The “dim religious light” was rather pleasant to her, in her tender mood, and she could see well enough for her purpose.

She ran her skilled fingers lightly over the keys of the sweet-toned instrument, and almost immediately her whole soul began to wake up to the rich harmony which she evoked.

She played a few selections from Beethoven’s “Songs Without Words,” sang a ballad or two, and was just upon the point of getting up to look for a book of Sabbath hymns, when a step behind her caused her to turn to ascertain who was intruding upon her solitude.

She saw standing in the doorway leading from the hall, a tall form clad in a long overcoat and holding his hat in his hand.

She could not distinguish his features, but courteously arose to go forward to see who the stranger was, when he spoke, and his tones thrilled her instantly to the very center of her being.

“Pardon me,” he began.  “I rang the bell, but no one answered it, and, the door being ajar, I ventured to enter.  Can you tell me—­Ah!—­Mona!”

The speaker had also advanced into the room as he spoke, but the light was too dim for him to recognize its occupant until he reached her side, although she had known him the instant he spoke.

His start and exclamation of surprise, the glad, almost exultant tone as he uttered her name, told the fair girl all she needed to know to prove that Ray Palmer was loyal to her, in spite of all the reverses of fortune, of friends, of position, and to prove him the noble character she had always believed him to be.

He stretched forth an eager hand, and grasped hers with a fervor which told her how deeply he was moved to find her, even before his words confirmed it.

“Oh!  I have not made a mistake, have I?” he asked, bending his luminous face closer to hers, eager to read a welcome there.  “I have found you—­at last?  If you knew—­if I could tell you—­But first tell me that you are glad to see me,” he concluded, somewhat incoherently.

Mona’s hand lay unresisting in his clasp, and a feeling of restful peace filled her heart, as she lifted her glad face to him.

“No, you have made no mistake—­it is I, Mona Montague, and I am very”—­with a little sob of joy, which she could not control—­“very glad to see you again, Mr. Palmer.”

“My darling!” he said, made bold by her look, her tone, but more by the little sob, which his own heart told him how to interpret.  “Tell me yet more—­I cannot wait—­I have been so hungry for the sight of your dear face, for the sound of your voice, and I thought that I had lost you.  I love you, Mona, with all my heart and strength, and this unexpected meeting has so overcome me that the truth must be told.  Are you still ’glad’?—­will you make me glad by telling me so?”

“But—­Mr. Palmer—­” Mona began, tremulously, hardly able to credit her ears, hardly able to believe that this great and almost overwhelming joy was a reality, and not some illusive dream.  “I am afraid you forget—­”