"You see," she continued, in the frankest and most engaging manner, "I was so veiled that no one could know me, and when I saw you I was very glad indeed; and I thought I would follow you, and speak to you, and see if you had any remembrance left of poor little me." For a moment there was a shade of embarrassment on Ashby's face, and then it passed. He took her hand and pressed it fervently. "Dolores," he said--"dear little friend of mine, I can never forget you as long as I live, and all that was done for me by you and yours. This sudden meeting with you is the most delightful thing that could possibly have happened." Dolores laughed, and again drew her hand demurely away. "But oh, Senor Ashby," she said, "how absent you were in the station!--and here--not one look for the poor Dolores!" "Oh, Dolores!" said Ashby, in a tone of tender apology, "how could I imagine that it was you? You were veiled so closely that no one could recognize you. Why did you not speak before?" "Ah, senor, young ladies in Spain cannot be so bold as I hear they are in England. Even this is an unheard-of adventure--that I, a young lady, should travel alone. But it is a case of life and death, you know, and it is only from here to Burgos, where I shall find friends. And then I wanted to speak to you once more. And you, senor--are you going to England now?" Again there came over Ashby's face a look of embarrassment. His present journey was a delicate subject, which he could not discuss very well with Dolores. "Well, no," he said, after a brief pause. "I'm only going as far as Bayonne--on business. But how long it seems since I saw you, Dolores! It's more than a year." "And have I changed, senor?" she asked, sweetly. "Yes," said Ashby, looking at her intently. Dolores returned his look with another, the intensity of which was wonderful to Ashby. He seemed to look into the depths of her soul, and the lustrous eyes which were fastened on his appeared as though they strove to read his inmost heart. Her manner, however, was light and bantering, and it was with a merry smile that she went on: "Ah! so I have changed? And how, senor--for the better?" "No, and yes," said Ashby, drinking in her dark, deep, liquid glances. "In the first place, you could not possibly be better or more beautiful than you used to be; but, in the second place, you are more womanly." "But I am not yet seventeen, senor." "I know," said Ashby, of course. "And you have not yet asked after the dear one--the mamma, who loves you so," said Dolores, in rather an inconsequential way. "I was thinking of you, so that all other thoughts were driven out of my head." "That's pretty," said Dolores; "but do you not want to hear about the dear mamma?" "Of course. I shall love her and revere her till I die. Did she not save my life? Was she not a mother to me in my sorest need? And you, Dolores--" He stopped short, and seemed somewhat confused and agitated.