be necessary to advertise for them."

      She carefully cut out the lines from the paper, slipped the clipping into her pocket-book, then took up her work just as Mrs. Montague entered the room.

      She gave instructions regarding the alterations she wished made, and then left Mona by herself again. All day long Mona's mind kept recurring to the advertisement she had cut from the paper, while she had an instinctive feeling that she might be in some way connected with Mona Forester, although how she could not comprehend.

      "It would be useless for me to go to Corbin & Russel to make inquiries, for I could give them no reliable information about myself," she said, while considering the matter. "Oh, why could not Uncle Walter have told me more? I could not even prove that I am Mona Montague, for I have no record of my parents' marriage or of my birth. Perhaps, if I could find that woman—Uncle Walter's wife—she might be able to tell me something; but I do not know where to find her. Possibly Mrs. Montague would know whether this Mona Forester is a relative, if I dare ask her; but I do not—I could not—without betraying myself and perhaps spoil all my other plans. Oh, dear, it is so dreadful to be alone in the world and not really know who you are!" she concluded, with a sigh.

      About the middle of the next forenoon Mrs. Montague asked her if she would come with her to look over a trunk of clothing preparatory to beginning upon spring sewing.

      Mona readily complied with her request, and together they went up to a room in the third story. There were a number of trunks in the room, and unlocking one of these, Mrs. Montague threw back the lid and began to lay out the contents upon the floor. Mona was astonished at the number and richness of the costumes thus displayed, and thought her income must be almost unlimited to admit of such extravagance.

      She selected what she thought might do to be remodeled, and then she began to refold what was to be replaced in the trunk.

      Among other things taken from it, there was a large, square pasteboard box, and Mrs. Montague had just lifted it upon her lap to examine its contents to see if there was anything in it which she would need, when Mary appeared at the door, saying that Mr. Palmer was below and wished to see her.

      Mrs. Montague arose quickly, and in doing so, the box slipped from her hands to the floor and its contents, composed of laces, ribbons, and gloves, went sliding in all directions.

      "Oh dear! what a mess!" she exclaimed, with a frown of annoyance, "You will have to gather them up and rearrange them, Ruth, for I must go down. Just lay the dresses nicely in the trunk, and I will lock it when I return."

      She went out, leaving Mona alone, and the latter began to fold the ribbons and laces, laying them in the box in an orderly manner.

      When this was done she turned her attention again to the trunk into which

       Mrs. Montague had hastily tumbled a few garments.

      "She has disarranged everything," the girl murmured. "I believe I will repack everything from the bottom, as the dresses will be full of wrinkles if left like this."

      She removed every article, and noticing that the cloth in the bottom was dusty, took it out and shook it.

      As she was about to replace it, she was startled to find herself gazing down upon a large crayon picture of a beautiful girl.

      A low, startled cry broke from her lips, for the face looking up into hers was so like her own that it almost seemed as if she were gazing at her own reflection in a mirror, only the hair was arranged differently from the way she wore hers, and the neck was dressed in the style of twenty years previous.

      "Oh, I am sure that this is a picture of my mother," she murmured, with bated breath, as, with reverent touch, she lifted it and gazed long and earnestly upon it.

      "If you could but speak and tell me all that sad story—what caused that man to desert you in the hour of your greatest need!" she continued, with starting tears, for the eyes, so life-like, looking into hers, seemed to be seeking for sympathy and comfort. "Oh, how cruel it all was, and why should those last few weeks of your life have been so shrouded in mystery?"

      She fell to musing sadly, with the picture still in her hands, and became so absorbed in her thoughts that she was almost unconscious of everything about her, or that she was neglecting her duties, until she suddenly felt a heavy hand upon her shoulders, and Mrs. Montague suddenly inquired:

      "Ha! where did you get that picture? Why don't you attend to your work, and not go prying about among my things?" and she searched the girl's face with a keen glance.

      Mona was quick to think and act, for she felt that now was her opportunity, if ever.

      "I was not prying," she quietly responded. "I thought I would pack everything nicely from the bottom of the trunk, and as I took out the cloth to shake and smooth it, I found this picture lying beneath it. I was very much startled to find how much it resembles me. Who can she be, Mrs. Montague?" and Mona lifted a pair of innocently wondering eyes to the frowning face above her.

      For a moment the woman seemed to be trying to read her very soul; then she remarked, through her set teeth:

      "It is more like you, or you are more like it than I thought. Did you never see a picture like it before?"

      "No, never," Mona replied, so positively that Mrs. Montague could not doubt the truth of her statement. "Is it the likeness of some relative of yours?" she asked, determined if possible to sift the matter to the bottom.

      "A relative? No, I hope not. The girl's name was Mona Forester, and—I hated her!"

      "Mona Forester!" repeated Mona to herself, with a great inward start, though she made no outward sign, while a feeling of bitter disappointment swept over her heart.

      It could not then have been a picture of her mother, she thought, for her name must have been Mona Dinsmore, unless—strange that she had not thought of it when she read that advertisement in the paper—unless she had been the half-sister of her Uncle Walter.

      "You hated her?" Mona murmured aloud, with her tender, devouring glance fastened upon the beautiful face.

      The tone and emphasis seemed to arouse all the passion of the woman's nature.

      "Yes, with my whole soul!" she fiercely cried, and before Mona was aware of her intention, she had snatched the picture from her hands, and torn it into four pieces.

      "There!" she continued, tossing the fragments upon the floor, "that is the last of that; I am sure! I don't know why I have kept the miserable thing all these years."

      Mona could have cried aloud СКАЧАТЬ