Part 32 (1/2)
”I shall now soon outgrow that,” Ray responded, smiling. ”It was chiefly anxiety and unhappiness on your account that kept me thin and pale. You will see how quickly I shall recover my normal condition now that I have found you and know that you are all my own. Now tell me all about your own troubles, my darling. Do you know, it seems an age to me since we parted that night at your uncle's door, and you gave me permission to call upon you? My intention then was to seek an interview with Mr.
Dinsmore within a day or two, tell him of my love for you, and ask his permission to address you. But, even had no misfortune overtaken me, I could not have done so, since he was stricken that very night; but at least I could have come to you with words of sympathy.”
Mona then gave him a detailed account of all that had happened during those dark days, when her only friend lay dead and she felt as if all the world had forsaken her.
”Mona,” the young man gravely said, when she had finished her story, ”I shall tell my father to-night of this interview--he already knows that I love you--and ask his sanction to our immediate marriage, for I cannot have you remain here among my friends and acquaintances another day in the capacity of a seamstress or waiting-maid.”
”But, Ray--” Mona began, then she stopped short, blus.h.i.+ng rosily at having thus involuntarily called him by his Christian name. She had always thought of him thus, and it pa.s.sed her lips before she was aware of it.
He laughed out, amused at her confusion.
”There, dear, you have broken the ice almost without knowing it,” he said; ”now we shall get on nicely if you do not let it freeze over again; but what were you going to say?”
”I was going to ask you not to speak of--of our relations to each other to any one just yet,” Mona returned, with some embarra.s.sment.
”Why not?” Ray demanded, astonished, and looking troubled by the request.
”There are reasons why I must remain for a while longer with Mrs.
Montague,” said the young girl.
”Not in the capacity of waiting-maid,” Ray a.s.serted, decidedly; ”I cannot allow that.”
”Indeed I must, Ray,” Mona persisted, but with an appealing note in her voice; ”and I will tell you why. I told you that Mrs. Montague was no relative; she is not really, and yet--she was my father's second wife.”
”Mona! you astonish me,” cried her lover, regarding her wonderingly.
”It is true, and there is some mystery connected with my own mother and my early history which I am exceedingly anxious to learn. Uncle Walter told me something of it only the day before he died; but I am very sure that he kept back certain portions of the story which I ought to know, and which he was also anxious to tell me when he was dying, and could not. I have no means even of proving my ident.i.ty; if I had, I suppose that I could claim some of this wealth of which Mrs. Montague appears to have abundance, and I am sure that she has some proof in her possession.
I want to get it, and that is why I am anxious to remain with her a little longer. Let me tell you everything,” Mona went on, hurriedly, as Ray seemed about to utter another protest to her wish. ”As I understand the story, my father was dependent upon a rich aunt who wished him to marry the present Mrs. Montague; but he, being in love with my mother, was opposed to so doing, although he was anxious to secure the fortune.
As he was about to start on a European tour he married my mother and took her with him, none of his friends apparently suspecting the union.
”Now comes a part of the story which I cannot understand. They traveled for several months; but, while in Paris, my father suddenly disappeared, and my mother, believing herself deserted, in her pride and humiliation, immediately left the city, doubtless with the intention of returning to America. She was taken ill in London, however, and there, a few months later, I was born, and she died only a few hours afterward. Uncle Walter heard of her sad condition, and hastened to her, but was three days too late, and found only a poor weak infant upon whom to expend his love and care. It seems very strange to me that she did not write to him at the time she fled from Paris; but I suppose, since she had eloped with and been secretly married to my father, she was too proud and sensitive to appeal to any one. Later, my father married this Miss Barton to please his aunt and secure the fortune which he so much desired. I do not know anything about his after-life. I questioned Uncle Walter, but he would not talk about him--the most that he would tell me was that he was dead, but how, or when he died, I could never learn, and I do not know as there even exists any proof of his legal marriage with my mother, although my uncle confidentially a.s.serted that she was his lawful wife. I believe, however, that such proofs do exist and that they are in Mrs. Montague's possession.”
Mona then proceeded to relate how she had happened to secure the position she now occupied.
”It seems very strange,” she said, ”that fate should have thrown me thus into her home, and somehow I have a suspicion that she must have been concerned in the great wrong done my mother--that it was because of her influence that my father never owned nor provided for me. And now,” Mona continued, flus.h.i.+ng a deep crimson, ”I am obliged to confess something of which I am somewhat ashamed. When I found myself in Mrs. Montague's home, and had resolved to remain, I knew that she would instantly suspect my ident.i.ty if I should give her my true name. This, of course, I did not wish her to do, and so when she asked me what she should call me, I told her 'Ruth Richards,' The name Ruth really belongs to me, but Richards is a.s.sumed. Now, Ray, you can understand why I do not wish to have Mrs.
Montague undeceived regarding my ident.i.ty, as she must be if you insist upon at once proclaiming our relations. I am very strongly impressed that she knows the secret of my father's desertion of my mother, and also that she could prove, if she would, that I am the child of their legal marriage.”
Ray Palmer had grown very grave while listening to Mona's story, and when she spoke of her a.s.sumed name it was evident, from the frown on his brow, that he did not approve of having her hide herself from the world in any such way.
”Why not ask her outright, then?” inquired this straightforward young man, as the young girl concluded.
”That would never do at all,” said Mona. ”Uncle Walter told me that she hated my mother, and me a hundred-fold on her account, and she would not be very likely to put any proofs into my hands, especially when they would be liable to be very detrimental to her own interests.”
”True, I did not think of that,” returned Ray, thoughtfully. ”But how do you expect to obtain possession of these proofs, even if she has them, and how long must I wait for you?” he gloomily added.
”I do not know, Ray,” she answered, with a sigh. ”I do not see my way very clearly. I keep hoping, and something seems to hold me to this position in spite of myself. Let me remain three or six months longer; then if I do not succeed--”