Not that he was ragged or filthy in attire or person. Though
all his garments were poor and threadbare, they were not soiled nor
in disorder. Either a natural instinct of personal cleanliness yet
remained or a loving hand had cared for him. But he was pitiable in
the signs of a wrecked and fallen manhood that were visible
everywhere about him. You saw it most in his face, once so full of
strength and intelligence, now so weak and dull and disfigured. The
mouth so mobile and strong only a few short months before was now
drooping and weak, its fine chiseling all obliterated or overlaid
with fever crusts. His eyes, once steady and clear as eagles', were
now bloodshotten and restless.
He stood looking fixedly at Mr. Elliott, and with a gleam in his
eyes that gave the latter a strange feeling of discomfort, if not
uneasiness.
"Mr. Ridley" said the clergyman, advancing to his visitor and
extending his hand. He spoke kindly, yet with a reserve that could
not be laid aside. "What can I do for you?"
A chair was offered, and Mr. Ridley sat down. He had come with a
purpose; that was plain from his manner.
"I am sorry to see you in this condition, Mr. Ridley," said the
clergyman, who felt it to be his duty to speak a word of reproof.
"In what condition, sir?" demanded the visitor, drawing himself up
with an air of offended dignity. "I don't understand you."
"You have been drinking," said Mr.
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