formed but a part of his character; and the sight of that young
man's rapture over Dolores might have made him think the English a fickle
and volatile race.

The scene disclosed Harry and Katie also in an equally tender situation;
for Harry's bonds had been cut, and he had flown at once to Katie's side.
But the prostration consequent upon all this excitement was so great that
he found it necessary to carry her to the open air.

Dolores now roused herself.

"Come," said she, "let us close the gates before they rally."

With these words she hurried out, followed by Ashby. Then the Carlists
followed.

Russell still remained. As yet he could scarcely believe in his
good-fortune. Over and over again had he felt himself carefully all over
to assure himself that no bullet had penetrated any part of his precious
skin, and gradually the sweet conviction of his soundness pervaded his
inner man. Then there was another joyful discovery, which was that Rita
had disappeared. In the wild tumult and dense smoke he had lost sight of
her. What had become of her he could not imagine. Whether she had fled in
the wild panic, or had remained and concealed herself, he could not say.
His knowledge of her character made him dread the worst, and he felt sure
that she was not very far away. So he thought that the safest place for
himself would be as near as possible to those Carlists whom Rita had
betrayed, and whom she now justly dreaded more than anything else. So he
hurried out after the noble six.

On the floor Brooke lay, and there Talbot was seated, holding his head on
her lap. He was senseless, yet she could feel that his heart was beating,
and in that pulsation she found her hope. His wounds did not seem deep,
for she had felt with tender fingers along the place where the blood was
flowing, without detecting anything that seemed formidable. Still, the
sight of his prostrate and bleeding form, as he lay senseless in her arms,
after he had flung his life away for her sake, was one that moved her so
profoundly that all the world for her was now at that moment centred in
that prostrate figure with the poor, piteous, bleeding head. With tender
hands she wiped away the blood that still oozed from the wound and
trickled down his face; more tenderly still she bowed down low over that
unconscious head and kissed the dear wounds that had been received for
her, and thus hung over him in a rapture of love and an agony of despair.

Lopez saw t