She carefully replaced the heavy marble, moved the table to its usual position, and then, worn out with the conflict she had experienced, retired for the night.

But she did not sleep well; she was nervous, and tossed uneasily upon her bed until far into the small hours of the morning, when she finally dropped into a fitful slumber.

She was aroused from this about eight o’clock the following day by Mary, who came as usual to bring her a cup of coffee, which she always drank before rising.  There also lay upon the tray a yellow official-looking envelope.

“What is this?” Mrs. Montague demanded, as she seized it and regarded it with some anxiety.

“A telegram, marm.  A messenger brought it just as I was coming up stairs,” the girl replied.

Her mistress tore it open and devoured its contents with one sweeping glance.

Instantly her face flushed a deep crimson, and she crushed the message hastily within her hand, while she began to drink her coffee, but seemed to become deeply absorbed in her own thoughts while doing so.

A few moments later she arose and dressed herself rapidly, but all the time appeared preoccupied and troubled about something.

“I believe I shall let Louis marry her if he wants to.  I could settle the hundred thousand on him, and stipulate that they go West, or somewhere out of the State, to live.  I believe I’ll do it,” she murmured once, while thus engaged, “that is, if—­”

She did not finish the sentence, but, with a resolute step and air, went down to her breakfast.

She had no appetite, however, and after dallying at the table for half an hour or so, she went up stairs again and entered the sewing-room.

She found Mona busy at work upon the tea-gown—­a beautiful robe of old-rose cashmere, made up with a lighter shade of heavy armure silk.

“Can you finish it in season?” she inquired.

“Oh, yes, easily.  I have about an hour’s more work to do upon it,” the young girl answered.

“That is well, for I want you to go down town to do some shopping for me.  I cannot attend to it, as I wish to keep fresh for my high-tea this afternoon,” Mrs. Montague returned, flushing slightly.  Then she added:  “I will make out a list of what I need, and you may go as soon as the dress is done.”

Mona was pleased with the commission, for the morning was lovely, and she had felt unusually weak and weary ever since rising.  The close application to which she had been subjected since her return from Hazeldean—­for she had been hurried with spring sewing—­had worn upon her.

A feeling of discouragement had also taken possession of her, for she seemed no nearer learning the truth about her mother than when she had first come there.

She was confident that Mrs. Montague had been her father’s second wife, and she fully believed that she must have in her possession papers, letters, or some other documents that would reveal all that she wished to know regarding Richmond Montague’s first marriage, and give her some information regarding the great sorrow that had so blighted the life of his beautiful young wife.