Mona was pleased with the commission, for the morning was lovely, and she had felt unusually weak and weary ever since rising. The close application to which she had been subjected since her return from Hazeldean—for she had been hurried with spring sewing—had worn upon her.
A feeling of discouragement had also taken possession of her, for she seemed no nearer learning the truth about her mother than when she had first come there.
She was confident that Mrs. Montague had been her father's second wife, and she fully believed that she must have in her possession papers, letters, or some other documents that would reveal all that she wished to know regarding Richmond Montague's first marriage, and give her some information regarding the great sorrow that had so blighted the life of his beautiful young wife.
She had promised that she would give herself to Ray at the end of three months; he still held her to that promise, and six weeks of the time had already elapsed, and she seemed to be no nearer the attainment of her desires than when she had made it.
True, she had found the picture of her mother, and learned that her name was Mona Forester. She had also discovered that a relative had been seeking for her with the desire of leaving her all that he possessed.
But all this was very unsatisfactory, for she had not gained the slightest clew by which to prove herself to be the child of Mona Forester, or any one else.
It was all a wearisome and harrowing tangle, and it wore both upon her spirits and her strength.
It was true, too, that she had found Ray, and learned that he loved her. This was a great comfort, and she knew she had but to tell him that she was ready to go to him, and he would at once make her his wife; but—a flush of shame flooded her face every time she thought of it—she was continually haunted by the fear that her mother might never have been Richmond Montague's wife—that possibly she might have no legal right to the name she bore, in spite of her uncle's assurance to the contrary, and she shrank from marrying Ray if any such stigma rested upon her.
She had never breathed these fears to him—she kept hoping that some accident, or some remark from Mrs. Montague, would throw light on the perplexing mystery.
But Mrs. Montague never referred in any way to her past life in her presence. She had never once mentioned her husband, and, of course, Mona had not dared to ask her any questions upon these subjects.