CHAPTER IV.

THE OLD MONK.

The ill-looking maid flounced away, thinking resentfully that the pretty

young lady was afraid to trust her with her keys, while Dainty, whose

only reason had been an unwillingness to expose her simple wardrobe,

proceeded to lay out a gown for the evening--a delicately embroidered

white cashmere that no one would have suspected had been cleverly made

over from her mother's bridal _trousseau_.

While she was dressing her hair with deft fingers, she was startled by a

very unpleasant sound--a series of harsh, hacking coughs--seeming to

proceed from the room next her own. She thought:

"Some one is ill in there. What a terribly consumptive cough, poor

soul!"

Presently Sheila hurried in with a wealth of roses glistening with the

fresh-fallen evening dew, and after thanking her, Dainty asked,

curiously:

"Is there some one ill in the next room?"

"Shure, miss, there's nobuddy in the next room at all, at all, and not a

sick crathur in the house. Why is it ye thought so?"

"I heard some one coughing in there--a tight, hacking cough, like some

one in the last stages of consumption," Dainty answered; and instantly

Sheila Kelly crossed herself and looked furtively behind her like one

pursued, muttering:

"The saints preserve us! T' ould _monk_!"

"The old monk, did you say? Who is he?" exclaimed Dainty, sharply; but

the maid shook her head.

"Don't ask _me_, _miss_, please--ask the young master about the _cough_

ye heard, and shure he will tell ye, darlint," returned Sheila, with a

somewhat nervous giggle and a second furtive glance behind her, as she

added: "Better hurry up, now; ye've only five minutes before dinner is

announced, ye see."

Dainty quickly pinned on a great bunch of the fragrant roses, and

hurried down to the parlor, where she found the others waiting, Mrs.

Ellsworth alone in an easy-chair, Olive and Love at the piano with Ela,

who was playing the accompaniment for a sentimental song that Olive sang

while Love turned the leaves.

At dinner the hostess managed to separate Dainty and Love as widely as

possible, and when they left the table, she pursued the same course,

leading Dainty to a distant seat, saying:

"Come and sit by me, dear. I have so many questions to ask you about

your home and your mother; and I will tell you some interesting things

about your papa's boyhood."

Her step-son, pleased at her seeming interest in his beautiful love, and

unwilling to interrupt the flow of their mutual confidences, permitted

the two other girls to monopolize him the whole evening; so that when

bed-time arrived, he had not had the chance of a single word, except the

formal good-night.

He went out then to smoke a cigar, and secretly deprecate Mrs.

Ellsworth's selfishness in keeping such a lovely girl to herself all the

evening, and the girls went upstairs to their rooms along the dimly

lighted corridor.

Dainty slipped her hand through Ela's arm, whispering, nervously:

"Are your rooms close to mine, Ela?"

"No; mine and Olive's are down there at the end of the corridor,

adjoining, and there are only vacant rooms next you."

"But that can not be, Ela, for I heard some one in the room next mine

coughing horribly while I was dressing; but the maid denied that any one

was in there, and muttered something about the old monk. What could she

have meant?"

She fancied that Ela shuddered, and her eyes dilated with alarm as she

returned:

"Good heavens! is that old wretch going to haunt us? Why, Dainty, don't

you know about the family ghost of Ellsworth?--the wicked old monk, a

relative of the family, who murdered one of the brotherhood, and fled to

his old home, hiding himself in a dungeon here till he died of

consumption. Well, it is said that he haunts the old wing of Ellsworth,

and that whenever his awful, discordant cough is heard it forebodes evil

to the hearer. But here is your door. Good-night!"--with a mocking

laugh.

Dainty had never slept away from her mother's arms before. Lonely and

nervous, she slipped into a white dressing-gown, and sat down by the

window to watch the full moon sailing above the purple peaks of the

mountain range, and listening in a sort of terror for the monk's cough;

but the excitement of the day induced speedy sleep.

How long she rested there in the moonlight, sleeping heavily, like a

weary child tired of playing, she could not tell, only that suddenly she

started wide awake in terror, feeling as if a cold, icy hand had pressed

her warm bosom, turning her cold as death.

Springing to her feet, she found she was not alone, for in the broad

glare of the moonlight she saw by her side the tall form of a man gowned

in a long black robe girdled with a rosary of beads, while his

close-shaven face shone ghastly white under his black skull-cap, and the

dull, fixed eyes had the awful stare of death.

With a piercing cry, Dainty sprang past the midnight visitant, rushed to

the door, and throwing it open, bounded into the corridor, flying with

terror-winged feet toward her cousin's room. Then she pounded on the

door, shrieking, piteously:

"For God's sake, let me in!"

The door opened so quickly that Dainty, leaning against it, lost her

balance, and fell blindly forward into the arms of the man who had

opened it--Lovelace Ellsworth, who had not yet retired, because his

heart and mind were so full of her he knew he could not sleep.