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" Happy" interrupted the Master of Clyffs wit a quiet scorn ; “how should a Clyfl‘nrd having a son. be happy ? I speak not of you, Buy; your light and weywsrd nature may be somewhat out of tune with mine. and may vex and anger others; but them is nothing in you to cause the current a father's biood to freeze." ’" Say not so, fatHer; iron are yet strong and hula; I trust them are many happy yourâ€"4’ “ They may be indeed," returned the old man, still gazing on the night. “The time in drawing near when I shall be but a memory to you. Raymond; than think upon me as tontlerly as you can." " Father, since I am to leave you," con- tinued the young man eerneetl , " I trust that you will listen to a few {est words, which may be the very last that will ever pmjetween us.’_’ me. who can wee when they please." Ralph Clyfl’ard nithiehrowe. "Hush!” said he; " that is Mildred playing the organ in the lgallery, ie it not? How grandly it ewe e forth into the eummer night; something divine eeeme gathering in m eon], yet not without ein." Be planet; his hand upon his eart, and sighed, then listened in eilenoe, with hie eyes turned to the unehnttered window and the guiding eky. _ wee . lad; that is not like a Clyffu-d.” " ho ha been me weep. save you ?" returned the young mm puaiomtely. “ But I burn a hem-t, which some have not,believe mg: who oan_wegp vghgg ghey pleasgi” " 510. Bay. noâ€"I have not forgotten them," answered the old mun hurriedly. atting the atripling‘e held with his are“ fiend. “ You matill very dear to me ; you ueindoed. DearRaylâ€"dearRa I Never weeg._lad ;_ that is not like a Cly 3rd.” '“Ay, how should you not ?" returned the young men bitterly. “ The babe you danced upon your knees so oftenâ€"your blsokhirdie? The child you took before you upon your pommel for‘msny a. breezy nde? The boy whose light-hearted lsugh. you said, was the only music you cored to listen to? How should you not. indeed? A_nd yet you have forgotten all these “Ra‘ivmond. you do me wrong; I love you, boy ; how should I not have love for my own_son ?‘_’ " Nothing but your love, father." returned the oung man reproachfully; "and now you ave it not to give it to me. I trust that she who has won it all awoy from me may not requite you ill for so much good-tortune."_ Ralph mistook his glance. “Is the mono not enough. good lad? Then let me euble it. Heaven knows. I hue gmdged thee nothing." Raymond looked at his father with a sad and pitying smile; he was not angry, though deeply grieved; he well knew that the old man was mentally contending, not with him, but with another not then pre- sent. , _. .V,-_-_o~ "Neand. I meant net that; a week hence, nay, a month, if you will have it so; there shall be no haste, no harshness. There are arrangements to be made. of course. friends to be written to, interest to be made. you have something to complain of. Your stepmother has. I fear, been somewhat imperious; while you, Bay, on the other hand, are not of a conciliatory disposition. There are troubles enough threatening this house without the continuance of this unnatural dissensionâ€"I cannot bear it. I have come to the conclusion that, for the present at least, it would be better that you should absent yourself; travel is an excellent thing for a young man of your age ; spend, therefore, the next few months or a year abroad. When you were quite a‘ lad, you used to be very ambitions of military honorsâ€"what say you toa com- mission in His Majesty‘s Foot Guards? Money, my dear Ray, you may be sure. will never be a subject upon which we shall disagree. At my death, you will at once succeed to your mother's little portion, and ; thrice as much again. I have not forgotten you in my will, Ray, and in the meantime ---I wish you to want for nothingâ€"here are notes to a considerable amountâ€"” “What! father; am I to leave Clyfle at once? Even a servant in not thus turned out-9_f~do<_>re_ without warning!" “ I do not deny. son Raymond," rejoined the old man. Pacing the little chamber to and gro with hug hands behiqd_ him, " that he could have be] it; but if somebody must needs be c cred the cold shoulder. it was not likely to be that person upon whom his own happiness and comfort prin~ oipally depended; it was not likely to he that person least of all. Expediency and convenience. as well as dotin fondness. all combined together to make ‘ wife’s will a law unto him. and to cause him to look coldly upon whomsoever she had cast out from her good graces. But. at the same time. he would never knowingly have com- mitted an injustice to please her; and it was very painful to him even to do what was harsh. Thus when he invited his sec- ond son to sup with him in his own turret chamber, with the object of telling him that he was not wanted at home, the Master of Clyfl’e did not look forward to a leasant evening. His conscience pricked im. and the milk of human kindness flowed forth from the wound toward poor Raymond. Throughout the interview, he was patient in listening to what the young man had to say for himself; and even when that defence look something of the form of accusation of Mrs. Clyfl'ard herself, he suffered him to say on. AVENGBD AT LAST. high. or even benevolent motives. but become their netum ere sensitive. delienta nnd selfishâ€"who are moral Epicureene. Although Relph Clyflerd ween ood men (no good men went in thoee days . he was one of theee. He had e kind heart. and yonld _h_e_ve woundeq Anobody'ejeelinge. 4i! CHAPTER XIV. run scum runoncu Till ext-most. There are some men. whom one cannot help envving. that will as readily execute a painful duty as confer a benefit of pleasure; who feel no embarrasment whatever at having to say a disagreeable thing. and whose facility for managing unpleasant matters with a high hand should commend iteell (and yet somehow fails to do so) to public admiration. There are others. ain, who shrink from giving pain to their to ow creatures. as iron: a surgical opera- tion on themselves. not necessarily r_orn A In" on Low and Dallas. By tho and»: of ““11” He Can Ber,” "Gwendouno'u Haven." wd other vopnlu novel; fl! ood mm s . he was heart. and feelings, if somebody I shoulder. Mrs. Olyfl'ard had not seen her husband fall l but there were some precious moments before her yet, she knew. Swiftly she entered the next chamber. which was her own. and seisin a large jewel case from the dressing ta le. em tied its glitterin contents into her poo etl from a smal locked drawer in the same table she took a leathern puree, filled tightly with bank- notes. “I did not dream when I an thie hoard," she muttered, “ that the ay whereon to use it was so near. or it would have been thrice as large.” Had the day really come? Was the game uite lost? Ehe aused upon the threshod of her cham r. and worried her own fair lipa‘ with her sharp teeth. Yea! utterly lost. The expression of her husband's face had been unmistakableâ€"faith shattered, love misplaced. unutterable pain and shame. had been all pictured there. He had been undeoeived with a vengenoe. That other form, too, she had seen was Raymond‘s-â€" her sworn enemy! it was to him doubtless. that she was indebted for this evil turn. She had been baffled, beaten by that hateful boy. That was the bitterest draught in all the cup. How came he wandering on the leads at midnight in this fashion? 80, doubtless. howover. it had happened. and seeing what he saw, he had brought his father to look likewise. Curse the cunning boy? And yet, was she not her- self to blame. running the risk she did. however small, of such unmitigated ruin ? Why had she not put up a blind? Why have used a light at all? Could Mildred have betrayed her"? Iler fair face black- Ra mond sprang towards him. and, as he d1 so, could not but see that which had so moved his father. In a small room. windowless save for the sky~light which {had betrayed her. stood Mrs. Clyflard, with her eyescast up in terror and dismay; they had met her husband’s downward gaze at the very moment when she. in the quaint black robe in which she was wont to play her guileful part, and with her black hair loose. and fallen to her waist, was practicing her role before the tire-glass. The shroud was in one had. and needle and thread in the other. whileher face wore a look of triumphant malice. which would have unmasked the foul fiend himselfH though clad in angelic garments. Onei instant. she stared upward as though spell- boupd, a’n‘d‘t’hen guenched the light. For an instant the Master of Clyfl‘e leaned heavily upon the shoulder of his son; then with a great efl’ort he strode for- ward rapidly. but firmly, and gazed down through the sky-light upon what was pass- ing in the room beneath. For a few moments there he stood, unmoving. with eyes that devoured the scene; then over his (see a shadow fell. as falls on him who at the grave’s mouth looks his very last upon the wife he loves; and uttering one great cry of anguish, he pressed his hand agsigst his broken heart, and fell back~ war . .. She is up. father; am is her light, butning as bught and purely as though it were an altar-cmdle in the chapel yonder. lShe is dressingfor her part to~night. Look! ook!" ' With hasty and uneven steps, his hair streaming in the autumn wind, his bronzed face pale with rage, and in expectation of he knew not what, the Master of Ulyfl'e followed close upon his younger son. The moon was small and hidden at times by the flying clouds: but there was light enough from it and from the stars to show the vast expanse of roofing. diverse in form as any frozen seaâ€"here level. there ridged; here rising four square. there shooting into pinnacles and gables. The various periods of the stately place were pictured ‘there to the antiquarian eye in the hori- zontal section; not a ray from within was to be seen save in one spot, to which they were rapidly drawing near; this shone‘ through a sequestered sky-light, set in the right angle, formed by the junction of two towers. Three hideous gargoyles leaned from their stone bases, as though to peep down at the scenes below, and grinned approval. '“ One moment, father." oried Raymond, laying his hand upon his arm, “ I have staked all on this, and must go through with it; but it is for your sake I have done it, as much. ay. more than for my own. You have a right to look there; but though she were Jezebel herself, I would not play 3y without her husband’s leave. That is rs. Clyfi'ard's private chamber, sir." “She is not up," returned the old men hosrsely; “ehe bade me ‘ good-night’ ere you joined me at the supger-teble." 1Lady of Cl fi‘e”â€"( “Achieved is the Glorious Wor " here broke forth jubilant and full. and stormed about their ears in wild eooleim)â€"“ that the heunter of our house is flesh and blood; nay, is the woman whom you have made your wife. to dupe and tool youâ€" Strike, fether,ii you will, but listen. Nay, then, do but use your eyeel" Raymond opened 3 little door in the Turret chamber. end flung it wide. " Follow me," cried he ; “ and cast me down upon the stones of yonder court-yard if I do not prove my words!” “ That must be light love, father. which is so lightly lost." returned the young man aorrowlully; “ and though I prize itâ€"being all that I may claim, it seemsâ€" at will I risk its forfeiture. I! I tell you ‘es I will give you leave to hate me; nay. it I do not grove that I speak truth, then you shall 1 ate me still." ‘ “ Prove what. Raymond ?" asked the old ‘man with kindling eyes. " Trustme, having said so much, though it grows near to mid- night, and I need my rest, you shall say Above his hoarse deep tones the organ. “ yearning like agod in pain," was heard tumultuous. “ I will prove then, father, that the sad story of our race. and of its curse. has been made the handle of deceit and fraud : that the vision which you have seen so often is no illusion indeed. but worse, the cruel {Kiel} of a guilegul woman 3, that the Fair young men resolutely. while the omen ed end thundered; “elthough it may some one'e inure-t to mnke his (other think no. Whnt I would any to youJether. has reference to this very mutter. end are words of waning. not 0! beta. upon mine honor." “Being thus requested. I cannot refute thee. Beymcnd; yet rememherthet it iethe lest dnught which leaves ite finvor on the point», end men who would he pulsed for their good wine, offer not their friends its leee at porting;- M heart in townrde you. Rcyrnond; it in eed. I prey you turn it not sway just as we Ire nhout to sew- “Np: in Rupor} 9i}hot."_ gmwerod the For the first time in her life. Grace Clyfl‘ard quailed and Ihuddered; the con. centreted passion with which the young muu'apoke was terrible to listen to. She was armed at all point: to meet hate and guile with their own weapons, tut not the physical fury which was revealed m the "' For my father's sake,” said the young man. answering through his .eet teeth her unspoken question. “I have spared you hitherto; not beceuee 1 love youâ€"you lair devillâ€"but that I would not the world should know how this great and noble heart was tooledâ€"wherein Rupert, woman 7" He had not. then, at present proclaimed it; the recioue time this tool had wasted were go] on moments to her indeed. An accusation thus delayed was already robbed of half its danger. Why had Raymond spared her ? A W ‘ _-â€"-_-â€" vvvv-uull n uuwnlv , ~ 7 â€"â€" I I say! Lay but a flu or on his sacred brow. which you have cl d to wrinkle and I will take you by the t. rout, and pro- claim Ayogr crime 1” “Touch him not!" hissed Raymond fiercely. “ Have you not heard that, when n murdered mm is touched b the vile hand that slow him, the bl will flow aireah from big drained wounds? Beware. " My poor, 1- Ralph I" exclaimed the widowâ€"for data): was already setting that blank. which is its signature to our release from all worldly oaree, u n the slowly etifl’ening faoeâ€"“ and am only here in time_to eloeethine eyeel’f _ " Murder 1" returned Raymond, under his breath. She did not hear him so much as to see the movement of his lips, but even without that his stern reproaohful eyes would have give_n_her the like unewer. ,, 7.,‘... “What hes happened to by own dear husband ?" murmured she, falling upon her knees beside hie pillow. “Murder!" returned Raymond, under LEA I,,, ‘I half-circle of curious domestics and the couch where the young men was still kneel- ing by. his father‘s eide. Had Raymond epo‘ken egeinet her yet, oghed her husband h‘sd voiSe to spoik ?' Hid-the servants withdrawn thus suddenly at her approach frnn'z'g‘othing on: from regpsot? v_â€" "â€"4 u uuuuu v a. “I, Illu" BIK- Mrs. Clyfi‘ard entered ver swiftly. with her dress only half fastene , and her hair disheveled. like one suddenly aroused in her preparations for retiring to bed. " What is the matter?” cried she. No one answered, but all made way for her; and it was strange to see how all became conscious at once of their relative positions. now that the mistress had arrived. Some even left the room, awak. sued to the consciousness of having no business there. and fearing sharp rebuke. ‘Qu_i.te_a great spaee was left between the CHAPTER XV. OVER THE BODY. In the same room where father and son had talked together of parting a few minutes back. Ralph Clyflard lay upon a little couch. with Raymond kneeling by his side. Another sort of parting than that of which they had spoken was taking place.and the stiflening fingers could not even return the lad’s mute pressure in token of farewell. The mighty chest of the Master of Clyfi‘e still rose and fell, but in uneven spasms. as though his gloomy soul was struggling to flit away. Around stood many a serving man and maid, summoned by that mysterious messenger. misfortune, that flies so swift and far, and to whom the night is as the day. Scarce one of them had ever before ventured to intrude upon his privacy, but now they watched him with reverence, but without fear, setting forth upon that journey which rich and poor must alike make. One groom had already 1 been dispatched for a doctor, another for a priest; but somehow it was known to all that their lord would never open his proud e as again. They had been kind eyes, for a 1 their prideâ€"the voice, now hushed for- ever, had been a gracious one to all his household. Some honest tears were fall- ing. There had never. at least, been so good a Clyfl'ard asthis last. " Where is my brother Rupert?” asked Raymond huskily. - ‘ "Itold him what had helpfened, sir."‘ returned a domestic respectf ; “ and he tl *ew on his dressing gown, and started himer as soon as I. He took the passage by my lady‘s room. meaning to call her by the wayâ€" But here is my lady,_s_ir.” _ _ "__ “Imfl, W I Hastily she put away her black garment in a safe and secret place, and attired her- self in the dress she had worn that evening; then stepping forth into the now vacant gallery, took the way that led to the cham- ber where her husband had supped, and whence the sound of many voices and the tramp of many feet could now be heard. this. vouched for but by a. dead man and a. boy. I will put by this masquerading gear. and play my own part of a. tender wife once more. If I have the smoothing of Ralph Clyfiord‘s pillow, another down shall never trouble his vexed soul again." Hastily she put away her black garment For a moment. Grace Clyfiard watched him with irresolute eyes. “ I forgot my strange attire," she murmured ; " the fool takes me for the fair lady ; he thinks I am the harbinger of death. How were it it I really be so ? ‘ My father is dying,’ said he. Perhaps his heart has killed him, as he always tho§ht it would. If so. all may yet be well y word is as good as Ray- mond‘s. Who will believe an idle tale like 3â€"" Running towards her in hot haste, calling thus, both speech and motion seemed to fail him all upon a sudden ; with mouth agape with te ror. and 9 es starting from their sockets, e stood nmb, then. shrinking from hetero her with fear and loathing. as from some terrible and un- cls_an thing. he turned and fled. ened et the thought. No. she dered not heve done it. Her trembling fingers. hed she been privy to the scheme. could never heve beeten out those orgen thundere. which even now were swelling through the house. She Wee still pleying, and there- fore her aunt could not meke her exit. u lehe had meant to do. through the greet ‘gellery. She opened another door, end went out thence. She did not wish to meet ‘ehumen being! S..e would leeve Olyfl’e end ell it held end begin life again else- where. She was fair as ever. end not poor. ee she hed been at firstâ€"but alas! here wee Rupert coming, end et speed, in the nerrow e;there could be no avoid- “00:1: im. k“Meke has?!" cried helâ€" "qui uic l" He ape e in: tient y, end mggd ecerce to knew to Iv?:hon1 he wee epeeking; or perhe he already knew ell. end addressed her t us imperiously. as one upon whom courtesy end ell feir deeling would be thrown away. “ Quick. I say; my tether is illâ€"is dying ;_bring evâ€"i ‘â€"" Dunâ€"h... L____.I.. I.___ 3., fessed, “ I cannot wed Rupert. lodged my faith to Raymond." would ave been to produce a catastrophe such as she dared not even picture to herself, since its consequences would certainly have extended to her lover. She feared, with reason for his very life; and so the r girl temporized, on y too well aware o the passion with which Rupert was consumed ; yet trusting that the flame would never gain such head but that her “ no " at last might quench it, or at all events procras tinate, as before, the evil day. The young man’s illness. while it weakened his hysi- cal strength, seemed to have heals his mental malady. There was nothing new to inspire her with apprehension in his look beside its love and: returning reason had been indeed vouchsafed him, surely, with his natural generosity to second it, he would withdrawâ€"when her dread hour of confession cameâ€"from his unwelcome suit. Something like this she framed to comfort hersel with; but it scarcely fulfilled its office. She could not always forget how insecure was the foundation of this hopeful faith; for not only might Rupert’s seeming calmness be untrust- . worthy, even as matters were, but a revela. tion was at present withheld from him. which was likely to try it sorely. He had notasyet been told of his father’s death. When given to understand that he was ill. he had received the information with quiet sorrow but without surprise. ”[ know it." said he calml , evidently with reference to the imme iato cause of his own ailment. all allusion to which was of gain, and as the precious drug which owers the dullest with delicious dreams. It pleased her well to be of service to him; she gave up rest. and exercise. and pleasure .beyond words to tell (for might not Ray- mond now have borne her com any all day ‘2), with cheerful readiness. he was glad at heart that she had such such oppor- tunities of proving her good will towards him; she tended him like his own sister ; and since she was not his sister, the Lady of Clyfie approved and smiled upon her. Such gentle ministering must, in her aunt‘s opinion. have, as her own had. some sel- fish end; and what end could this be save one alone ? She never called her "child ” now; it was "Mildred. love." or at least “ my pretty Mildred,” whenever she addressed her niece in Rupert’s hearing, as though she would have an ested to his mind the very words whic he himself should use. So helpless and enfeebled was poor Rup- ert at first that the young girl thought of nothing but his weakness. and how she might conduce to his recovery. But when the color came back to his cheeks, and some vigor to his limbs. and he could sit up and talk to her, Mildred almost regretted her past kindness. He was grateful to her, of course, but with his expressions of grati- tude was mingled something warmer, which ; she could not affect not to understand, and yet which in Mrs. Clyfiard’s presence she dared not utterly reject. Tho h her aunt felt satisfaction at present with or conduct, the girl well knew that only so much the greater would be her hate and fury when she came to learn the truth. Nor was Mil- dred. to blame for this dissimulaticn. It was not a matter with which “ moral cour- age"_had anything to_ do. To have con could reach the castle, Raymond would surely have been heirof Clyfie; while after- wards the sick man would have sunk had it not been for her niece. Long weeks elapsed before his head could leave the epil- low, where it lay calm and patient, while Mildred was in his chamber, and restless, with roving eyes, when she wan absent. Her voice revived his failing strength like wine; her hand upon his brow was as the magnetic charm‘whioh beckon} away_ all _A... -MS A, nion him. He has missed his turn; but w on my turn comes round. look to your- self, Raymond Clyfl'ardl No man shall make me pale as you have done, and live toboast of it. I would that Gideon were here, or Cater, or even the poor coward Clement. This Mildred is scarce safe ; she nerves me, but it is with grudging. If Rupert lives this bout. he must be married to her, mad or sane. If she denies himâ€" let her, too. look to herself. I have not gone so far to turn back now; and though I be alone, I am yet a match for all of them. CHAPTER XVI. \ TEE MTOB IED PROHIBE. Rupert Clyffard was very ill, and near to death; but for his step-mother's cun- ning_hand._whlch bled him are the leech “ In a fit or something," soliloqnized the Lady of Clyfl’e. as she hurried to Rupert's room. " Heaven forefend that I should have frightened the fool to death! My tenure of Clyfi‘e is valueleas indeed if it has to be shared by that dark boy yonder; yet egen in sgohp case, I will be revenged And as she moved away with anguished but teuless eyes, sud firm. swift tread, the bystanders murmured to one another, “ How wise and strong she is in all this trouble! How dutifully she leaves the beloved deed. for whom she can do no more, to tend the son who was so dear to him I" mond ?" sobbed Mrs. 013' “Ay, go you to my imther," returned the ygung l‘nan stergly. "Away. ewsy. fiend I" muttered her etep~ eon furiously; “your presence is pollution -â€"your work is done here. That poor abused fond esr can drink in lies no more. Amy, I soy 1" Mrs. Clyffnrd arose from her knees with as little haste as she dared to use. As she did so. a femsle servant touched her on the shoulder; “ Mr. Rupert is taken very ill. madam. Miss Mildred is with him, and has help. but she bid me tell you _es soon -_ _-_A:l.l_ I'II as possible. She was coming hither her- eelf,end oune upon him lying upon the floor in thepmage close by his own door, in slit or something." â€"-but she feued his powertul finger-e.r Onoe i lard. doubtless b 1 round her throat. they might not part with . room. and the sio r it again; it may be thst she judged him by I lelt alone together. 1 herself in that; but certainly dark Rey- 6 It was the first day mend had s look she well might fesr. Bhe' his bed. and that on bad ones seen Cyril st the Dene look at her soon, think you. aft: brother Gideon much like that. just ore be his son marry. Mild] hsd strove to tear him limb from limb. She was in the M1 She lied no leaded weapon, as Gideon had. of broth, and her trt to best such on ssesilsnt book. refused their nflime look. end growing oslm sud cold. wirth her (also lips. Raymond would surely rise and perhsps strangle her. She did not mind what things they might say against herâ€" hs_r chief peril in that respect was passed bones of her shop-son. She knew thus 9.11.09th in Mgr of am swig! some- thin whose shadow was on R3y mond Cly ad‘s hoeâ€"that it she dared to yiusult. th3t foreheadâ€"731mg)! logeing_ its pained “Do you hear cui‘é new misfortune. Ray “-An|1__\_l__j In", 4-“ u- ‘ m by lelt alone together. he addressed her thus. Ray- 6 It was the first day he was able to leave She' his bed. and that only for a sofa. “ How .1; her soon, think you. after a man has died, may 5? he his son magrythiildred‘P'f rightly comet idifidé; {Kai â€"l;e_o:dâ€"3f~553;nt litaruture. "Be not sosure of that, Rupert Clyfl'ard," broke in Mildred earnestly. “Beware lest there is no pleasant shore awaiting you, no isles of aradiseâ€"beware rather tha she is not dr ving on on the rocks. If she has represented w at poor tendsnce I have paid you in this sickness in any other light than sisterly affection and good-willâ€"if she has dared. whether by hint, or by out. spoken word. to plight m troth to yours, to Erory-wed me. then as she deceived hot me and youâ€"nay more. if she has ever told you that I love on, she has lied!" Her tone. which h been vehe. ment and almost fierce. here melted into pity. as she added, “Rupert, I love you not i" (To be continued.) “ She is not cruel to me, Mildred. but kind.” returned the yonn men; “ and strange it is that. though s e stends not in your favor, it is for your nuke only that she stands in mine. For herI have no more liking than the ssilor hath for the biting north wind, whose favoring gale is besrin him for the wished for haven. She Woulg wreck me if it suited her purpose, I doubt not; but since her interest and my hoppi- ness are fellow passengers:â€"" ,' uâ€"v would come betweenr Vfiiimcdd .756 you. She is the o-between of e , and not of love ;_her 0 cee are evil and not good. The tender mercies of the wicked, Rue, are cruel.” "ny,nu n; sue came between flay- mon_d_ and i_s pwn fafiher, and now she “ I knew it," interrupted the girl gravely ; " and sent on. too, to Ribble Cave to spy upon your rather." “ Mildred I” “ 4y, Rppert; she genre between Rey- His voice, so confident hitherto. though low and weak, here wavered and broke 03. His hand, which he would have carried to his forehead, failed by the way, and sank down, as it happened, upon here; then straightway, as though revtved, Animus- like. by that sweet contact. he spoke again. “ She bade me woo you, since I loved you soâ€"that surely was no evil counsel, Mildred? and when I found on cold, she bade me press In suitâ€"(1i she not do well? ’Twas she at sent youtome on that incrning to her private chamberâ€"” " Because. sweet, there is no longer any reason for keeping silence. I am the Mas- ter of Clyfl'e now, and there is none to say me ‘ nay,‘ when I say ‘ yea.’ Moreover, I have learned that my good father ave his consent in private to our union. so t 0 very dead will smile upon our nuptials; while your Aunt Graceâ€" Ney, then I will not mention her. since you dislike her, but she has been a trustworthy friend to me, Mildred. When the light of love was low within my oheerless heart, she tanned its embers with encouragement; not that she knew why they were so faint and pale; not that she guessed the secretâ€"ah, you have not forgotten it. I see. I hoped you had, Mildred. There is no need to remem- ber it any more. By you, fair saint. that demon has been examined} hope.” _ “ Why a ak of this, which we dieife not toApggak o , Rupert ‘2‘.’ “ Am I so young, dear girl ?" said he, with a tender smile. " I thank heaven for it. There will be then more time in which to show my love to you. How happy shall we be together, and how long! Youth is sweetâ€"ah! me, how sweet it isâ€"and after youth there is the prime; and then beyond the prime is that which I have read as best of allâ€"the calm content of tried and faith- ful love; two hearts bound up in one, with joys. regrets, and memories in common. My bud, my full-bloomed flowerâ€"my rose, whose faded leaves (it you can fade) shall be odorous and precious to the end, ah, how I love you i” ' Mildred's heart sank within her. If she had been his wedded wife already, the young man could scarcely have uttered these words with a more settled faith. “ Rupert,” said she. “ I thought that the last time we spoke ofâ€"the last time. that is, this subject was touched ugon by you, we agreed to wait awhile be are it was resumed. When I then said, ‘You are still very young, Rupert,’ I did not mean tooyoung by weeks or even months but jwae not. however. beoeuee he had not gobeerved them. One morning, Mrs. Clyf- Herd. doubtless b design. hnving left. the room. and the eioi glen e_n_d Milflred being I ‘IAIL nu “ I am thinking of one who would have loved his father well. if there had been room within his heart; but there was no room. There was space for nothing there but love for the ' 1 who was to be his wife â€"You tremble. gym-est. Pretty fluttering dove. How soon, how soon, sweet heart?” His languid eyes looked on her earnestly, but without a trace of doubt, as one who in an orchard watches for the ripe fruit to fall between his palms while another shakes the tree. “ Whatsweet revenge you have taken on yourself,for your pretence of , cruel hardness, in this long kind tendance; Ito be my nurse before you are my bride â€"that is rare indeed. I will not think that pain itself could shadow that fair brow, or shrink that dimpled cheek; but if ever it doth, my Mildred, Iwill waitu n you day and night. counting all toil as p ea- sure, all weariness as blissful rest; and while you have strength to smile, be over- paid indeed. Smile on me now, and seat you by my side; for as some eastern king delights in hearing his own greatness pro- claimed to his own ear, so yearn I, Mildred, to hear you say, ‘I love you,’ although none knows you do so well as I." His nerveless hand closed on one' glossy our], and carried it to his lips; while, lapped no less in the sweet assurance of reciprocated love than in the calm content that comes to the recovering frame long racked by sickness, he waited for her answer. She was in'the we of handing him a cup of broth, and her tremulous fingers almost refused their office, as she listened to his words. “ How soon, Mildred ?" said he again. “ That. is a question. Rupert. which I cannot answer. It depends upon the love they the son bore his father." oenree avoided. Be meant to say that he had seen the herald of oalarmtyln the Fair Lady of Clyfl’e. and was repared for domestic misfortune. Still. if was strange that he never asked alter hie latherâ€"lard long einoe by the side of the Clyflarde mad and sane, in the chapel vaultâ€"nor remarked upon the sable suite all around him. This Tho "bookajn 'ghe rpnnjng‘brookn AI_- _-.,,