"Mrs. Richmond Montague!" she repeated, in a scarcely audible voice. "Can it be possible that she--this woman, to whom I have come as a seamstress--is my father's second wife--or was, since she is a widow! How strange! how very strange that I, of all persons, should have been fated to come here! It is very unfortunate that I could not have known her name, for, of course, I should never have come if I had. It may be," she went on, musingly, "that she is some other Mrs. Montague; but no--it could hardly be possible that there are two persons with that peculiar combination of names. This, then, is the woman for whom my father deserted my mother in order to secure the fortune left by his aunt! How unworthy!--how contemptible! I am glad that I fell to Uncle Walter's care; I am glad that I never knew him--this unnatural father who never betrayed the slightest interest in his own child. But--can I stay here with her?" she asked, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes. "Can I--his daughter--remain to serve the woman who usurped my mother's place, who is living in affluence upon money which rightly belongs to me?" The young girl was trembling with nervous excitement, and a feeling of hot anger, a sense of deep injustice burned within her. This startling discovery--for she was convinced that there could be but one Mrs. Richmond Montague--stirred her soul to its lowest depths. She felt a strange dread of this woman; a feeling almost of horror and aversion made her sink from contact with her; and yet, at the same time, she experienced an unaccountable curiosity to see and know something of her. There was a spice of romance about the situation which prompted her, in spite of her first impulse to flee from the house--to stay and study this gay woman of the world, who was so strangely connected with her own life. She could leave at any time, she told herself, should the position prove to be an uncongenial one; but since she had chosen the vocation of a seamstress, she might as well sew for Mrs. Richmond Montague as any one else; while possibly she might be able to learn something more regarding her mother's history than she already knew. She felt sure that her uncle had kept something back from her, and she so longed to have the mystery fully explained. But, of course, if she remained, it would never do for her to give her own name, for this woman would suspect her identity at once, and probably drive her out into the world again. It was not probable that she would knowingly tolerate the child of a rival in her home. Mona was glad now that she had not told Mary her name, as she had once been on the point of doing. "What shall I call myself?" she mused. "I do not dare to use Uncle Walter's name, for that would betray me as readily as my own; even Mona, being such an uncommon name, would also make her suspect me. There is my middle name, Ruth, and my father was called Richmond--suppose I call myself Ruth Richards?"