ancing toward the
room, met them face to face. Brooke and Dolores looked upon one another.
There was the flash of mutual recognition in the faces of both. Brooke
seemed struck dumb. Dolores was the first to speak.

"Raleigh!" she said, in tones of amazement and consternation.

"Dolores!" said Brooke, in a deep, hollow voice.

Brooke was ghastly; but this may have been the effect of the recent shock.
As for Dolores, every trace of color fled from her face, and she was as
white as marble.

Talbot heard this, and saw it. These words, these familiar names, smote
her to the heart. She recollected the story which Brooke had told her. She
remembered the name of that Cuban maid. It was this--it was "Dolores!" Was
this she?

She looked around in despair.

At that moment, as her despairing eyes wandered around, they fell full
upon the face of Harry; for Harry and Katie on descending the stairs had,
on this instant, reached the spot.

Harry saw her again.

The priest's dress was removed. She stood in her own garb--her very
self--Talbot! with all her noble face revealed, and all her exquisite
grace of feature and of form.

"Sydney!" said he.

"Harry!" said Talbot.

Katie heard this. She turned pale. All her thoughts fled from her; she
shrank back, and stood staring. But one thought now remained--the thought
suggested by that name, Sydney. Well she remembered that name, and all the
incidents of that story which Harry had told her when they were first
acquainted--the wreck of the ship--the maiden deserted and despairing--her
rescue by Harry--their escape in the boat--their love--their plighted
faith--the appointed marriage--the lost bride.

Sydney! It was she herself--the promised bride of Harry, whom he would, no
doubt, be required to wed at once.

Now she understood why Harry had been so preoccupied.

CHAPTER LIV.

IN WHICH A NUMBER OF PEOPLE FIND THEMSELVES IN A VERY EMBARRASSING
SITUATION.

Brooke and Dolores stood facing one another in silence. The embarrassment
was most painful. Each felt it too much to be able to notice it in the
other, and each instinctively avoided the glance of the other's eyes,
casting only looks of a furtive kind at the other's face, and then hastily
looking elsewhere. In fact, the situation was truly horrible.

But Brooke felt it incumbent on him to say something; he also felt anxious
to vindicate his honor--if such a thing were, indeed, in any way possible.
But ardent wo