"No, and never shall; but I know one thing--if I stood in your place and was compelled to make one or the other unhappy, I know which it would be. In marrying Lady Marion you make yourself at once and you delight me, you gratify every one who knows and loves you. In marrying that tempestuous young person you cut yourself adrift from fame, friends, and parents." "But honor, mother, what about my honor?" "You lose it in marrying a dairy-maid. You preserve it in marrying Lady Marion." And with this Parthian shot my lady left him. CHAPTER XXXII. AN ACT OF PERFIDY. So--inch by inch, little by little, step by step--Lord Chandos was influenced to give up his faith, his promise, his loyalty. I, who write the story, offer no excuse for him--there is none for the falseness and perfidy of men--yet it is of so common occurrence the world only jests about it--the world makes poetry of it and sings, cheerfully: "One foot on land and one on shore, Men were deceivers ever." A promise more or less, a vow more or less, a broken heart, a ruined life, a lost soul, a crime that calls 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: