Was there any other in all the world who would pronounce his name in that way? It was the well-known, well-remembered, and dearly loved name as it had been pronounced by Dolores in the old days at Valencia. Coming thus to him at such a time, it seemed too good to be true. He was afraid that he had been deceived by his own fancy; he feared to move lest he might dispel this sweet vision. Yet he hoped that he might not be mistaken; and in this hope, scarce expecting an answer, he said, in a gentle whisper, "Dolores!" "I am here!" said a soft voice. At this Ashby's heart beat wildly, and a thrill of rapture rushed through every nerve and fibre of his being. He sprang up and peered through the gloom, and moved forward in the direction from which the voice seemed to have come. At this moment he did not stop to consider how Dolores could have got there. It was enough that she really was there, and all other feelings were lost in his deep joy. "Dolores," he said, "where are you? I don't see you." Through the room a figure now advanced across the moonbeams. He saw the figure. In another instant he had caught Dolores in his arms, and held her strained close to his wildly throbbing heart. But Dolores struggled away. "Oh no!" she said, in a tone of distress, speaking in her sweet Spanish--"oh no, Senor Assebi. This is cruel--when I have risked so much for you!" "Forgive me, dearest Dolores," said Ashby; "but you have come to me like an angel from heaven in my darkest hour. And I have thought of you, and of you only, ever since you left me at Burgos. I wandered all through the streets there to find you. I have been in despair at losing you. I have been wondering whether I should ever see you again--and now, dearest, sweetest Dolores, I have you again!" All this was rapidly uttered in a resistless torrent of words, in which all his long pent-up feelings flowed forth. Dolores began to sob. "I didn't think this," she said, "or I should have been afraid to come. Senor, you are false to your English bride." "English bride!" cried Ashby, scornfully. "What is she? A doll! I never wish to see her again. My fancy for her was a whim--a passing whim! _You_, Dolores--_you_ are the only one that I love! I love _you_! I love _you_, I adore you! my own--" "Senor," cried Dolores, tearing away her hands, which Ashby had seized in his, "I will instantly leave you if you are so dishonorable. All this is insult to me--yes, to me. Oh, senor, you will break my heart!" As Dolores said this, sobs burst from her. She glided away into the gloom, still sobbing. Ashby gave way utterly. "Dolores," he cried, in a tone of entreaty--"Dolores, forgive me! I will never offend again--never--never! Oh, forgive me! Come back, Dolores! Oh, do not leave me, Dolores!" At this Dolores relented, and Ashby saw her approaching him again. He advanced toward her. "Be calm," she said; "speak low; we are in danger." "But how did you get here?" asked Ashby.