Dolores and Ashby had much to talk of, but Dolores was too prudent to waste time on mere explanations. There was yet very much to be done. Above all, they must now consider how they were to get out of 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 defence 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. "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.