she was entombed alive, and left to her fate--left
to die of darkness, terror, grief, and starvation, the wretched victim
of a most cruel persecution; she who had so much to live for; youth,
health, beauty, and a loving young husband!

Her faltering voice rang out in a despairing prayer:

"Oh, God, have mercy on me, and on my poor unhappy husband and mother,
whose hearts I know are aching with grief over my mysterious absence!
Oh, send some pitying angel to guide them to my dreary prison!"

As if in answer to the wild aspiration, a key suddenly clicked in the
lock outside, and she sprang upright on the cot with a strangling gasp
of fear and hope commingled.

Slowly the heavy oaken door swung outward wide enough to admit a tall,
dark-gowned figure, then shut inward again, locking Dainty in with the
feared and abhorred ghost of the old monk.

In the dim, flickering light of the cell, the horrible figure towered
above the girl, who crouched low in breathless fear at the dreaded
apparition, speech frozen on her lips, her heart sinking till the blood
seemed freezing in her veins, not observing in her alarm that the ghost
had a rather prosaic air by reason of carrying a large basket on one
arm.

Suddenly the ghastly creature spoke: the first time it had ever opened
its lips in all its visitations to Dainty.

"You don't seem glad to see me," it observed, in hoarse, mocking accents
that somehow had a familiar ring in her ears.

There flashed over her mind some words that Lovelace Ellsworth had said
to her lately:

"I am convinced that the pretended monk is a creature of flesh and
blood, and if you could only summon courage to tear away its mask when
it calls on you again, you would most likely find beneath it the coarse
Sheila Kelly, or very probably one of your malicious cousins. Try it
next time, and you will see that I am right, darling."

At sound of that gibing voice, with its oddly familiar ring, a desperate
courage came to poor Dainty, and suddenly springing erect on her bed,
she made a fierce onslaught on her foe, tearing away in one frantic
clutch the ghastly mask, skull-cap, wig, and all, and leaving exposed
the astonished features of the coarse Irish woman, Sheila Kelly.

The woman uttered a fierce imprecation in her surprise, recoiling a
step, then laughing coarsely:

"What a little wild-cat, to be sure! But why didn't you do it long ago?"

"I never thought of it being you, Sheila Kelly! How could I,