Her uncle’s death had come upon her so like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, almost benumbing all her faculties with the grief it had hurled upon her so remorselessly, that she could think of nothing else until Mr. Graves had come to her with that other fatal piece of news—­the loss of her fortune.

She had scarcely looked into a daily paper until that evening, for she felt no interest in the outside world; she could apply her mind to nothing but her own afflictions; consequently, she had not known anything of the mysterious and exciting circumstances connected with Ray Palmer’s sudden disappearance and the stolen diamonds.  That little blind paragraph, which she had seen just before she was called down to Mrs. Montague’s room, was the only hint that she had had of any trouble or loss in the Palmer family.

So, of course, it is not strange that she so misjudged Ray; she could not know that only a great wrong kept him from speeding to her side to express the deepest interest and sympathy for her in her sorrow.

And it was well, perhaps, that she did not know, for it would only have added to her troubles and caused her greater suffering.

CHAPTER X.

MONA MEETS MRS. MONTAGUE’S NEPHEW.

The next morning, as soon as she had finished her breakfast, Mona asked Mary to conduct her to the sewing-room, and there she found a pile of work, which would have been exceedingly disheartening to a less resolute spirit.

But the young girl had bravely determined to do the best she could and not worry about the result.

Fate had willed that she must work for her living, and she had resolved not to murmur at her lot, but, putting forth all her energies, hope to please her employer and meet with success in her undertaking.

So she arranged her chair and table by a pleasant window overlooking the street, and then boldly attacked the mountain before her.

“I wonder if Mrs. Montague intends to have these done by hand or machine?” she mused, as she shook out the folds of snowy cloth and began to turn a hem on one of the sheets.  “And then”—­with a puzzled expression—­“how am I to know how broad to make the hems?”

She feared to go on with the work without special directions, for she might make some mistake.  But after considering the matter, she determined to leave the sheets altogether and do the over-and-over sewing on the pillow-slips, until she could ascertain Mrs. Montague’s wishes.

Mona was naturally quick in all her movements, and, being also very persevering, she had accomplished considerable by ten o’clock, when Mrs. Montague, in an elegant morning negligee of light-blue cashmere, and looking as lovely as an houri, strolled languidly into the sewing-room to see what her new seamstress was about.

“Oh, you are sewing up the slips,” she remarked, as she nodded in reply to Mona’s polite good morning and observed her employment.  “I forgot to tell you about the hems last night, and I have been afraid ever since I awoke this morning that you would not make them broad enough.”