gain there was
quick and active within him that old vigilant feeling that kept him on
guard against being surprised and overpowered by passion. Within his heart
there had already been a fierce struggle between love and honor. Love had
once conquered, and that completely; but the appearance of Dolores had
roused his conscience, and made him once more aware of the bond that lay
in his plighted word. Could he again break that word? Could he sacrifice
his honor for good almost in the very presence of her whom he supposed to
be his loving and faithful Dolores? Could he do such a deed as this, and
sully his soul even for Talbot? Yet, on the other hand, how could he bring
himself to give her up? Give her up--the "lad Talbot," whom he loved as he
had never loved any other human being! How could he? And thus love drew
him impetuously in one direction, while duty sternly and imperiously drove
him back; and so there went on in the breast of this newspaper
correspondent a struggle the like of which does not often come within the
experience of gentlemen of the press.

"You will see me as far as the tower?" said Talbot, pathetically.

"Yes," murmured Brooke.

"And there," continued Talbot, in the same tone, "we can say to one
another our last farewells."

Brooke said nothing. The struggle still raged within him, and was as far
from a decisive end as ever. The prospect of parting with Talbot filled
him with a sense of horrible desolation, and the one idea now in his mind
was that of accompanying her wherever she might go. He did not look far
into the future. His plans were bounded by that tower to which Talbot was
going. This much he might do without any hesitation. It seemed to him no
more than Talbot's due. She only wanted to go as far as that. She wished
to be out of the reach of Rivers. She didn't know the way there. He could
certainly help her thus far; in fact, it would be impossible for him not
to do that much. If Dolores herself were present, he thought, she could
not object; in fact, she could do nothing else but approve.

Silence now followed, which lasted for some time, and at length Talbot
said, with a heavy sigh,

"How strange it is, and how sad! isn't it, Brooke?"

"What?" said Brooke.

"To bid good-bye."

Brooke was silent.

"To bid good-bye," repeated Talbot, "and never meet again!"

Brooke drew a long breath, looked at Talbot, and then looked away.

"Shall we, Brooke?" asked Talbot.

"Shall we what?" s