A steadier look obliterated the head
and left a teacup in its place.
No time was now to be lost. At any moment the enemy might be upon
him. He must go quickly, but where? A brief struggle against an
almost unconquerable reluctance and dread, and then, rising from the
table, Mr. Ridley caught up his hat and ran down stairs, Ethel
calling after him. He did not heed her anxious cries. It was for her
sake that he was going. She heard the street door shut with a jar,
and listened to her father's departing feet until the sound died out
in the distance.
It was over an hour from this time when Mr. Ridley, forcing his way
past the servant who had tried to keep him back, stood confronting
Mr. Elliott. A look of disappointment, followed by an angry cloud,
came into his face. But seeing Mrs. Birtwell, his countenance
brightened; and stepping past the clergyman, he advanced toward her.
She did not retreat from him, but held out her hand, and said, with
an earnestness so genuine that it touched his feeling:
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Ridley."
As he took her extended hand Mrs. Birtwell drew him toward a sofa
and sat down near him, manifesting the liveliest interest.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," he replied, in a mournful voice--"not for me. I didn't
come for that. But you'll be good to my poor Ethel, won't you,
and--and--"
His voice broke into sobs, his weak frame quivered.
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