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. WN/t’ . â€". -v<-, V,â€"..-~â€"~.,... - ,.- - FORTHE him TIME. - CHAPTER I. The January day had been hopelessly bad and wintry. All the morning the IOW-lying clouds and complaining winds whistling shrilly through the bare trees. had foretold the coming storm. At noon the storm burst. The wind rose to a. wild. piercing gale, and the Snow fell faster and faster. and in wild. whirling drifts, until all around Blackwood Grange lay buried in its midwinyter winding sheet. ' The old house was very stillâ€"the shillnpss of death surely, for death atoodgrimon their threshold. The will- ing servants bated. their breath, and hushed their voices. and muffled their tread. for the master they had never liked lay sick u’nto death in one of the. upper rooms. They had 'never likedi him; but the dread majesty of thei grave was around him now. and they» forgot their old aversion. In. that spacious chamber. hung withl satin dsmask, carpeted in mossy green, adorned with exquisite pictures and statuettes. the mystery of Blackwood Grange was a mystery no longer. Ly- . lag in the low, French bed. whiter than the snowy pillows, lay Isabel Vance. Victor Lntour. that mmkery of man. was no more. Isabel Vance. in the white robes of her sex, lay tossing there, raving in delirium, or sleeping thlehcavy, unnatural sleep produced by drugs. ' y knew all. The unutterable wonder with which she had first heard. her wild i‘ncredulity, her absolute in- ability to convince herself of the truth. are not to be described. It proved the truth of Dr. Sterling's assertionâ€"whatâ€" ever the secret she had sworn to keep that was not it. Slowly the truth.l forced itself upon her. day by day, un- til she could realize it at. last. She clasped her hands in indescribable thanksgiving. her whole face alight with joy. . “Thank Heaven!" she cried. “Oh thank Heaven! thank Heaven! Better wnything than be what I thought I wasâ€"a. maulmanl's wife!" "\Vha’tl" exclaimed Mrs. Sterling. But Amy. with a frightened cry. covered. her face with her hands. “I have broken my oathâ€"I swore not to. Oh! don't. ask me questions. Mrs. Sterlingâ€"I dare not tell you!" Mrs. Sterling Smile-d. She could guess pretty nearly the truth now. .They did not er'll Amy that other horrible suspicion, that Isabel Vance was the murderess of George \V’ildair. Such ghastly horrors were not for inâ€" nocent ears; they would spare her that if they could. Mrs. Sterling, Amy, the housekeeper. . mad the doctor were all who were 3.1-. lowed to set foot inside that sick-room. The amaze of the housekeeper was something lludicrous in its intensity ;» but there was no help for itâ€"they were forced to take her into their confidence. Ami. by day and by night, for two long weeks, those three women watched ‘by thb bedside of that guilty woman. who had wronged one of them so deeply. This wild January afternoon Mrs. Sterling sat by the bedside, watching her patient with a. very grave face. The crisis of the fever had arrived, there was little o‘hlmoe of the sick Woman's \overy. and they did not even hope it? Better for them. better for her, that death should release her. than that she should. live to end her days in a. mauflhoune or a prison. Am sat by the window, gazing dreamiin out at. the fast-falling snow. Ln infinite cal-m [had mttled upon her r-a deep content; a. stronger. truer. porn fervent love than any wild fan- tasy she had ever With, was slowly dawning in her heart. Her sorro-.~rs had been heavy. her disappointments bitter; but .mw hope blooms so soon in the heart of young persons of nine- tee'n or twenty. As the short wE-iler day faded into early dusk the show ceased: but the ground was heaped high. and the bitâ€" tor wilmd shrieked icily. .tmy arose to draw the curtains and light the. lamp. . "I am afraid the roads are impassâ€" able." she said. “The .«u'ow is higher than the fences. and John will per- sist in coming the most tctnpestuous nights. Hmv is she?" She stopped short, with a thrill of terror. . For two great. dark eyes looked up at lu-I‘ weirdly from the bedâ€"two eyes in- which the light of delirium shone no longer. "\Vhere am I?" said a low, faint voice. "\V'hat is it)? pened 1" "You have been very ill," answered Mrs. Sterlingâ€"“ill of brain fever. Don't ask questions; drink this and 7,1) m Elwnll But Isabel Vance puslzml away we cup With her delicate hand. and fixed her great dark eyes on the malron's face. . . "What is an” mu in that ruincl whisper. "What has happean What! is it! Tell Incâ€"tell me!" She looked at. Amyâ€"memory seemed struggling back in her dull brain; she looked. at. His. Sterling; she looked around the strange room. at her own timesâ€"anti all burst upon her like a flash. She sprang up in bed with 3.5, cry those who heard it might neveri forgot. l "Lost?" she shriekcd. "lost! lost! loot!" W but has hap- llan fell back; there “vasa fierce con- baby and a S» iss nurse. they returned -mystic hour had struck. vulsion that seemed rending soul and body apart. and Isabel Vance lay on the pillows like one dead. The midnight. hour had struck. Through the rain. wind, and high-piled snow. Dr. Johln had bravely made his way, and. reached the Grange as the Amy met him w ith a white, starred face. “She is dying, J'olml Oh! if you could have but come sooner! Nothing can save her now." _ . "Nothing could have" saved her at any tune. ' My coming sooner would. have been of little use. Mymothen iswtth her. Has she spoken. yet ‘3" Still. with that white. frightened face. Amy told of that dreadful awak- ening. She trembled with nervous terror from head to foot. as she recalled it. "My poor little girl!" Dr. Sterling said; "these death-bed horrors are too much; for your tender heart. Go to your own: room.. my Army. and lie dowv ; you look worn out. I don't want my precious little treasureâ€"lost so longâ€"to wear herself to a. shadow. Go and try to sleep." I "But, Johnâ€"" "Miss Earle. I insist upon being obey- ed. If my patient expresses a. wish to see you, you shall be mailed. Mean- time, go to bed. and go to sleep. I am not accustomed to being disobcyed; and don't you begin. mademoiselle. Go!" He turned her toward her own room. led. her to the door, and left her there with a. parting threat if she dared dis- obey. :‘Lmy smiled to herself as she went in. It was very sweet to the taken possession of in this way by Dr.- John. ' In: the sick-room Isabel Vance lay fluttering between life and. death. No- thing could save her now. She lay. whiter than snow, still as marble, but entirely conscious, entirely calm; the great black _eyes lookilmg blavnkly beâ€" fore her at the wall. The dark eyes turned upon the young doctor as he entered. but. the old light of hate was there no more. "Shall we send for a. clergyman. Miss Vance?" he said bending over her; "your hours on earth. are numbered.” She shook her head. “No clergyman can help meâ€"I 'am long past that." u"I‘hio‘ugh your sins be as scarlet, they shall be come white as snow.‘ The infinite mercy of God is' beyond our poor comprehension, Isabel." She shook her head again. “You don’t know I You don't know ! I have committed a greater crime than deceiving and making wretched the life of an. innocent. gird. John Sterling, I am a. murderess’l' “I know it!" She stared at ill-[DE with wild, wide eyes. , _ “You shot your false lover, George \Vildair. the night before he was to have married Amy Earle. You do- ceived her to Ipossess yourself of the fortune Dorothy Hardcnbronk should have left you. You see I know all." “And yet you talk of forgiveness.” "Because there is forgiveness for all who repent." - “But I don't repent. 1 Would do it again. if it were .to be done. George \Vlildair deserved ‘his fate; and yet I was mad the 'Il'ilgfllt I shot himâ€"mad with my erInlgs. I don’t think my brain. has ever been right. since. What I told Amy, the day I married her was truth. after all.” "What did you tell her ?" "Do you not know? But I suppose she kept her oath: I told her I was a. mommaniacâ€"possessedl of a. desire to murder her. I told her the intensity of my love had ’begot that mad desire ---that I dare not remain an instant with her alone. lest I should. plunge the fatal knife into her heart. She fainted, poor little girl; and that see- ret kept my other secret. A babe could impose on that insipid little monentity." "Poor Amy! You have been merci- less to her. Isabel Vance l" "Wellyoucan console her whenlam game. I am. beyond your power and hers. You Would like to have me tried for murder. I daresay. Death will save you that trouble." Amy slept lolng and soundly until, when the sun was shining brilliantly on the snow, the housekeeper brought her the breakfast she had so used her to. Amy ate, refreshed by her deep sleep, and hurried to the sick-room. It was very. very still. The shutters were still closed, the curtains still drawn. Mrs. Sterling moved softly about; Dr. Joh'n met her on the thres- hold. "All is over." he said. "Isabel Vance died this morning, almost without a struggle." He led her to the bed. Strangely quiet and white, in the solemn majesty if death lny Isabel Vance. More beau- tiful in death than she had been in fife. the. cold. features looking like those of an exquisite statue carved in marble. It was given out that. Victor Latour was dead. and, on the third day, a stately procession left the gates at Blackwood. But in some way the story leaked out. got whispered abroad. . crept into the newspapers, warped and distorted. until John Sterling. for Amy's sake. felt compelled to come out with the truth. Far and wide people talked of the wonderful tale. and doubted. and were amazed. It, was the most unheard of occurrence that had ever transpired. Amy Earle left Blackwood Grange and Mrs. Sterling with her. They took up their abode in London until spring. living very retired. and pre- paring for a marriage and a long tuur abroad. Early in May. Dr. John Sterling left his patients in St. Jude's for a very prolonged holiday. and joined his moth- er in London. And a week after. there was a quiet wedding; and Amy. for the third (lure. wore the starry veil and. orange wreath of a virgin bride. and became a blessed wife at: last. They went abmd. .hree years they arm on the Contincn : then. with a hem and Bkackwood Grange becam the happiest hwne in the land. Dr John is a matle and a. paragon of married perfection; and Amy Sterl- ing is the happiest. little wife. the bless- edes-t little mother. in Merry England. (The end.) RIDING OVER A COBRA. .â€" An Incident of Bicycle Bldlng ii: Inllla. Bicycling in southern India is nt- tended by peculiar dangers. A wheel- ma-n, whose way led him across the Anâ€" nmmally Hills, was spinning along when. suddenly he saw. lying directly in front of him1 a large cobra. The lively en~ counter is thus described by the cyclist in the Madras Mai-l: : It was impossible to avoid the loath- some reptile by swerving to either side; the slope was too steep. and I was go Lug too fast. I back-pedalled with my whole weight. and put on the brake with all the force that my right hand could exert; but the momentum was too great. and the bicycle went on ov- er the snake. which rose with a hiss to meet me and extended its hood. Quick as lightning it struck at the front wheel. and as it struck I instinct- ively lifted both hands from the handle-bar, “the thought flashing through any mind that shoes and. hose gave my feet and legs a. chance, but that my hands were naked. ' The instant my hand was off .the brake. the bicycle shot forward, for in my fright I had forgotten to continue to back-pedal. With unutterable hor- ror I saw that the snake was half- through the front wheel. and that the wheel was drawing- it. through the fork With a horrid "swish." t Then there was a thud as the head of the snake was drawn through the fork. and a second Interga flap of the tail end of the snake asiit was drawn through and hit the road on .the right. The one idea that pressed me. was to accelerate this process. How the bicy- cle did fly down that hill. The trees by the roadside passed mellikefa ribbon. The level ground at. the foot of: the slope I sped across at racimgl speeds and I rushed up the opposite slope: as long as I had any breath left in me. Then I ventured to get off. The snake’s head was gone as far as the spectacles on the hood. pound-ed into a jelly by the hard road; on the right side of the wheel the snake tapered off into a. few fleshless vertebrae. . Two herdiboys in the fields aims to see what had happened, and with sticks helped me to remove the carcass from my Wheel. I think there can bee-no- thing more frightful than to have a cobra in the front wheel of one’s bicyâ€" cle. while one is pedalling for dear life. A STORY ABOUT NELSON â€"... flow Ills Career in mm Was Very Nearly Changed. ‘A pretty little romance gives Nel- sdni's memory a sentimental interest in- Canada. [During his service at Que- bec. in. 1782, when he was but twentyâ€" four years of age, he became infatuatâ€" ed with a lmautiful Canadian girl. Mary Simpson. daughter of a. great Canadian merchant of the period. At the time of Nelson's visit she was but sixteen: years old. marvellously beau- tiful 81ml witty. On October 14, 178:3, Lord Nelson's ship. the Albemarle, was ready to sail, and he had a very sad and tender parting with Mary Simp- son. and went down the St. Lawrence to board the man-of-war. The nest morning arrived and the Albemarle did not heave anchor, and Captain Nelson was seen. back to Quebec in a boat. A friend of Nelsons a man prominent in Quebec. at the time. espied him. and asked him what had happen- ed. Nellsotn is quoted as having said: "I find it absolutely impossible to leave this place without again waiting upon ‘her whose society has so much added to its charms. and laying myself and my fortune at her feet." Nel- son’s friend protested against such a rash apt, and told him that, “situated as you'are at. present, your utter ruin will inevitably follow.” "Then let u. follow," replied Nelson earnestly, "for I ' n'm resolved to do it." But despite his intentions, the stronger will of his friend prevailed. and he was fairly carried back to his ship. and forced to leave behind the girl he loved; and it. was many years before he gave up the 112.112. of possessing her. for Nclson never returned to Canada. and Mary Simp- son died in spinstcrhood. -.â€".â€"_..~â€"â€"â€"~ FRIENDLY ATTENTION. True friendship has a broadening in- fluence. and takes small account of things which might serve to weaken the charms of mere acquaintance. "Are you habitually lame, or is your limp caused by some temporary lrouble? inquired the lawyer in a case of assault and battery addressing a witness for the defendant. The man bore every in- dication on his face and person of. havr ing boom in some recent catastrophe which the lawyer hoped to prove was the particular affray then before the court. » “0h. 0i'll be all right in a day or two, said the witness, cheerfully. it was jist a friend of mine kicked me the other evening. and Oi'm. a. bit stiff in the j'ints that's all! â€"â€".â€"â€".â€" Or‘ HONEST PARENTS. My opponent shouted the orator, has seen fit to refer to the fact that my mother took in washing. She did; and what is more to the point, she al- ways sent. it all back! After that there was nothing to do but cast a majority vote for the man whose parent showed such evidence of perfect honesty and attention to duty. VOUNG FOLKS TURNING A NEW’ LEAF. "Now what is that noise?" said the glad New ‘i'car. "Now what is that. singular sound I hearll As if all the paper in all the world Were rattled and shaken and twisted and twirledl" “Oh, that," said the jolly old Earth. "is the noise 0! all my children. both girls and boys. Aâ€"turniug over their leaves so new. And all to do honor. New Year. to you.“ A \VHOOPING-COUCH PARTY. What a funny party. I hear you say! And who ever thought of having such a thing? This is how it. came about. Lydia. had the whoopingâ€"cough so of course she had to stay home from kindergarten. and as every child who goes to kindergarten knows. this is hardly to be borne. But when in ad- dition to staying away from school. you can't even play with the little girl on the next block, nor go near any baby for fear of giving "it" to her. why then it is too much. So you can imagine how pleased Lydia. was when she heard that Use and Corinne and Kathryn had whoopâ€" ing-cough too. Not that she was glad that they had whoopingocough. which, as you know. is not a comfortable thing to have. but if gthey had to have it. she was glad they all had it at the same time, be- cause .here was some one to play with. So the lady who lived near Lydia invited all the four children to tea. and this is how they came to have a whoopingâ€"cough party. - Lydia. who only lived upstairs in the same house, came first. so she was there to receive the other three, and as she had never seen them before. ,nor they her. there was great excite- ment. First. the three little girls had to take off their brown hats and coats and their white leggings and gloves. and all the warm wraps they had on to keep from catching cold. and all. that time Lydia never said a word. But when they went into the par- lor. I assure you they all chattered away like magpies. and. I never saw four little girls get on so well. They played all sorts of games; blind man's buff and oats-peas-beans and tag; and then they picked up potatoes in a. spoon, and if you think this is an easy thing to do, just you try it. that's all with large potatoes, and a small spoon. on a slippery wooden floor, . 'At last they were asked to walk out to .tea and there was the table all beautifully set. just as if it were for grown-Lin people, with pretty sil er and china and pink candle-sh:1dcs.and cakes and chocolate and ank and brown bread. The little girls all made a fine tea, and no one set at that table but just their four selves. and the grown peo- ple just stood up and waited upon t‘hem. . After tea they went back to the par- lor, and. the three little girls whuhad been in Germany. began to recite some pretty little verses about the stork and about a little pony and a fox. When 10 and behold! Lydia had never been in Germany. but she understood German and she even had a German book with some of these very verses in it, so she not only understood what the little girls recited, but she could say some of the verses herself. And then the very thing happened that Lydia had thought of; they all began to cough at once! Nothing funâ€" nier was ever heard than these four little girls. three in white dresses and the fourth in green plaid trimmed with red. all doubled over and red in the face with coughing! It. was so funny that they could not help laugh- ing themselVes. and of course that made them cough more. till they were quite helpless. ' However. that. was all over at last. and then they had a little nlore play before the carriage came. and then the three little girls who were the visitors bade goodâ€"bye to the one little girl who lived upâ€"stairs, and they parted in the best of good temper. and much pleased with each other. And. if they had not all had the whoopingâ€"cough at the same time this very funny party could never have taken place. A TRUE STORY. , Some years ago a little; \V'elsh boy, stole out of the poor-house of his na- tive village and ran across the coun- try. . He was a pauper, that is, he was fed, clothed, 'and educated by the dis. trict, the people being taxed to pay for it all. There is no disgrace in honest. pov- erty, but in that country to be brought up in a poor-house is almost as bad as being reared in a jail. The boy was ambitious, he hadasoul above his surroundings. He wanted to be something more than a farm hand. working like a slave for twenty-five cents a week and his board, and yet that was his destiny unless he ran away. He slept under a. hedge. and the next morning sawed some wood in pay- ment for his breakfast. Day after day he did the same kind of thing, earning each meal by the per- formance of some work. Each day he g farther away from the hated poor-h use, and nearer the coast. At last he reached n. seaport and tried to get a position. on board a vessel, sailing. he cared not where. But he was so thin. and pale. and look- ed so delicate. that no one would em- ploy him. Then he risked all. He or wled aboard a freight steamer boun for New Orleans. hid himself in a coal bunk and for three days laid there nearly dead with starvation. m nick- ness and dust He was discovered wand 41 aged or! deck. A whipping wi n.‘ and hard work for the remainder of the passage. were his punish- meats ..._--........_- m.-._.-._ rope and When the ship reached New 0r- leans he feared he might be sent to prison. so he sought safety in night. For weeks he picked up a. precari- ous living. and at last had enough mon- ey to enable him to buy a siocblaok'a outfit. Thirty years later. a great crowd assembled to welcome a man to England. a man who had become the friend of kings. a man every- one believed worthy of the highest hon~ or. A prince was the first to shake ‘zim by the hand and. bid him wel- COIDO. ' ’l‘l.is man had discovered and explor- ed lauds where white man had not trod before. He had added to a world's know- lodge and had achieved the greatest renown. The queen invited him to dine with bur. dignitaries of the church sounded his praises, and ladies of high dong sought his company. . - Success followed suCCess, and he be- came the husband of a beautiful lady. rich. honored and respected. He entered Parliament and was lis- tened to by the greatest: statesmen of the great empire of Great: Britain. And this man. with honors heaped upon him. was the samel who in his boyhood’s days had hccn the poor- house pauper. the stowuway, the shoe- black of New Orleans. and. now the honored friend of kings and princes. - He had discarded his own name. and taken that of the benefactor whose shoes he blacked in Now Or- ‘ leans. and who had taken a fancy to the lad. ' ‘ His name, as it appears on the. page of history, will inimortalize tlmtlmucâ€" factor, for Henry M. Stanley; the ex- plorer, owes everything to him. His strangely eventful life proves that nothing is impossible to those who are ready to seize. on Oppor- tunities, and dare to ascend. no mat- ter what obstacles may belch the hill of life. . GRAINS 015‘ GOLD. 'llhere is many a match laetwveu a refusal and a kiss. ‘ The time to say no is not beforc one IS asked to say yes. Love-matches very frequently turn out luciferâ€"matclm. No woman ever has been, or can be strictly a. misant.h‘.rope. ’l‘he most charming lovers often make the very worst husbands. it. is a. great pity that. it. is so much easier to win a woman than it is to live with her. Many men are naturally as averse from marriage as women are natur- ally adapted to it“ If everything is possible to God. any- thingâ€"if she intensely desn‘es itâ€"- seems certain to Woman. Many a woman who experts in mur- rlage the blessing of love. finds in- stead the curse of hate. A man who proposes more than once to a woman often asking favor of Fortune. smites her i .119. face. No worm. wh rout; for a. man wants him at her . or when be Is capable of rismg to her heart. Love may laugh. at. locksmith but. never at wedlockâ€"too serious. .under all circumstances to provoke a smile. No amount of love from one man can repress in a. woman's breast her in- tense des1re for admiration from men. Nearly every man meets his idcal some tune or other, but he is not al- ways able to secure an introduction. The quality that in a man is admir- ed as firmness. in woman is spoken of as continuity. and in children is punished as obstinacy. However, unfortunate a. woman's love affairs may have been. she newr despairs of meeting an idval lover, even though she live in a desert. The marriage service ought to to al- tered to read “Love. honor or obey." for sometimes 'tis easy to obey a man whom one could neither love nor hon- or. 1.1. is not sufficient that a wmnau is convinced her husband loves her dos s'otcdly unless he assures her of the fact at. least a dozcn times a day. She can hardly believe anything. however delightful. unless it be incessantly re- posited. W NI‘J\\' ITSE FOR. SA\\'I)IES'I'. It is said, that the present gcncra- b'um may wits-aw the extraordinary spectacle of dredgcs being cmployed to reclaim thr- enormous deposits of saw- dust at the lmttom of the Otuwa River. By a new prover-us, sawdust, slabs, bark and all refuse from new mills can be rapidly converlml into carbon. 'l'bis carbon. is powderel and mixed in equal quantity with limestone. and the mix- ture is subjertel for ion hours to an intense electrical current, strong enough" to convert iron into a boiling mass. andlead into an explosive gas, The result is calcium carbide. ('ulcium carbide is already familiar in on: public as the substance from which acetylene gas is made. The pun-ens of the man- ufacture of the mm. is bring an chum-- enod that even now. it. is will, a twen- Ly-five camileâ€"xumer :wetylc-m- light ("K'qu only 1â€"20. an imur. If the public can only be nuissurwl M [0 the safety of this gas for domestic use. llmrn should be a great future for it. and Ottawa. with its un‘imitwl wat'vrwrwcr and. supply of raw material, would pm.- aess unrivaled advantages for its mum. factum . » MAS LUIS Oi“ ROCKS. Did you say her father had iota d rocks? , Yes he owns and (qwratn two or three big statue quarries