We left poor Enid Chichester in a faint in the arm-chair, into which she had fallen on discovering who the bridegroom was; and there she had remained unnoticed and uncared for until the excitement had somewhat subsided—until every smuggler was firmly bound and put under close and watchful guard. Then some of her fair sisters had discovered her and immediately set about her restoration. For a long time the efforts of her friends were unsuccessful, but, at last, with a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes and gazed wonderingly around her. Soon she remembered where she was—why she was there, and what had happened—that he—he who had promised to devote himself to the work of liberating her—he upon whom she had placed her whole dependence, her whole faith and trust, was married to another; worse than that! was the wretch who had heartlessly forced the bonds of wedlock upon an unwilling bride; and with a moan of pain she covered her beautiful face with her hands. “What is it, Enid—what made you faint?” gently asked one of her friends. She started as if suddenly smitten with a rod, at the question. Disagreeable as the fact might be, she realized that her heart had gone out to this same sinful and erring man, with all its freshness and wealth of affection; in plain words, that she loved him, in spite of the hideous and glaring colors in which he now stood revealed. But she would die before she would ever let any one suspect the truth. So, setting her little teeth firmly together, and tossing her head defiantly, she said, in reply to the query of her friend: “Oh, nothing but a nervous shock, from which I shall soon recover.” Then, anxious to turn the conversation from herself, she added: “But what does all this mean?—and what makes you all look so happy?” They explained everything to her, while she listened, laughing and crying at the same time, with joy that once more they would all see home and friends. Finally, when Enid grew more calm, they all arose and joined the group where such interesting revelations were being made, and where Rose Ellerton had just thrown herself at the feet of her husband. They listened with intense interest to the story of the long-parted husband and wife, and Enid began to feel her heart warming toward Ralph again when she heard how he had been deprived of a mother’s influence all his life, and in the clutches of his vile uncle. Then, when he so humbly begged forgiveness, her warm heart grew sympathetic, and poor little Enid’s defiance and pride all melted away like the dew before the sun, and bowing her pretty head, she sobbed out her pity and her love—pity for the painful remorse he felt, and the trial he did not spare himself in confessing it, and love for the good that her tender, womanly heart told her was in him. Ralph had seen her tears, and half-interpreting their cause, his heart bounded; and when his mother had finished her story, and his father had gone to seek the Italians, he arose, and approached her.