the castle. After all, as far as she could see, their position had changed little, if at all, for the better. The enemy would rally. They would be attacked. No defense was possible. They would soon be prisoners or fugitives. And if they were to fly, how could they hope to escape in a country swarming with roving bands of marauders belonging to both parties? The problem was a difficult one, and one which was not to be solved very readily.

At length Dolores thought of the wounded men, and as she had a very tender heart, she proposed to go and help them. The two then returned and entered the castle.

They reached the hall at the very time when the other parties were coming into it-namely, Brooke and Talbot from the room, and Harry and Katie from the upper regions. Such coincidences are frequent in real life, and still more frequent in our "Castles in Spain.”

As Brooke and Talbot came out, Ashby and Dolores, advancing 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.

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 LII.

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

"Dolores!" said Brooke, in a deep, hol- situation was truly horrible. low 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.

"Sydney!" said he.

"Harry!" said Talbot.

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 words, excited, eager welcomes, and all those other circumstances that usually attend upon the meeting of long-divided lovers were in this case clearly impossible. Brooke felt Talbot's presence-Talbot, who was worth to him ten thousand like Dolores; so he could only take refuge in the most commonplace conventionalities. It is true, Talbot could not understand Spanish, but Talbot could understand those tones of voice which form the universal and natural language of man; and if Brooke had felt ever so full of eager delight, he would have hesitated to manifest it under such very delicate circumstances.

At length Brooke cleared his throat. "This," said he, in a solemn tone-"this is indeed an unexpected pleasure." Dolores sighed.

"It is indeed, señor," she replied, "an

Katie heard this. She turned pale. All unexpected, a most unexpected one."

"It is indeed," said Brooke, in quite a helpless way.

Saying this, he held out his hand. Dolores held out hers. They shook hands. Then they cast hasty looks at one another. "I hope you have been quite well?" said Brooke.

"Oh, quite," said Dolores; "and you,

señor ?"

"Oh, very well," said Brooke, “very well indeed.'

And now another pause succeeded. Both of them were horribly embarrassed. Each had the same feeling, but neither one knew the feeling of the other. Each knew that a change had occurred, but neither knew that the same change had been experienced by the other. Brooke knew himself false, but thought Dolores true, while Dolores had a similar feeling. Besides, this new love which each had conceived and cherished made the old one seem a mistake-made them regard each other with aversion, and this meeting as a calamity; yet each felt bound to conceal these feelings, and exhibit toward the other an impossible cordiality. All this caused a wretched embarrassment and restraint, which each felt, and for which each took the blame, thinking the other altogether true and innocent.

Dolores was conscious-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.

And now
Could he

The deep feelings of the past were yet strong in their hearts-the immediate past-and with these their hearts were full. Yet these had to be concealed. Each felt bound to the other by a solemn The effect of her story was a crushing vow, and by every principle of duty and one. She made no mention of Ashby, honor. They had exchanged vows of and Brooke concluded that she had been love and eternal fidelity. From such | true, while he had been false. vows who could release them? Yet the what was he? Clearly false. vows were already broken by each, and come back to Dolores? Could he be what of this each was conscious. Had Brooke | he had been? Could he give up Talbot? met Dolores before this last scene with | The thought was intolerable. Never had Talbot, he might have felt self-reproach, any one been to him so dear as Talbot. but he could not have felt such a sense of Never had Talbot been to him so dear as unworthiness. For before that he had, now. And yet was he not in honor at least, kept a watch upon his tongue, bound to Dolores? Honor! and did not and in words, at least, he had not told his honor bind him to Talbot? love for another. But now his word had gone forth, and he had pledged himself to another.

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.

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 unnerved at the presence of Harry. But then she had been strengthened by her new love for Brooke; now she was weakened by the remembrance of her lost love for Harry. This was an ordeal

for which there was no outside inspira- | him, and at last had turned about on her tion. The remembrance of her passion- lonely homeward road. And yet he was ate words to Brooke, so lately uttered, so blameless then. As far as that was conardently answered, was strong within her. cerned he could excuse himself; he could And yet here was one who held her prom- explain all. He felt so guilty in some ise, who could claim her as his own, things that he was anxious to show his inwho could take her away from Brooke; nocence in other things where he had not and what could she do? been to blame; and so he hastened most eagerly to give a long and an eloquent vindication of himself by explaining ali about his journey to England, and his return to Barcelona, and his search after her, which had led him to this.

She could say no more. She was think-ter which he had written to her only a ing only of that bitter fortune which had brought her to a place where she might be forever torn from Brooke; where Brooke, too, had found one who might tear him from her.

(Dolores was still giving an account of herself. It was unworthy of her!) "Oh no," said Katie, "not at all." She heard Harry speak in an apologetic manner. It was very hard to bear. Would he leave her for this lady?

There was now a pause.

Ashby and Katie were both listening with all their might to hear what was said by Dolores and by Harry respectively. Ashby felt the necessity of saying something.

dulge in a flirtation with his friend Riv- | afraid that this excitement might have an ers. Was that a crime? He, on the oth- injurious effect." er hand, had lost all love for her, and had given all his heart to Dolores. Katie seemed to him now not repugnant as a false one, but merely pitiable as a weak, child-like character. The falsity now seemed rather on his part than on hers. He believed that Harry had gone much farther in treachery than Katie. Katie, he thought, was merely a weak-minded flirt, while Harry had become a traitor in allowing himself to fall in love with her. Even for Harry he could now make some allowances; and since he had found out his own feelings, he had less jealousy, and therefore less resentment against his former friend. As for jealousy, if he now had that feeling, it was all directed else- At this mention of the moon each where, namely, toward that stranger thought of those moonbeams which had whose sudden appearance had so engross-streamed in through the narrow windows ed Dolores. on those past few nights-nights so memorable to each; and each thought of them with the same feelings.

In such a state of mind as this Ashby advanced toward Katie. Now Katie had come down with the express purpose of seeing him, and with her mind full of a very pretty speech which she intended to make to him. But the sudden meeting of Harry with Talbot had raised other thoughts and feelings, which had driven her pretty speech altogether out of her mind. A bitter jealousy afflicted her tender heart. This lady was the Sydney Talbot of whom he had told her, and who had come all the way from England on this perilous journey to marry him. Would she now give him up? Impossible! And how could Harry escape her?

As Ashby approached, Katie therefore had but little thought for him. Ashby also thought less of her than of Dolores. Who was this stranger? he thought. Why was he so familiar? Why did Dolores leave him so abruptly? and why was she telling to this stranger the whole story of her life?

Thus Ashby and Katie met again. Ashby had to say something, and so, as was natural, he took refuge in conventionalities.

"I hope," said he, "that no ill effects have arisen from this recent excitement.'

"Oh no," said Katie, in an abstracted tone. She was trying to listen to Talbot's words. They did not sound pleasant.

Ashby also was trying to listen to Dolores. She seemed to him to be altogether too familiar.

"I'm very glad," said Ashby. "I was

"Very fine weather," said he.
"Oh, very fine," said Katie.

66

A fine moon."

"Oh, very fine."

Ashby tried to find something new to say. He thought of the position in which they all were-its danger their liability to recapture-the necessity of flight, and yet the difficulty of doing so-things which he and Dolores had just been considering.

"This," said he, "is a very embarrassing position."

Katie by this understood him to mean the relations which they bore to one another, and which had become somewhat confused by her affair with Harry. She thought this was Ashby's way of putting it.

She sighed. She looked at Harry and Talbot. They seemed coming to an understanding. Harry was certainly making an explanation which seemed unnecessarily long. And here was Ashby hinting at an explanation with herself. She had forgotten all her fine speeches with which she had come down. She knew not what to say. She only felt a jealous fear about Harry, and another fear about an explanation with Ashby.

Ashby meanwhile thought nothing about Katie, but was full of eagerness to learn what was going on between Dolores and Brooke.

There were three couples involved in this awkward situation, and among them all it is difficult to say which was most embarrassed. It was bad enough to meet with the old lover, but it was worse to

But one by one, to Ashby, Harry, Brooke, to Katie, Talbot, and Dolores, came the recognition of the fact that under this magnificent exterior lay conceal-time, ed the person of their companion and friend, the venerable and the virtuous Russell.

"I want to look after something," said he; and with these words he went into the room where he had first been confinednamely, the one opposite to that in which the recent ceremony had taken place.

"Yes, I will go alone," said Katie-" all Dolores now remarked to Brooke that alone. You don't care for me, now that she was just at that time engaged in look-you've got your Sydney. You don't care ing after the defenses of the castle, for for me a bit!"