It was not her own proper chamber that she was in, but Sister Mildred's. Sister Mildred was away. Her health was much better; but Mr. Parker, the doctor, had said most positively that a change of a month or two was necessary to complete her cure: and Sister Mildred departed to stay with some relatives whom she had not seen for many years. She would be returning shortly now, and Mary Ursula's occupancy of her room was only temporary. The approach of cold weather had caused some necessary alterations in Mary Ursula's chamber--the old grate was being replaced by a new one, and the chimney repaired: and during its process, she occupied the chamber of Sister Mildred. The lapse of months had not diminished the uneasiness of Mary Ursula's mind, in regard to the disappearance of her unfortunate cousin Anthony in the Friar's Keep. That Keep still wore for her an atmosphere of uncertainty and mystery. She never thought of it--and it was more often in her thoughts than she would have liked to say--but with one of those unpleasant thrills of renewed pain that arise at times with us all, when some heavy sorrow or suspense lies latent in the heart. Over and over again, since the night when Sister Mildred had discovered to her the secret passage, and she had explored with that lady its subterranean depth and length, had the wish--nay, the resolve--made itself heard within her to go again through the same passage, and look a little about the Friar's Keep. She knew not how, she knew not why, but the fear that Anthony had been treacherously dealt with grew of stronger conviction day by day. Not by Mr. Castlemaine: she could never fear that: and she resented the doubt cast upon him by the world--which he in his haughty pride would not condescend to resent--and believed that the discovery of the truth, if it could be made, would be doing her uncle the best of services. By exploring, herself, the Friar's Keep, she might be able to trace out nothing: but at least the strong desire to try lay upon her. Is it not so with all of us? In any search or complexity, do we not always mistrust others, and the capability of others, and think in our secret hearts that we could succeed where they fail? The figure Mary had seen with her own eyes, bearing its lamp, and which was religiously believed by the small community of Greylands to be the ghost of the wicked monk, long dead and gone, possessed no supernatural terrors for her. That it was some living personage, personating the dead monk for a purpose, she felt sure of; and she could not help fancying that in some unimaginable manner it must have to do with the concealment of the fate of Anthony.