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.

"I can never marry Ray until I know," she had told herself over and over
in great distress, "for I love him too well ever to bring any blight upon