She did so, and found a perfect reproduction of her mother’s face, and upon her return to Mrs. Montague’s she gave the pieces of the other to Mary, telling her she believed she did not care to keep them—­they had better be burned as her mistress had desired.

This relieved her mind, for she did not wish the girl to practice any deception for her sake, and she feared that Mrs. Montague might inquire if her orders had been obeyed.

The following day she took the fresh portrait with her when she went out, and proceeded directly to the office of Corbin & Russel, who had advertised for information regarding Mona Forester or her heirs.

A gentlemanly clerk came forward as she entered, and politely inquired her business.

She asked to see a member of the firm, and at the same time produced the slip which she had cut from the paper.

The clerk’s face lighted as he saw it, and his manner at once betrayed deep interest in the matter.

“Ah, yes,” he said, affably; “please walk this way.  Mr. Corbin is in and will be glad to see you.”

He led the way to a private office, and, throwing open the door, respectfully remarked to some one within: 

“A lady to see you, sir, about the Forester business.”  Then turning to Mona, he added:  “This is Mr. Corbin, miss.”

A gentleman, who was sitting before a desk, at once arose and came eagerly forward, scanning Mona’s face with great earnestness.

“Have a chair, if you please, Miss ——.  Be kind enough to tell me what I shall call you.”

“My name is Mona Montague,” the young girl replied, a slight flush suffusing her cheek beneath his keen glance.

The gentleman started as she spoke it, and regarded her more closely than before.

“Miss Mona Montague!” he repeated, with a slight emphasis on the last name; “and you have called to answer the advertisement which recently appeared in the papers.  What can you tell me about Miss Mona Forester?”

“She was my mother, sir,” Mona replied, as she seated herself in the chair offered her.  “At least,” she added, “my mother’s name was Mona Forester before her marriage.”

“Well, then, young lady, if you can prove that the Mona Forester, for whom we have advertised, was your mother, there is a snug little sum of money awaiting your disposal,” the gentleman smilingly remarked.

Mona looked astonished.  She had scarcely given a thought to reaping any personal advantage, as had been hinted in the advertisement, from the fact of being Mona Forester’s child.  Her chief desire and hope had been to prove her mother’s identity, and to learn something more, if possible, of her personal history.

She was somewhat excited by the information, but removing the wrapper from her picture, she arose and laid it before Mr. Corbin, remarking: 

“This is a portrait of Mona Forester, and she was my mother.”