CHAPTER XI.
MONA IN A TRYING POSITION.
Mona breathed more freely, for she believed from his evasive reply that
Mrs. Montague did not now believe her to be Mona Forester's child.
"I beg you will not tell her," she said, impulsively, and then instantly regretted having made the request.
The young man's face lighted.
If they could have a common secret he believed that he should make some headway in his wooing.
"That will depend upon how kind you are to me," he said, meaningly.
Mona's head went up haughtily again. His presumption, his assurance, both annoyed and angered her.
He affected not to notice her manner, and asked:
"What was your object, Miss Montague, in coming into my aunt's family under an assumed name?"
Mona thought a moment before replying; then she felt that since he already knew so much, it would do no harm to tell him the truth.
"I had no intention at first of going anywhere under an assumed name," she said, gravely. "I applied at an employment bureau for a situation as seamstress, and this position was obtained for me. I did not even know the name of the woman who had engaged me, until I entered Mrs. Montague's house. When I learned the truth, I was tempted to leave at once; but the desire to learn more than I already knew regarding my parentage made me bold to brave discovery, and remain at least for a while, and so upon the spur of the moment I gave the name of Ruth Richards—Ruth is my middle name, and Richards very nearly like that of the man who married my mother—"
"Who married your mother?" questioned Louis Hamblin, in a mocking tone.
"Yes; they were legally married. I at least know that much," said Mona, positively, determined to make him think she fully believed it.
"How did you learn so much?"
"My uncle assured me of the fact only the day before he died."
"Your uncle? You mean Walter Dinsmore, I suppose?"
"Yes; of course."
"How much of your history did he reveal to you?" questioned the young man, eagerly.
"I do not feel under any obligation to tell you that," Mona coldly answered.
"Now, Miss Montague," Louis said, with well assumed frankness and friendliness, "why will you persist in treating me as an enemy? Why will you not have confidence in me, and allow me to help you? I know your whole history—I know, too, from what you have said, that you are ignorant of much that is vital to your interests, and which I could reveal to you, if I chose. Now forget any unpleasantness that may have arisen between us, tell me just what you hoped to learn by remaining in my aunt's family, and, believe me, I stand ready to help you."
Mona lifted her great liquid brown eyes, and searched his face.
Oh, how she longed to know the truth about her mother; but she distrusted him—she instinctively doubted his sincerity.
He read something of this in her glance, and continued, hoping to disarm her suspicions:
"Of course you know that Aunt Margie is, or was, Richmond Montague's second wife—"
"Ah! by that statement you yourself virtually acknowledge that my mother was his first wife," triumphantly interposed Mona. "As I said before, my uncle assured me of the fact, but your admission is worth something to me as corroborative evidence. All that I desire now is tangible proof of it; if you can and will obtain that for me, I shall have some faith in your assertion that you wish to help me."
"Are you so eager to claim, as your father, the man who deserted your mother?" Louis Hamblin asked, with a sneer, and wishing to sound her a little further.
"No; I simply want proof that my mother was a legal wife—I have only scorn and contempt for the man who wronged her," Mona replied, intense aversion vibrating in her tones. "I regard him, as my uncle did, as a knave—a brute."
"Did Walter Dinsmore represent him as such to you?" inquired her companion, in a mocking tone.
"He did; he expressed the utmost contempt and loathing for the man who had ruined his sister's life."
The young man gave vent to a short, derisive laugh.
"I cannot deny the justness of the epithets applied to him," he said, with a sneer, "but, that such terms should have fallen from the immaculate lips of the cultured and aristocratic Walter Dinsmore, rather amuses me, especially as the present Mrs. Dinsmore might, with some reason, perhaps, bring the same charges against him."
"Did you know my uncle?" Mona questioned, with some surprise.
"Not personally; but Mrs. Montague knew him very well years ago."
"Oh! I wonder if you could tell me—" Mona began, greatly agitated, as she recalled the dreadful suspicion that had flashed into her mind regarding her uncle, in connection with her father's death.
"If I could tell you what?" Louis inquired, while he wondered what thought could have so suddenly blanched her face, and sent that look of terror into her beautiful eyes.
"Oh, I want to know—did he—how did my father die?" the young girl cried, in faltering, trembling tones.
Louis Hamblin regarded her with unfeigned astonishment at the question.
"How did your father die?" he repeated. "Why, like any other respectable gentleman—in his own house, and of an incurable disease."
"Oh! then he did die a natural death," breathed Mona, with a sigh of relief that was almost a sob.
"Certainly. Ah!" and her companion appeared suddenly to divine her thoughts, "so you imagined that Walter Dinsmore killed Richmond Montague for the wrong done your mother! Ha! ha! I have no doubt that he felt bitter enough to commit murder, or almost any other act of violence, to avenge her; but let me assure you, Miss Montague, that that high-toned gentleman never soiled his hands with blood; and if that was your thought—"
"It is no matter what I thought," Mona hastily, but coldly, interposed, for she had no intention of confessing any such suspicion; but she was greatly relieved to learn that it had no foundation, and she now bitterly reproached herself for having even momentarily entertained a thought of anything that had been so foreign to her uncle's noble nature.
"To go back to what we were speaking of before," she continued, gravely, "will you furnish me with tangible proof of my mother's marriage? I know that she eloped with Richmond Montague, that they lived together for several months, when he suddenly deserted her, and that there is some mystery connected with that event—something which my uncle hesitated or feared to tell me. I know, too, that he was very anxious to reveal something more to me when he lay dying, and could not, because he had been stricken speechless. But for that fact, I believe I should not now be obliged to ask this favor of you," she concluded, flushing.
"Does it gall you so much, to ask a favor of me?" he inquired, bitterly. "But why," he went on, without waiting for a reply, "are you so exceedingly anxious to obtain this proof? Do you expect by the use of it to secure to yourself the property left by your father? Was that your object in remaining in my aunt's family under an assumed name?"
"No!" Mona vehemently returned. "I would not touch one dollar of his money. I would scorn to profit by so much as a penny of the fortune left by the man who deserted his wife in her sad extremity, and then, when death freed him from the tie which bound him to her, married a woman whom he did not love; who possessed so little of fatherly instinct in his nature, that he never acknowledged his child, nor betrayed the slightest interest in or affection for her. I would never own him for such a purpose; while, were it not for the sake of establishing my mother's honor, I would even repudiate the name I bear," she concluded, looking so proud and beautiful in her righteous scorn that the young man gazed upon her with admiration.
"You are very proud-spirited," he remarked; then, with a sly smile, "but as for the name you affect to so despise, it would be an easy matter to change it."
Mona colored at this observation, not because she gave a thought to his meaning, but because she hoped it would not be so very long before she would change the hated name of Montague for the honored one of Palmer.
Her companion noticed the flush, and an eager look flashed into his eyes, while his lips trembled with the torrent of burning words which he longed to pour into her ears. But he controlled himself for the moment, and continued:
"You ask me if I will give you the tangible proof of your mother's marriage. I have told you that I can do so; that I know the whole story of the elopement and the desertion. I can produce absolute proof that Mona Forester was a legal wife."
"Then give it to me—give it to me and I will believe that you are my friend," Mona cried, appealingly, and trembling with excitement at his statement.
"I will do so gladly," the young man said, a smile of triumph curling his lips, "but I can only do so conditionally."
"Conditionally?" repeated Mona, her great eyes flashing up to his face with a startled look.
"Yes. I can produce the certificate proving your father's and mother's honorable marriage. I can give you letters that will also prove it, and prove, too, that your father was not quite so disreputable and heartless as you have been led to believe. There is also a picture of him, painted on ivory, and set in a frame of gold, embellished with costly stones, which he had made for his wife, and there are valuable jewels and other keepsakes which he bestowed upon her with lavish hands, and which now rightly belong to you. All these I will give you if—if you will marry me—if you will be my wife, Mona."
The girl sprang to her feet, every atom of color now gone from her face, and confronted him with haughty mien.
"Your wife!" she began, pantingly. But he would not let her go on—he meant at least to explain himself more fully before allowing her to reject him.
"Yes, why not?" he asked, throwing into his tone all the tenderness he could command, "for I love you, Mona, with all my heart. I have told you so once before, but you would not believe me. You taunted me with unworthy motives, and asserted that I would not dare to confess my affection to my aunt; but I have confessed it, and she is willing that I should win you. I know that I have paid devoted attention to Kitty McKenzie, as you also twitted me of doing, and Aunt Margie wanted me to marry her; but when she found that I had no love to give her, that my heart was set upon you, she yielded the point, and I now have her full and free consent to make you my wife. Do not scorn my suit, Mona; I cannot think of you as Ruth Richards any longer; do not curl your proud lips and flash your glorious eyes upon me with scorn, as you did that day at Hazeldean, for I offer you a warm and loyal heart. I know, that I am not worthy of you," he went on, flushing and speaking humbly for once, for he was terribly in earnest; "I have been guilty of a great many things which I have learned to regret, since I have known you; but I can conquer everything if you will give me your love as an incentive, and I will be a better man in the future. I will even work for you, if you so despise the fortune which your father left and which I have expected to inherit from my aunt. Oh, Mona, do not despise my love for you, for it is the purest attribute of my nature, and—"
"Pray cease," Mona here interposed, for she felt unable to hear any more of this passionate avowal, while she was greatly surprised and really moved by the depth of feeling which he evinced. "I would be the last one," she continued, in kind, grave tones, but with averted eyes and trembling lips, "to despise the true affection of any man. If I said anything to wound you that day at Hazeldean, I regret it now, although I felt at the time that you showed some disrespect in your manner of approaching me. But I cannot be your wife; if you make that the condition"—and her lips curled a trifle here—"of my learning the mystery regarding my father's desertion of my mother, and securing the proof of their marriage; then I must forever relinquish all such hopes, for I could never marry a man—"
"But," he interrupted, excitedly.
"Let me finish," she persisted, lifting her hand to stay his words. "No woman should ever become the wife of a man she cannot love. I do not love you, Mr. Hamblin, and knowing this, you would not respect me if I should yield to your suit. Let me assure you that I honor you for some things you said to-day—that you would be willing to work for one whom you loved; that you would even relinquish a fortune for her sake. Believe me, I respect you and appreciate such an avowal, and only regret that your regard could not have been bestowed upon some one who could return such devotion. I cannot, but, Mr. Hamblin, I feel more friendly toward you at this moment than I have ever felt before. I beg, however," she concluded, sadly, "that you will never address me thus again, for it gives me pain to know that any one's life should be marred through me; put this affection away from you—crush it in your heart, and seek some dear, good girl who will love you and make you happier than I possibly could, if I should yield to your suit without any heart to give you."
"Put this love out of my heart! crush it!" burst forth the young man, with pale lips. "Could you do that, Mona Montague, if the man you loved should stand coldly up before you and bid you to do so?"
Mona flushed, and hot tears sprang into her eyes. She knew, but too well, that she could never crush out of her heart her love for Raymond Palmer.
If Louis Hamblin had bestowed but a tithe of such affection upon her there was indeed a sad future in store for him, and the deepest sympathies of her nature were aroused for him.
"I am sorry—" she began, falteringly, as she lifted her swimming eyes to his face, and both look and tone stirred him to hot rebellion, for he knew well enough of what she had been thinking.
"How sorry are you?" he cried, in a low, intense tone; "sorry enough to try to do for me what you have bidden me do for another? Will you crush your love for Ray Palmer, and bestow it upon me?"
Mona recoiled beneath these fierce, hot words, while she inwardly resented the selfishness and rudeness of his question.
Still she tried to make some allowance for his bitter disappointment and evident suffering.
"I do not think you have any right to speak to me like that," she said, in tones of gentle reproof, though her face was crimson with conscious blushes.
"Have I no right to say to you what you have said to me?" he demanded. "You have said that no woman should marry a man whom she does not love, while, in the very next breath you bid me go 'seek for some dear, good girl,' and ask her to marry me, who can never love any woman but you. Are you considerate—are you consistent?"
"Perhaps not," she returned, sorrowfully, "but I did not mean to be inconsistent or to wound you—I could hardly believe that you cared so deeply! I hoped you might be mistaken in your assertion that no other affection could be rooted in your heart."
"There may be other natures besides your own that are capable of tenacious affection," he retorted, with exceeding bitterness.
"True," Mona said, sighing heavily, "but," driven to desperation, and facing him with sudden resolution, "I cannot respond to your suit as you wish; I can never be your wife, for—perhaps, under the circumstances, I ought to make the confession—I am already pledged to another."