his life."

She had had a dim hope that Mr. Corbin might in some way manage to
unravel the mystery, and yet she could not see that he had anything more
tangible to work upon than she herself had.

Mona finished the dress and carried it to Mrs. Montague, who seemed very
much pleased with it.

"You are a lovely seamstress, Ruth, and a good, faithful girl," she said,
as she carefully examined the neatly made garment. "But for one thing,"
she added, as she covertly searched the girl's fair face, "I believe I
should grow really fond of you."

This remark put Mona on her guard in a moment, though it also set her
heart to beating with a vague hope.

"Thank you for your praise of my work, Mrs. Montague," she quietly said,
"but," lifting a wondering glance to her face, "what is the one thing
that I lack to win your esteem? If I am at fault in any way I should be
glad to know and correct it."

"You lack nothing. It is because you so much resemble a person whom I
used to detest--I am unaccountably antagonized by it," said the woman,
frowning, for the clear eyes, looking so frankly into hers, were
wondrously like Mona Forester's.

"Oh, I suppose you refer to the person whose picture I found up stairs
a while ago," said Mona.