"Oh, God! my sister's glove!" shrieked the girl, and the woman cowered before her, and turned ashy pale.
The immense mastiff permitted Ethel to take the little white glove from his mouth, but he pressed close to her side with his great fore-paws in her lap, and fixing his big intelligent eyes on her face with an imploring expression, kept on yelping and whining in a dismal strain that was almost terrifying.
Kay had loved his fair young mistress with intense canine devotion, and as soon as he entered the old house his keenness of scent had made him acquainted with her presence there. He was following up the trail with blended joy and perplexity, when Ethel had called him into the room, where he had at once renewed his investigations, with the result that he had found the glove.
It was hers, Kay knew it, and with almost human excitement he carried it to Ethel, while his dismal yelps said as plain as words:
"My darling little mistress is somewhere near to us, but I cannot find her. Help me! oh, help me!"
Mrs. Warwick stared at both in horror, for the fatal truth dawned on her mind. This girl was the sister of the captive upstairs, and the faithful dog had penetrated the mystery.
While she was collecting her scattered self-possession Ethel turned to her, exclaiming agitatedly:
"My sister is in this house, a prisoner! Lead me to her at once."
The expression of fear on Mrs. Warwick's face changed to one of cunning, and she cried sullenly: