"That baby was, of course, yourself, and I named you Mona for your
mother, and Ruth for mine. The names do not go together very well, but I
loved them both so well I wanted you to bear them, I gave you in charge
of a competent nurse, with instructions that everything should be done
for your comfort and welfare; then I sought to drown my grief in travel
and constant change of scene. When I returned to London you were nearly
two years old and a lovely, winning child, I brought you, with your
nurse, to America, resolving that you should always have the tenderest
love and care; and Mona, my darling, I have tried to make your life a
happy one."

"And you have succeeded. Uncle Walter, I have never known a sorrow, you
have been my best and dearest friend, and I love you--I love you with all
my heart," the fair girl cried, as she threw her arm about his neck and
pressed her quivering lips to his corrugated brow.

Mr. Dinsmore folded her close to his breast, and held her there in a
silent embrace for a moment.

But Mona's mind was intent upon hearing the remainder of his story; and,
gently disengaging herself, she continued:

"But tell me--there is much more that I want to know. What was the
reason--why did my father--"

She was suddenly cut short in her inquiries by the opening of a door and
the entrance of a servant.

"There is a caller for you in the drawing-room, Miss Mona," the girl