"I do not know."

"Did she care nothing for me?"

"No, she hated your mother, and you a hundred-fold on her account."

"That is enough--I have heard all that I wish," Mona said, coldly, as she
started to her feet and stood erect and rigid before him. "You said truly
when you told me that the man deserved hatred and contempt. I do hate and
scorn him with all the hate and strength of my nature. I am glad he is
dead. Were he living, and should he ever seek me, I would spurn him as I
would spurn a viper. But oh, Uncle Walter, you must let me lean upon you
more than ever before, for my heart is very, very sore over the wrong
that has been done my poor mother and me. How good you have been to
me--and I love you--I will always love and trust you, and I will never
ask you any more questions."

She flung her arms around his neck, buried her face in his bosom, and
burst into a passion of tears. The sorrowful story to which she had
listened, and the fearful suspicion which, at the last, had so appalled
her, had completely unnerved her.

The man clasped her to him almost convulsively, though a strong shudder
shook his frame, laid his own face caressingly against her soft brown
hair, and let her weep until the fountain of her tears was exhausted,
and he himself had become entirely composed once more.

"My dear child," he said, at last, "let these be the last tears you ever
shed for the wrong done you. I beg you will not allow the memory of it to