"I _cannot_ make it seem _real_--it is like
some dreadful dream!"

"Mona, my dear child, do not talk like that," said the man, looking
deeply distressed, "for, somehow, I feel guilty, as if I were, in a
measure, responsible for this fresh calamity that has befallen you; and
yet I could not help it. If I had only _known_ that Mr. Dinsmore's wife
was living, I could have made the will all right. Ah! no, no! what am I
saying? Even if I _had_, he could not have signed it, for his strength
failed. Still, I know that he wanted you to have all, and it is not right
that this woman should get it from you."

"Must I go away from my home and from all these lovely things of which
Uncle Walter was so fond?" Mona asked, looking about the beautiful room
with inexpressible longing written on her young face. "Will she claim his
books and pictures, and even this dear chair, in which I loved to see him
sit, and which seems almost like a part of himself, now that he is gone?"
and unable to bear the thought of parting from these familiar objects,
around which clustered such precious associations, the stricken girl
bowed her face upon the arm of Mr. Dinsmore's chair, and burst into
a passion of tears.

"My dear girl, don't!" pleaded the tender-hearted lawyer, as he gently
stroked her rich, brown hair with one hand, and wiped the tears from his
own eyes with the other, "it almost breaks my heart to think of it, and I
promise that you shall at least have some of the treasures which you
prize so much. You shall not want for a home, either--you shall come to
me. Mr. Dinsmore was my dear and valued friend, and for his sake, as well
as your own, you shall never want for enough to supply your needs. I have
not great wealth, but what I have I will share with you."

Mona now lifted her head, and wiped her tears, while she struggled
bravely to regain her self-possession.

"You are very kind, Mr. Graves," she said, when she could speak, and with
a newly acquired dignity, at which her companion marveled, "and I am very
grateful to you for your sympathy and generosity; but I could never
become an object of charity to any one. If it is so ordered, that I am to
be bereft of the home and fortune which Uncle Walter wished me to have, I
must submit to it, and there will doubtless be some way provided to
enable me to live independently. It is all so new and so--so almost
incomprehensible, that, for the moment, I was overcome. I will try not to
be so weak