“I should never have thought of it if Louis had not spoken, I was so absorbed in the costume,” she muttered, as she stood in the middle of the floor and tried to compose herself.  “I could almost swear that she was Mona come back to life.  She looked almost exactly as she did that night in Paris—­shall I ever forget it?—­when I told her, and she drew herself up in that proud way; and she had a garnet dress on, too.  She does look wonderfully like that picture!  Louis was quick to see it, and I will have it destroyed when I return to New York.  I can’t imagine why I have kept it all these years.  Ugh!  I feel almost as if I had seen a ghost.”

She shook herself, as if to dispel these uncanny thoughts, and then disrobing, retired to rest.

Sunday was a lovely day—­more mild and spring-like even than the previous ones had been.

Some of the guests at Hazeldean went to Rhinebeck to attend the morning service, Mr. Palmer and Mrs. Montague among the number; but most of them remained within doors until evening, when Mr. Wellington, their host, requested, as a favor, that all would attend a special service at one of the village churches, where a college friend was to preach, and he wished to give him as large an audience as possible.  He also hinted, with a gleam of mischief in his eyes, that they would do well to take their pocket-books along, as a collection would be taken to help to pay for a new organ which the society had just purchased.

It was a glorious evening, and, everybody appearing to partake of the enthusiasm of the host, the whole party set out to walk to the church.

No one thought of asking Mona to go, and thus the young girl was left entirely alone in the house, except for the servants, who were by themselves in the basement.

She was very lonely, and felt both sad and depressed, as she saw the party pass out of sight down the avenue, and for a moment she was tempted to rebel against her hard lot, and the neglect of others, who might at least have remembered that she had a soul to be benefited by Sabbath services as well as they.

She even shed a few tears of regret, for she was young and buoyant, and would dearly have loved to join that gay company of youths and maidens, if she could have done so as an equal.

But after a few moments she bravely wiped away the crystal drops, saying: 

“I will not grieve; I will not give up to anything until I have seen Ray.  If he is true, the world will be bright, though everybody else gives me the cold shoulder—­and he will be here to-morrow.  But I am a trifle lonely, all by myself in this great house.  I believe I will run down to the music-room and play for a little while.  No one is here to be disturbed by it, and I shall not be afraid of critics.”

So she went slowly down the dimly lighted stairs to a room on the right of the hall, where, without even turning up the gas, she seated herself at the piano.