to Heaven for vengeance--what is
it? The world laughs at "Love's perfidies;" the world says that it
serves one right. The girl is slain in her youth by a worse fate than
early death, and the man goes on his way blithely enough.

Lord Chandos could not quite trample his conscience under foot; under
the influence of his mother he began to see that his love for Leone had
been very unfortunate and very fatal; he had begun to think that if one
of two women must be miserable it had better be Leone. That which was
present influenced him most. He loved his mother, he was flattered by
Lady Marion's love for him. So many influences were brought to bear upon
him, the earl and countess were so devoted to him, Lady Marion charmed
him so much with her grace and kindness of manner, her sweetness of
disposition, her wonderful repose, that his faith grew weak and his
loyalty failed.

There came an evening when they two--Lord Chandos and Lady Marion--stood
alone in one of the most beautiful courts of the Alhambra. The whole
party had been visiting that marvelous palace, and, more by accident
than design, they found themselves alone. The sun was setting--a hundred
colors flamed in the western sky; the sun seemed loath to leave the
lovely, laughing earth; all the flowers were sending her a farewell
message; the air was laden with richest odors; the ripple of green
leaves made music, and they stood in the midst of the glories of the
past and the smile of the present.

"I can people the place," said Lady Marion, in her quiet way. "I can see
the cavaliers in their gay dresses and plumes, the dark-eyed senoras
with veil and fan. How many hearts have loved and broken within these
walls, Lord Chandos!"

"Hearts love and break everywhere," he said, gloomily.

She went on:

"I wonder if many dreams of this grand Alhambra came to Queen Catharine
of Arragon, when she lay down to rest--that is, if much rest came to
her?"

"Why should not rest come to her?" asked Lord Chandos, and the fair
face, raised to answer him, grew pale.

"Why? What a question to ask me. Was she not jealous and with good
cause? How can a jealous woman know rest? I am quite sure that she must
have thought often with longing and regret, of her home in sunny
Granada."

"I have never been jealous in my life," said Lord Chandos.

"Then you have never loved," said Lady Marion. "I do not believe that
love ever exists without some tinge of jealousy. I must say that if I