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Mlss CILEs’rER’:< PROPOSIUON. 31 in Chester sat down quietly, and Sir Grant, throwing himself into a chair, cover- ed his face with his hands. The temptation was a great: and terrible one. His own mis- ery he could have home, but Clara’sâ€"and this way was so easy, so simple ! The act» rest; was evidently sincere ; it was 9.5 much In her interest as in his, and more, therefore she would carry out the plan thoroughly. “1 cannot (10!th love her too well for that,” he said, simply. in a. voice like the veice of 8. mm: in deadly palm, ind she ut- tered a passionate exclamation of contempt and anger. “You must allow me to diunies you,” she said, coldly. “I think we have said 9.11 we need my to each other, and there is no necessity for us to meet again. My propos- al was dictated by sincere interest in you. You have rejected it. Henceforth «we can go our separate ways. I am almost sorry I ever disturbed your billing and ceoing, but I suppose you would have discovered me sooner or later.” Sir Grant rose. “You want nothing of me than?” he said, huakily. She inclined her heed slightly and passed out of the room, and in a moment the smart blueâ€"and-silver page appeared and preceded Gm 118 to the hall (100', which he opened to allow him to leave the houec, with a sense of his of own importance so fully impressed upon his countenance that at any ,other time it could not have failed to provoke a. smile. THE WEDDING BELLS. Thor}; was a long silence ; then Miss Ches- ter rose. “Nothing. You are a. poor man, and you have prevented me becoming rich. You can give me nothing. Were I in want, I know your mother’s address, and I have suificient proofs to support my claims upon her. If”~â€"-sha had moved to ward the door, but now turned towards himâ€"“if you think better of my suggestlon, you can let me know. It is still open to you.” \Vhen he lifted his brad and uncovered his face, M has Chester glanced athim. He was deadly pole, and he looked haggard and worn, as if tired wlth the struggle he had undergone : but the expression of lofty re‘ solve and resignation told the designing woman that she was ballled, and her brow darkened. Sir Grant left the house with a. dazed feeling of misery about him, which prevent- ed him being conscious of where he was and what he was doing. He walked heedleealy, his in mp1: 3 throbbing madly, and his heart full of unspeakable anguish. One thought was uppermost In his mindâ€"Clamâ€"poor Clara ! No one knew of her identity with his wife but Ted, and Ted was brave, and true, and lealâ€"ha would never betray him. It was a sore temptation. On one side happiness with Clara ; on the other lonelinetw, deaolo. 171011, and privation, How could he give Clara. up? his darling, his happy, innocent love ! How could he bring such misery upon her? how could he blight her young life? It was terrible ; and yet dnrad he so deceive her! Dored he put such an aflront upon her as to make her go through a ceremony which would be but a mockery after all ‘2 And if “(in the future Heaven blessed them with children, how could he look into their innocent faces, knowing that he their father, had wittingly given them a burden of shame and disgrace ! He loved Clara; he loved he 1‘ passionately, truly, deeply. He loved her too truly and too deeply for such deception as that. He wandered on aimlessly until he found himself somwhere near the park, and then he stood still, hesitating Should he go back and tell her that her suggestion was accept- ed, that he would strive to forgetLher exist- ence, as she doubtless would forget hisl Should he keep silence and nnrry mthe pure young girl he loved so passionately, and devote his life to her happiness 2‘ If he sin- ned, he alone should bear the punishment ; surely it ought not to touch _Clara ‘1 And if he made her happy, that would atone. He felt confused and wretched as he drove the temptation from him once more, and went on his way, feeling much the same as a man may feel who has just heard his sentence of death and that of one dearer *to him than himself. Should he not return to her at all â€"â€"should he never let his eyes rest on the fair face which made his shunshine '1 It would be w‘ser perhaps. He could go away, and them e rite to ha, it~ 7»- and them xx rite to ha, 1t~ 7»- “Why Grant,” said a laughing voice, “are you going to cut 113 3” He iookcd up with a start, and saw that his mother’s carriage had drawn up by the side of the pavement, and Claus, leaning forward, was watching him, laughing at his abstx action. Almost mechanically he raised his hat and went: toward them “Where were you, Grant 1’” Clara said, laughing. "Miles away from Piccadilly certainly. Jump in, we’ll give you a. sent home.” He obeyed her, forcing himself to make Homilight {ep1y. “Yet? look-véry tired, Grant,” his mother said: gently. “ I have been walking all over London, I believe,” the said. carelessly. “I lost my Way in aeme benlghted region, when e Clara’s favorite hansoms are unknown. Have you paid your cells, mmlre .9” He WM looking at his mother, for Clara’s eyes, with their keen, tender scrutiny, were fixed upon his face, and he could not meet them. Lady Ellison answered smilingly, and a dlsjointed conversation was kept up until they reached the house, when the dressing bell was on the point of sounding, an”? they were obliged to disperse to their dressing rooms. (‘Eam “as the first person to appear in the drawing-room; perhaps she had hoped to have a few minutes’ conversation with Grant before any of the others came down ; but. if so, she was disappuinted, for he was the very last; to make his appr arence ; and then, although he looked very pale, and comp‘mined of fatigue, he seemed to be invery gnod spirits, ieughing undjtslking incessant- ly during dinner in a manner which some- what reassured Clare, 'WhO was anxious about his altered looks. CHAPTER XXVI. TELLING HER FORTUNE By the Author of “Pnovnn. on No! Paovai OB. The drawing-room, with the soft we); lights and the graceful women in their pret‘ ty evening dresses, maiden pleasant and at- tractive picture Lady Mary and her host- ess were sitting over the fire; Gracie and Clara, with Mr. Fethersone and his brother, were grouped around the centre table, look- ing at some photographs of Italian pictures, which Ted and his bride had brought back from their home; moon trip. The young men joined themâ€"Ted going to his wife’s side, while Sir Grant stood near Mr. John Fetherstone, his eyes, with that unntterable yearning in their depth, glancing over at Clara, although he did not seek her side, Presently, when coflee had been served, Mr. Fetheretone and his brother excused themselves and went out together, While Lady Ellison and Indy Mary settled down to a comfortable chit'chat before the fire, one lady initiating the other Into the mys- teries of a new knittin stitch. Then Ted drew Gracie down besi 6 him on the sofa, with a feeling of intense thankfulness that nothing could come between them; and Clara, going to Sir Grant's side, slipped her hand through his arm. He went with her into the smaller draw- ingl'oom, where the piano was placed, and as she bent down to get her music, she mo- tloned him to sit down In a deep arm-chair drawn up near the piano. “Come and have some music," she said, caressingly. “I have got half a. dozen new songs, Grant, and one or two of them would suit you to perfection." “Sit down there and I Wlll sing to you,” she said, smiling. “You look tired to death, Grant, and I shall take upon myaelf to send you early to bed.” _ ' “Wilmr Thenlwlll give you half an hour,” she replied, lightly, as she placed some music on the piano and turned to him. “Only half an hour to-ns‘ght!” he said“ wltlflncqnscloua emphaslq. His voice broke, and as they passed up the stairs together he can ht once at Ted’s arm to ateady himself, 3115 Ted Fetherstone marveled a little at the mighty passion of that loveâ€"at the force of that fiesszlx' which could so utterly unnerve a. mum, strong of purmse and powerful of frame as Grant El- lison was. “Shall you, In darling 2" he answered, with a faint smfie; “yet it will rest me ever so much better to sit here and listen to your singing." “Why longer to night than any other 2" abs: s85“, lwzbiqglx- , “Ah! why indeed? What song is that, Clara. 2” “ ‘The Lost Chord’â€"your favorite.” “Are you going to sing it to me, sweet ‘2” “If you like. Do you like, (it-ant '1” she asked, leaning a little toward him, the sweet, red lips in tempting proximlty to his own. “My darling I" he murmured, fondly, and drew her toward him to press his lips to her own ; but. suddenly he remembered that he had no right now to press those sweet lips, and he drew hack hastily. Clara looked up astonished. “What is the matter, Grant? Have I vexed you?” she said, earnestly. It was only when he and Ted were alone that the forced hilarity broke down, and he buried his head in his hands with a groan, which went to his friend‘s heart. “Grant, old fellow, this is terrible,” he salfiahugkjiy. » “ And there is worse to come,” Sir Grant said. gloomily. “If I could spare herâ€"ii I could :pnre her ! Even now it breaks my heart to see her eyes watching me, an if she guessed what is in store for her. Tvd, be good to herâ€"ask Gracie to be good to her when I am gone.” “Goneâ€"you are going, then ‘3" “ Yea; I am going to-morrow morning. I shall see my mother {so-night, and to-mor- row morning ea.er I shall get away. Do I seem a very contemptible coward to you, Ted? Great Henven l” he rose with a cry of misery, which broke unchecked from his lips. "It would be as easy to plunge a dagger into my darling’a heart as to tell her the truth. and see the sunshine die out of her face ” “Come.” he said, lightly, “let us join the ladies. Let me have ene more taste of heaven before I g6 out into the blackness of despair.” “Of-course not, chlldie,” hé answered, forging s. laqgh. >“H_ow coulq youA?"’_ ‘ Grant, my poor, pocr fellow !” mid Ted, huskily, his blue eyes dim with tears; there wait) 109g apd painful silexrzce. H Than Si”:- Grnfit rose, with a little laugh, which sounded more painful to Ted’s ears thgithe bquen guy 9} {Lgfmy‘ had dope: She turned to the piano, and for fully half an hour her rich, sweet voice rose and fell, filling the room wiih melody ; Sir Grant lay back wearin in his chair, and shaded his face with his hand, thinking that it was the last time he should hear that beautiful voice, which was sweetest n usic in his earsâ€"the last time for years, perhaps for ever, that his eyes should dwell on that fair face and graceful figure. _ When Ehe had finished she turned to him. “There,” she said, gayly, “have I not been good? Are you not going to re ward me, Grant '2" “How, my dL areat l” “By singing me just one song. I won’t aak you for more to-night.” Slle left her seat onvthe musicstool and he took it. Clara standing behind him, put both little hands on his shoulders. “What shall it be, my Clara. ?" he asked, huskily. "My favoriteâ€"‘11} the Gleaming,’ she answered, smiling. H ‘In Hm rummanm "1M. “manna uvmw “ ‘In the Gloaming’ ” be repeated. “Why do you ask me that to-night, Clara. ?” “Why 1’" she replied, in at me surprise. “Because I like It beat, Grant." “Do you, sweet?" He released the hands he had taken into his for a moment, and turned to the piano. The next moment his voice rose, softly, pleadingly, full of pathos : “ 'in the gleaming, 0, my daviing, When the lights are dim and lowl And the quiet shadows tailing, Softly come and softly goâ€" When the winds up sobbing faintly, With a gentle, unknown woe. Will you ahink of me and love me, As you did once long ago 7' Will you, Claraâ€"will you 2" (mid Grant. softly, turning to her for a moment; and Clara. stooped her loft cheek again-t him for a moment. “Your voice in a. lltble husky. Grant.” sold poor unconscious Clara, tenderly. “i am afraid you have caught cold,” “You lllze that aong, Clara ‘2" “You know I do, Grant.” “\Vould you think bitterly of a lover who “left you lonely. got you free 2” he ask» ed, in a low voice of pain. Stranger than ever the temptation with which the women he had married in his rash, impetuous youth had assailed him a few hours before, recurred to him now, \Vhy should he suffer so terribly? Why, shove ail, should he break his darling's heart, when suffering to her at least, could be avoided? Why not hold his peace now and forever? She-that base, treeeheroui womanâ€"would never break the silence which would give her the vast wealth she waslongin to grasp. The secret would be safe with ed. Once he decided that it should be so; that when morning came he would go to the villa in St. John’s Wood, and tell her that he would accept her pro- posal, that it should be as she wishedâ€"that that awful, irrevocable past should be buri- ed out of sight for ever. But the next moment Clnra’s innocent, loving eyes rose before him, reproachful and upbreiding him for the wrong he was con- templating; with a groan which he could not repress, he threw himself once more into the chair from which he had risen, and crossing his arms on the table, buried his head upon them, and the silence in the room was broken by a sound of smothered, choked- back ache, evidences of a strong man‘s agghy. _ “[1: would depend 5n his reasons for doing so,” she answered, wintfully, and the beauti- ful eyes sought his faco anxiouuly. “But in any case, Grant, I would rather he did not ‘pau away in nuance." “Why, my darling 3” “Bacauue in that came I should be tempted to think that he did not love me,” she an- wered, in a Soft whisper, and Grant drew her close to him in silence. ORA-PIER XXV“. “TELL \1 is ALL ABOUT 1T, GRANT.” An hour passedâ€"sixty long minutes had dragged their weary moments awayâ€"but Grant Ellison still sat in the deserted draw- ing-room with his head in his hands, trying to think of the words in which he should break the truth to Clara, wondering how he should tell her. Fer himself he had almost ceased to sufferâ€"the agony with which he had pressed his last kiss on Clara's white brow, had held her in his arms for the last time, had deadened all other suffering in him ; but the thought of hers almost broke How long Grant Ellison sat there he never knew â€"h0ura might have passed or only minutesâ€"when he became suddenly aware that he was not alone, and lifting his head with a start, he met Clara's piteoui, plead- ing, sorrowful, brown eyes. “Come, young people, it; is: bedtime,’ said Lady Ellisou’a voice in the other room, and Clara felt Sir Grant’s atart of surprise, andakind of shudder which ran through him as he released her from his arms, but still held her handiu his as they went into the adjoining room. And then they separated for the night the ladies going first. Tad, lingering a little saw how Sir Grant took Clara for a moment in his arms, and without a. word pressed his: lips to her brow in one long, lingering, past sionate kiss. Then Ieleaaing her uuddenly, he turned away in the: same unbroken ail~ ence, and Ted caught one wistful, queaticsm lug glance from the ghl’a brown eyes a! she, left the room. “V’Vlnt are you going to do, Grant ‘3" he said, gently, when he wan alone with his friend in the (irawing-x'oom, and Grant stood with his elbows on the mantel piece, his face buried in his hands. “I am going to write to â€"to her,” he mid, lifting hiu head, anfl meeting Ted’s blue eyfasihe Igughedfiltsgrly: H V V "Oh ! do Bot be afraid,” he mid: “I shall not do anything rash, andâ€"there its no water here 1” his heart. She was kneeling beside him, still Wear- ing the blue velvet dress she had worn dur- ing the evening, the gold collar round her throat, the oft lace falling over her wrists, and on the little hand which stole up in mute sympathy and tenderness to his neck the great diamonds of her betrothalerlng flushed and gleamedl “Clara 1” “Sir Grant said, in a low voice of pain. “Yea, Clara,” she anawered, aofflly, and then two White, tender arms crept up about his neck, and the sweet tender voice whis- pered : “Now, h‘mt, tell me all about it.” Grant could not speak ; he drew her up into his arms with one passionate movement, than bowing his head upon her shoulder, he burst into teams. “GI-ant!" the girl said, brokcnly, “oh Grgntz 1_ny @2311ng 1â€"111) darling !'_’ > And she folded her arms round him, and drew his head down on her breast wish a tenderness almost motherly in its perfect love. its intense compassion. She did nor ask him any questionmshe knew that as soon as he was able to speak he would tell her ; and although her heart was full of terrible dread and fear, she did not; give way, she saw that he wanted all her assistance to re- gain his own calmness. _ Presently he lifted his head, and looked at her with weary, miserable, anguished 9Y9”; V“Forglve me,” he said, hoarsely ghfemme, Clara Ii’» “There in noLhing to forgive, dear,” she answered, snitly. “Ara you able to tell me now, Grant?" “1‘0 tail youâ€"what 1" he said. “What is grieving you, dear,’ awgred, steadily. ’ she an- Andrwltha "paesiunate gesture of pxin, Grant started to his feet, and Iooaened his olatsp of her. Clam rose also. her face very white, her lips tremuioua, but; he did not look at herâ€"- only with falterln , unsteady steps, he turned toward the (goon “Letme go!" he said, hoarsely. “Let meAgo l" 071a spring, and Clara stood slim and " 'In the gleaming, O, my darling, Thlnk n00 bilmrly cf me, Though I gnawed nwny in silence, Lem you onely. set you free. For my heart was crashad with longingâ€" What had been could never be, It was best to leave you thus. douâ€" Bast for you and best for me; It was best to lenve you thusâ€" Best for you and best for me.'" -â€"â€"“for straight, but trembling violently, before the d095, barring‘it with one 111311? firm: "While I have life I shall have love for you,” he answers, brokenly. “Darling. It is cruel to distress you thus; and yet, it you could know how it breaks my heart to give you pain 1” “I know, I know. Tell me, Grant." "My child, thlnk just once more; think of my past He Think what mad act of folly committed fihen could nifgqtpu now." LHo benlls over her, and with strong, gen- tle hands lifts her from the floor and place: her In a chair, a wide, deep arm-chair, in which the slender frame looks very small and chlldllke. “Nothing.” she moans; “I can think of nothing.” “Think again, nweet.” "Only-only this," she says, with a low cry of pain. “In it that you have ceased to love me '3” Into the great brown eyes which are scru- tin'zlng his face with such eagerness, comes a sudden horrorâ€"4. dread which drains the color from her llpl, and makes her shrink back from him. “I'cannotulet you go, Grim," she said, ahfidily. “_No_t thugâ€"not 11ml 1"_ He turned from her with a despairing gesture of pain, and went back to the fire. It was unlpeakable agony to hlmto see her, and to know that with hla own hand he must deal the blow which would kill her happineal fonavgr. _ -.. .u‘ “Bu€;â€"â€"” she says, tremulously; than her voice fails her, and she looks at him mutelv, with Wide-dilated, horror-stricken eyes. “But, Grant, she is dead.” “My darling, she lives still '1” "Lives!" She raised her hands to her head, and pushed back the soft hair from her brow with a. wild gesture of misery. “Lives I VVhenâ€"how éid you know it?” “ My darling !" he says, softly. “Think â€"â€"what could come between us '1" “Clara, that woman we Haw together Iaut nightâ€"the actress-she is the woman I married.” “She !” The cry broke from her with a wild, pas- sionate wail, which went to Grant's heart, and she cowered back in her chair, trem~ bling in every limb, her face colorlegs as death, her breath coming in gaapa. 7 7‘57“ ! C’ara'you little know 1” he said, :4; n brgken‘y. u “1 know that only sonwthing very terri- b'e could move you thus, Grant.” she an- swered, in a. voice of the deepest; tender- nesna. “Perhaps. when you have told me, it will seem eaaier.” “Easier T" “Yes,"she anawerd, steadily although her heart sank with foreboding, at the bitter, harnh laugh which broke from him. “Tell me, Grant.” “ My darling,” he said, brokenly, “ it would be easier for r2" ’1) out 03" my right hand than to tail you 1:124 : but you must know it, and fcrgive me, it you can, for the pain EX have unwittingly :nnd unwil‘ingly given you. Sweetheart, you believe, do you notâ€"«you believe that it breaks my heart to hurt you ‘2" The tender, loving words, the sweet, up- turned glance, make his hard task yet hard- er. He shivers, and his arms OIABPB her yet more closely. “ What is it, Grant? I cannot hear shil,” she says, brakenly. and her head falls against him, her slender frame trembling and shak- ing with passionate Bobs. "C‘am, my darling !"' "he éi-iafi ; “do not, for pity‘a sukeâ€" my heaxt’a life, be brave now !” fl éfieiémhe slowly toward him, and laid her clasped hanLis upqx} his breaat._ ' “Crémt,” she e-ald, very gently, “tell me ; whatever it is, 1 can bean-ilk.” She put her arm caressingly on his arm, and pushed him entlely into a great arm- chair ; then she fine“; down beside him and rested ‘ner head against; his arm. “Tell me,” she repeatsd, softly. “I cannotâ€"I cannot? ' he said, brokenly. “ 0, Clara! why did you come here to- nigh?!" “ 3003112? 1 .2le you were in trouble, and it was my 7: M {-0 share that trouble,” she said, trem‘ " - Then her calmness gave way a 11“?" mm‘: 8118 mught at him with both imam. “0, Grant! I am afraid !â€" I am afraid l” He put; his arm round her and drew her close to him in silence, laying his cheek against her soft brown hair, and the girl shiverad and nestled close to him, While swift as light a thonght passeci through her mind: “What dreadful thing could touch them while they had each other ‘2" “Tell me, Grémt,” she said presently ; and than, wihh his lips gmwing Whlte with pain, he bends his head over hat and tells her. “D-ear Grant, yes; but nothing can hurt maintth vyhilq yqu are with qua and well.” “My dariiug !" he murmurs, passionately. “ Clara, help mega little, dear. I cannotâ€"«I 03.9301; aayflig !” His teri‘ible emotion makes her tremble, and she shrinks from him a little. “ Claraâ€"Clara I” he :cries, passionately. “ Grant Heaven ! how can I tell her ‘2” The anguish on his face, the intensity of misery, made her strong for him. She cav- ered her face for a moment with her hands, and when she lifted it; she was very pale, but calm. 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' u n“: u «A ‘ y There is no excuse for your jaufi'erlnnr any longer from Oamrrh, Bronchitis, etc. when you can get A remedy armmnbeed to cure, and which is perfectly safe. Dr, Canon arrh Oure is a pleasant and efleotunl remedy. As your Drugglat about: in. DOUGIINUTS.â€"0ne cup of sour milk, one- half cup of cream, one cup of uugar. two eggs, one small te'wpmnful of soda»; fl‘wor with nutmeg or cinnamon. The emika for the greens Colonial and Indian Exhibition still come in from all quarters at the Dominion, and corporatinzm, societiea, and institutions of all sorts, are contributing to make the display of the moat varied character. 01):) of the novel features in the Dominion display will be a. journal printed in the building. This paper will be edited and published by Canadians, printed from Canadian type, on a. Canadian press, 5nd from Canadian made paper. It will be published by a. syndicate of gentle- men, under the name of the “ Trades Pub- lishing 00.,” with offices in Toronto and Montreal. The trade in pstent madicinaa amounts to about $22,000,000 per annum, and of this $1,000,000 a year )s spent In advertising. Thexe are five thousand kinds In the mar- ket. Ilt'llwaln‘n ’lelegr-ph and Eclectic Short- hand Insuhlle, 3| KING STREET WEST: Shortbaud hught in two months. Sand for circular. Evldenoeu, etc , reported by exnerlenced Stenogrnphere. Imperial Cough Drops Wm give Pnfiitive and Instant Relief to thee sulfering from Golds, Hearseness, Sore Throat, M0,, and are invaluable to orator! and vuoaliuts. For sale by drug labs {mil oonfeotionom. R. R. & 'I} W A S O N , Mmufzwturnn, Tarm’so. We all have a life work to do, no mutter where we are placed. Leave well alone is a good r1110; but leave ill alone is a better. Axle and Maéifine Screw Woi'ks. â€":o:â€" LINTON, LAKE It 00., Manufacturers 0! all kinds of Carriage and Wmon Axloa, Iron and Steel Set and Cap Screws, Stud: for Cylinder Heads, Steam Cheats, Pumps, 8130.. NEVER FAILS. BRANTFQRD x-I-lfll- “myâ€"mm COLDWATER 3:02: smoH Th4- lHlung an! and I'm-king for Nursery- --nu‘n and Dealer» a rpm-inn]. Leading hardy kinda, in large quantitiea, grown on our own premises, in Int. 43°. H. H. Hurd& Son, llulum Nurse-n; - Burlington, - Out. I New flrlsans Wand Gan: Un’y Winters’ Patent Wood Cart, m; an 3.53118 Emmi Mal; Bailingzmgmg mmer from PDIflAUG men, “lambda; mud Hafiiixa (mm HM "dayf'gi Lh'emook. .mn‘} V um.” tmevc‘ueo meme? hurdny’mLiver ". 041:.» u. Lon. Germany to mné find paweugm‘: for Soutlnnd am! Kruli..1d AND U Vln ha.‘ «.1 and mm 1111': ‘ , nu nmr month! = durir‘u wznhm é. Elma a} zm‘ Philadel- I'U't, m g, (weer. “mgow yr” Mnut ;( mummy ' r 'Mun‘ hm} y, mu! Gmngow I3:ng puma/m. m: othvrinfnrmatlau flnhmm-mlxm fir; be . Baltimore; :3. \ Hm-Ii'mxmhee. a: 95:. Jpnn's Buggies, Carriages, Sleighs, Sac. GALT, ONT. Bronzn, Medal MI Industrial Exhibition, 1885. Price List on applleafiiou. Sand for Catalogue‘ GAL‘TI". ESTHER" The Old and the New. J. WIN muss, Manager, @1113, Out. â€"~ MAN UPACTUREREâ€" A. P. 265‘.