“Can it be possible that I am going to have that battle to fight over again, after all these years?” she muttered; “that the child is going to rise up to avenge the wrongs of her mother?  What if she does?  Why need I fear her?  I have held my own so far, and I will make a tough fight to do so in the future.  Possession is said to be nine points in law and I shall hold on to my money like grim death.  I never could—­I never will give up these luxuries,” she cried, sweeping a covetous glance around the exquisitely furnished room.  “I plotted for them—­I sold my soul for them and him, now they are mine—­mine, and no one shall take them from me!  Mona Forester, how I hated you!—­how I hate your daughter, even though I have never seen her!—­how I almost hate that girl up stairs for her strange resemblance to you.  I would have sent her out of the house long ago for it, if she had not been so good and faithful a seamstress, and needful to me in many ways.  She, herself, saw the resemblance to that picture—­By the way,” she interposed, with a start, “I wonder if she obeyed me about that crayon the other day!  If she didn’t—­if she kept it I shall be tempted to believe—­I’ll find out, anyhow.”

With a somewhat anxious look on her face, the woman hurried up stairs to her room.

Upon reaching it she rang an imperative peal upon her bell.

Mary presently made her appearance, and one quick glance told her that something had gone wrong with her mistress.

“Bring me a pitcher of ice-water,” curtly commanded Mrs. Montague.  “And, Mary—­”

“Yes, marm.”

“Did Miss Richards give you a torn picture the other day?”

“Yes, marm,” answered the girl, flushing, “she said you wanted it burned.”

“Did you burn it?”

“N-o, marm, somehow I couldn’t make up my mind to put it in the fire; it was such a pretty face, and so like Miss Richards, and I’ve been wanting a picture of her ever since she came here, only I thought maybe she’d resent it if I asked her for one; and so I pasted it together as well as I could, and tacked it up in my room,” the girl explained, volubly, and concluded by meekly adding:  “I hope there was no harm in it, marm.”

“You may bring it to me,” was all the reply that Mrs. Montague vouchsafed her attendant; and Mary, looking rather crestfallen, withdrew to obey the command.

“It is a shame to burn it,” she muttered, as she took down the defaced picture, and slowly returned down stairs; “but I’m glad Miss Ruth gave it to me before she asked for it.”

Mrs. Montague sprang up the moment the girl entered the room, and snatching the portrait from her hands, dashed it upon the bed of glowing coals in the grate.

“When I give an order I want it obeyed,” she said, imperiously.  “Now go and bring me the water.”

Mary withdrew again, wondering what could have happened to make her mistress so out of sorts, and finally came to the conclusion that the lawyer must have brought her bad news.