Thorne led the girl to the center of the room, under the light where
Gale stood. She had raised a white hand, holding a black-laced
mantilla half aside. Dick saw a small, dark head, proudly held,
an oval face half hidden, white as a flower, and magnificent
black eyes.

Then Thorne spoke.

"Mercedes--Dick Gale, an old friend--the best friend I ever had."

She swept the mantilla back over her head, disclosing a lovely face,
strange and striking to Gale in its pride and fire, its intensity.

"Senor Gale--ah! I cannot speak my happiness. His friend!"

"Yes, Mercedes; my friend and yours," said Thorne, speaking rapidly.
"We'll have need of him. Dear, there's bad news and no time to
break it gently. The priest did not come. He must have been
detained. And listen--be brave, dear Mercedes--Rojas is here!"

She uttered an inarticulate cry, the poignant terror of which
shook Gale's nerve, and swayed as if she would faint. Thorne
caught her, and in husky voice importuned her to bear up.

"My darling! For God's sake don't faint--don't go to pieces!
We'd be lost! We've got a chance. We'll think of something. Be
strong! Fight!"

It was plain to Gale that Thorne was distracted. He scarcely knew
what he was saying. Pale and shaking, he clasped Mercedes to him.