"I will, I will!" returned Mrs. Birtwell with prompt assurance.
"Oh, thank you. It's so good of you. My poor girl! I may never see
you again."
The start and glance of fear he now threw across the room revealed
to Mr. Elliott the true condition of their visitor, and greatly
alarmed him. He had never been a witness of the horrors of delirium
tremens, and only knew of it by the frightful descriptions he had
sometimes read, but he could not mistake the symptoms of the coming
attack as now seen in Mr. Ridley, who, on getting from Mrs. Birtwell
a repeated and stronger promise to care for Ethel, rose from the
sofa and started for the door.
But neither Mr. Elliott nor Mrs. Birtwell could let him go away in
this condition. They felt too deeply their responsibility in the
case, and felt also that One who cares for all, even the lowliest
and most abandoned, had led him thither in his dire extremity.
Following him quickly, Mr. Elliott laid his hand firmly upon his
arm.
"Stop a moment, Mr. Ridley," he said, with such manifest interest
that the wretched man turned and looked at him half in surprise.
"Where are you going?" asked the clergyman.
"Where?" His voice fell to a deep whisper. There was a look of
terror in his eyes. "Where? God only knows. Maybe to hell."
A strong shiver went through his frame.
"The 'Home,' Mr. Elliott! We must get him into the' Home,'" said Mrs.
Birtwell, speaking close to the minister's ear.
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