“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.