Night had come, and Ethel, with a better meal ready for her father
than she had been able to prepare for him in many weeks, sat
anxiously awaiting his return. Toward her he had always been kind
and gentle. No matter how much he might be under the influence of
liquor, he had never spoken a harsh word to this patient, loving,
much-enduring child. For her sake he had often made feeble efforts
at reform, but appetite had gained such mastery; over him that
resolution was as flax in the flame.
It was late in the evening when Mr. Ridley returned home. Ethel's
quick ears detected something unusual in his steps as he came along
the entry. Instead of the stumbling or shuffling noise with which he
generally made his way up stairs, she noticed that his footfalls
were more distinct and rapid. With partially suspended breath she
sat with her eyes upon the door until it was pushed open. The moment
she looked into her father's face she saw a change. Something had
happened to him. The heavy, besotted look was gone, the dull eyes
were lighted up. He shut the door behind him quickly and with the
manner of one who had been pursued and now felt himself in a place
of safety.
"What's the matter, father dear?" asked Ethel as she started up and
laying her hand upon his shoulder looked into his face searchingly.
"Nothing, nothing," he replied. But the nervousness of his manner
and the restless glancing of his eyes, now here and now there, and
the look of fear in them, contradicted his denial.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256