r for me. As an English lady, I
shall be safe in any event. I'm sorry I ever took this disguise. If
you take it back you can go away now in safety. When they find that
you have gone, they may perhaps threaten a little, but that is all.
They will have nothing against me, and will, no doubt, set me free.
This captain seems to be a gentleman, and I should have no fear of
him. I believe that after the first explosion he would treat me with
respect, and let me go."

"And so you would really let me go?" said Brooke, after a long pause,
in a very low voice.

"Gladly, gladly," said Talbot.

"And stay here alone, in a new character, ignorant of the language,
to face the return of the mad and furious crowd?"

"Yes."

"They would tear you to pieces," cried Brooke.

"They would not."

"They would."

"Then let them. I can die," said Talbot, calmly.

"And die for me?"

"Yes, rather than let you die for me."

"And you think I am capable of going away?" said Brooke, in a
faltering voice.

At this Talbot was utterly silent. Neither spoke a word for a long
time.

"Talbot, lad," said Brooke, at length, in a gentle voice.

"Well, Brooke!"

"I am glad that I met with you."

"Are you, Brooke?"

"I should like to live," he continued, in a far-off tone, like one
soliloquizing, "after having met with you; but if I cannot live, I
shall be glad to think that I have ever known you."

Talbot said nothing to this, and there was another long silence.

"By-the-bye," said Brooke, at last, "I should like to tell you
something, Talbot, in case you should ever happen to meet with a
certain friend of mine--you might mention how you met with me, and so
on."

"Yes," said Talbot, in a low voice.

"This friend," said Brooke, "is a girl." He paused.

"Yes," said Talbot, in the same voice.

"It was in Cuba that I met with her. Her name is Dolores."

"Dolores--what?"

"Dolores Garcia."

"I shall remember the name."

"I was correspondent there, in just such a country as this, between
two hostile forces. One evening I came to a place where a gang of
insurgent Cubans were engaged in the pleasing task of burning a
house. As it happened, I was wearing the dress common to the
insurgents, and passed for one of themselves. Pressing into the
house, I found two ladies--a young girl and her mother--in an agony
of terror, surrounded by a howling crowd of ruffians. In a few words
I managed to assure them of my help. I succeeded in perso