“Only a week longer in my dear home!” broke from the quivering lips of the stricken girl; “how can I bear it?  Oh, Uncle Walter! how can I bear to have strangers handle with careless touch the things that you and I have loved so much? these dear books that we have read together—­the pictures that we selected and never tired of studying to find new points for each other!  Oh, every one is sacred to me!”

The strong man at her side was so moved by her grief that he was obliged to rise and walk to a window to conceal his own emotion.

But after a little she controlled herself again, and discussed everything with him in a grave, quiet, yet comprehensive way that made him sure she would in time rise above her troubles and perhaps become all the stronger in character for having been thus tried in the furnace of affliction.

He went every day after that to assist her in her arrangements for leaving; helped her to pack the treasures she was to take away with her, and to put in the nicest order everything she was to leave; for on this point she was very particular.  She had secretly resolved that her uncle’s discarded wife should have no fault to find with his home.

When the end of the week arrived Mr. Graves tried to persuade Mona to go home with him and remain until she could decide what she wished to do in the future, or, he told her, she was welcome to remain and make it her home indefinitely.

But she quietly thanked and informed him that she had already arranged to go as seamstress to a lady on West Forty-ninth street.

“You go as a seamstress?” exclaimed the lawyer, aghast.  “What do you know about sewing—­you who have always had everything of the kind done for you?”

“Oh, no; not everything,” said Mona, smiling slightly.  “I have always loved to sew since I was a little child, and my nurse made me do patchwork; and I assure you that I am quite an expert with my needle in many ways.”

“But to go out and make it a business!  I cannot bear the thought!  What would your uncle say?” objected good Mr. Graves.

“I do not believe that Uncle Walter would wish me to be dependent upon any one, if it was possible for me to take care of myself,” Mona gravely replied.  “At all events,” she continued, with a proud uplifting of her pretty brown head, “I could never allow another to provide for my needs without first trying my best to earn my own living—­though, believe me, I am very grateful for your kindness.”

“You are a brave and noble girl, Mona, and I admire your spirit; but—­I have no daughter of my own, and, truly, both my wife and I would be glad to have you come to us,” Mr. Graves urged, regarding her anxiously.

“Thank you; it is very comforting to know that you are so kindly disposed toward me, but I know that I shall respect myself more if I try to do something for my own support,” was the firm yet gentle response.

Mr. Graves sighed, for he well knew that this delicately reared girl had a hard lot before her if she expected to earn her living as a sewing girl.