erly different from what I imagined."

"You have heard of _me_?" repeated Iris, and surprise helped her to
smile with something of her wonted self-possession.

"Yes, on board the steamer. We sailed from Southampton, and had little
else to talk of during the voyage. But, of course, you cannot
understand. Among my fellow-passengers were your uncle and Mr. Bulmer."

Iris had long relinquished any hope of communicating with Bootle until
the present deadlock in the operations of the two armies was a thing of
the past. Completely mystified now by Carmela's glib reference to the
two men whose names were so often in her thoughts though seldom on her
lips, she could only gaze at the Senhora De Sylva in silent
bewilderment.

Carmela, feeling that she was gaining ground rapidly, affected a note
of polite regret.

"Please forgive me for being so abrupt. Perhaps I ought to have
prepared you. But it is quite true. Mr. Verity and Mr. Bulmer came
with me from Europe. We all reached Pernambuco the day before
yesterday. Indeed, if it were not for them, and the assistance they
gave me, I would not be here now. No one recognized me, fortunately,
and--I hope you will not be vexed--I passed as Mr. Verity's niece. In
fact, I took your place for the time."

A notable feature of the De Sylva utterance was its clearness.
Carmela's concluding words could not possibly be mistaken for anything
else. Their meaning, on the other hand, was capable of varying shades
of significance; but Iris was far too amazed to seek depths beneath
their literalness.

"If Mr. Verity and Mr. Bulmer are in Brazil----" she began tremulously,
but Carmela broke in with a shrill laugh.

"There is no 'if.' Look below there, near my father's tent! They have
arrived. They are asking for you. Come, let us meet them! I must see
my father before he departs."

Iris's swimming eyes could not discern the figures to which Carmela was
pointing. But this strange girl's triumphant tone rang like a knell in
her heart. She was not thinking now of the complications that might
arise between San Benavides and his discarded flame. She only knew
that, by some miracle, her uncle had come to bring her home, and with
him was the man to whom she was plighted, while Philip, only half an
hour ago, had told her he would not see her again until the following
evening.

So this was the end of her dream. Bitter-sweet it had been, and long
drawn out, but forthwith she mus