He then related all that had occurred in connection with the bold diamond robbery and his imprisonment and subsequent illness in Doctor Wesselhoff’s retreat for nervous patients, while Mona listened with wonder-wide eyes and a paling cheek, as she realized the danger through which her lover had passed.

“What an audacious scheme!” she exclaimed, when he concluded.  “How could any woman dare to plan, much less put it into execution!  No wonder that you were ill, and you must have been very sick, for you are still thin and pale,” Mona said, regarding him anxiously.

“I shall now soon outgrow that,” Ray responded, smiling.  “It was chiefly anxiety and unhappiness on your account that kept me thin and pale.  You will see how quickly I shall recover my normal condition now that I have found you and know that you are all my own.  Now tell me all about your own troubles, my darling.  Do you know, it seems an age to me since we parted that night at your uncle’s door, and you gave me permission to call upon you?  My intention then was to seek an interview with Mr. Dinsmore within a day or two, tell him of my love for you, and ask his permission to address you.  But, even had no misfortune overtaken me, I could not have done so, since he was stricken that very night; but at least I could have come to you with words of sympathy.”

Mona then gave him a detailed account of all that had happened during those dark days, when her only friend lay dead and she felt as if all the world had forsaken her.

“Mona,” the young man gravely said, when she had finished her story, “I shall tell my father to-night of this interview—­he already knows that I love you—­and ask his sanction to our immediate marriage, for I cannot have you remain here among my friends and acquaintances another day in the capacity of a seamstress or waiting-maid.”

“But, Ray—­” Mona began, then she stopped short, blushing rosily at having thus involuntarily called him by his Christian name.  She had always thought of him thus, and it passed her lips before she was aware of it.

He laughed out, amused at her confusion.

“There, dear, you have broken the ice almost without knowing it,” he said; “now we shall get on nicely if you do not let it freeze over again; but what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask you not to speak of—­of our relations to each other to any one just yet,” Mona returned, with some embarrassment.

“Why not?” Ray demanded, astonished, and looking troubled by the request.

“There are reasons why I must remain for a while longer with Mrs. Montague,” said the young girl.

“Not in the capacity of waiting-maid,” Ray asserted, decidedly; “I cannot allow that.”

“Indeed I must, Ray,” Mona persisted, but with an appealing note in her voice; “and I will tell you why.  I told you that Mrs. Montague was no relative; she is not really, and yet—­she was my father’s second wife.”