"Did he--my father--know that he had a child living?" demanded Mona, in a
constrained tone.

"Certainly."

"And--and--" she began, with crimson cheeks and blazing eyes, then choked
and stopped.

"I know what you would ask--'did he ever wish to claim you?'"
supplemented her companion, a bitter smile curling his white lips. "I
have never been asked to give you up, Mona," he continued, apparently
putting it thus so as to wound her as little as possible; "but I should
not have done so under any circumstances."

"Did he never offer to settle anything upon me out of his abundance?" the
young girl asked, bitterly.

"No; no settlement, no allowance was ever made, I alone have cared for
you. But do not grieve--it has been a very delightful care to me, dear,"
Mr. Dinsmore said, tenderly, while he stroked her soft hair fondly with
a hand that was far from steady.

"Is the--man living now?" Mona demanded, a cold glitter in her usually
gentle eyes.

Mr. Dinsmore threw out his hand with a gesture of agony at this question.

Then suddenly pulling himself together, he hoarsely responded: