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 vow, and by every principle of duty and honor. They had exchanged vows of love and eternal fidelity. From such vows who could release them? Yet the vows were already broken by each, and of this each was conscious. Had Brooke met Dolores before this last scene with Talbot, he might have felt self-reproach, but he could not have felt such a 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.