"Lady Lanswell, I have a great favor to ask of you. If you do not wish to go back to England just yet, will you join me? I am trying to persuade Lady Cambrey to make a tour through Spain." She drew a long breath of relief when the words were spoken, she was so thankful to have them said and done with. She mentally resolved that never would she promise to do anything of this kind again. Lady Lanswell's calm restored hers. "To Spain?" repeated the countess. "What a traveler you are, Lady Marion. What has put Spain into your mind?" "I have always longed to see the Alhambra," said Lady Marion, with perfect truth. "As we are so near, it would be a pity to go back without seeing it." "I quite agree with you. It may be some years before you come on the Continent again--you are quite right to go to Spain. And you really wish us to join your party?" "Certainly, I should be delighted; it would increase my pleasure a hundred-fold," replied the young heiress, promptly. "You are very kind to say so. I will go if you can persuade Lord Chandos to go with us." "How can I do that?" she asked, with a smile. "Teach me how to 'persuade,' Lady Lanswell. I have never been able to 'persuade' any one." The countess rose from her seat with a light laugh. "I am afraid that in this case, persuasion, argument, and reason would be in vain. Lance, take Lady Marion to see the lamps in the almond trees--they are really very fine." He took the soft, silken wrapper from her and wrapped it round her shoulders. "Let us go and see the lamps," he said, and they went. Ah, well. The sky above was filled with pale, pure stars; the almond-trees filled the air with delicate perfume; the nightingales were singing in the distant trees; great floods of silver moonlight fell over the grounds, in which the lilies gleamed palely white, and the roses hung their heavy heads. They went together to the grove where the lamps shone bright as huge pearls. The path was a narrow one and he drew the white hand through his arm. How did it come about? Ah, who shall tell? Perhaps the wind whispered it, perhaps the nightingales sung about it, perhaps something in the great white lily leaves suggested it, perhaps the pale, pure stars looked disapproval; but it happened that the white hand felt the arm, and was clasped in a warm, strong hand--a clasp such as only love gives. Who shall say how it happened? She raised her fair face to his in the soft, pure moonlight, and said to him: "Must you really go back to England, Lord Chandos?" The voice was sweet as music--the face, so fair, so pure, so proud. "Must you," she added, "really go?" "Yes, I am compelled to return," he answered slowly. "Need it be yet?" she said. "I know you must go, but the journey through Spain will be so pleasant, and we might make a compromise. I will shorten the journey if you will delay your return."