sense of unworthiness. For before that he
had, at least, kept a watch upon his tongue, and in words, at least, he
had not told his love for another. But now his word had gone forth, and he
had pledged himself to another, when there was a previous pledge to
Dolores.

But he had to say something. Dolores was silent. He thought she was
waiting for him to explain.

"I-I--" he stammered--"I have hunted--hunted you--all through Spain."

This was the truth, for Brooke had been faithful to Dolores until he had
met with Talbot.

Dolores was conscience-smitten by this proof of her former lover's
fidelity. She hastened to excuse herself somehow.

"I--I--" she said, with an embarrassment equal to that of Brooke--"I
thought you were in America."

"No; I was in Cuba."

"I thought I had lost you," said Dolores: "you ceased to write."

This sounded like the reproach of a faithful lover. Brooke felt hurt.

"Oh no," said he; "I wrote, but you ceased to answer."

"I thought something had happened," said Dolores.

"I thought so too," said Brooke. "I never got your letters. Where did you
go?"

Dolores jumped at this question as giving a chance of relief. So she began
to give a long account of her life in Spain, detailing minute incidents,
and growing gradually calmer, more self-possessed, and more observant of
Brooke. She saw with satisfaction that Brooke made no demonstrations; yet
her satisfaction was checked by the thought that perhaps he was deterred
from exhibiting the raptures of a lover by the presence of others--by the
fear that he had been only too true, and that those raptures would yet be
exhibited. She resolved that he should not have an opportunity. Yet how
could she avoid him? And thus she thought, and still she went on talking.

The effect of her story was a crushing one. She made no mention of Ashby;
and Brooke concluded that she had been true, while he had been false. And
now what was he? Clearly false. Could he come back to Dolores? Could he be
what he had been? Could he give up Talbot? The thought was intolerable.
Never had any one been to him so dear as Talbot. Never had Talbot been to
him so dear as now. And yet was he not in honor bound to Dolores? Honor!
and did not honor bind him to Talbot?

Such was the struggle within this unhappy man.

Almost at the same time Harry and Talbot had recognized each other.

Talbot, who had stood unmoved at the presence of death, now felt herself
quail and grow all