“It would be useless for me to go to Corbin & Russel to make inquiries, for I could give them no reliable information about myself,” she said, while considering the matter.  “Oh, why could not Uncle Walter have told me more?  I could not even prove that I am Mona Montague, for I have no record of my parents’ marriage or of my birth.  Perhaps, if I could find that woman—­Uncle Walter’s wife—­she might be able to tell me something; but I do not know where to find her.  Possibly Mrs. Montague would know whether this Mona Forester is a relative, if I dare ask her; but I do not—­I could not—­without betraying myself and perhaps spoil all my other plans.  Oh, dear, it is so dreadful to be alone in the world and not really know who you are!” she concluded, with a sigh.

About the middle of the next forenoon Mrs. Montague asked her if she would come with her to look over a trunk of clothing preparatory to beginning upon spring sewing.

Mona readily complied with her request, and together they went up to a room in the third story.  There were a number of trunks in the room, and unlocking one of these, Mrs. Montague threw back the lid and began to lay out the contents upon the floor.  Mona was astonished at the number and richness of the costumes thus displayed, and thought her income must be almost unlimited to admit of such extravagance.

She selected what she thought might do to be remodeled, and then she began to refold what was to be replaced in the trunk.

Among other things taken from it, there was a large, square pasteboard box, and Mrs. Montague had just lifted it upon her lap to examine its contents to see if there was anything in it which she would need, when Mary appeared at the door, saying that Mr. Palmer was below and wished to see her.

Mrs. Montague arose quickly, and in doing so, the box slipped from her hands to the floor and its contents, composed of laces, ribbons, and gloves, went sliding in all directions.

“Oh dear! what a mess!” she exclaimed, with a frown of annoyance, “You will have to gather them up and rearrange them, Ruth, for I must go down.  Just lay the dresses nicely in the trunk, and I will lock it when I return.”

She went out, leaving Mona alone, and the latter began to fold the ribbons and laces, laying them in the box in an orderly manner.

When this was done she turned her attention again to the trunk into which Mrs. Montague had hastily tumbled a few garments.

“She has disarranged everything,” the girl murmured.  “I believe I will repack everything from the bottom, as the dresses will be full of wrinkles if left like this.”

She removed every article, and noticing that the cloth in the bottom was dusty, took it out and shook it.

As she was about to replace it, she was startled to find herself gazing down upon a large crayon picture of a beautiful girl.

A low, startled cry broke from her lips, for the face looking up into hers was so like her own that it almost seemed as if she were gazing at her own reflection in a mirror, only the hair was arranged differently from the way she wore hers, and the neck was dressed in the style of twenty years previous.