"No, not wrong, my child, and I'm glad you've come. I ought to have
sent you word about him."
"My father! Oh, ma'am, do you know where he is?"
"Yes; he came here last night sick, and I took him in my carriage to
a Home for just such as he is, where he will be kindly taken care of
until he gets well."
Ethel's large brown eyes were fixed in a kind of thankful wonder on
the face of Mrs. Birtwell. She could not speak. She did not even try
to put thought or feeling into words. She only took the hand of Mrs.
Birtwell, and after touching it with her lips laid her wet cheek
against it and held it there tightly.
"Can I go and see him?" she asked, lifting her face after some
moments.
"It will not be best, I think," replied Mrs. Birtwell--"that is, not
now. He was very sick when we took him there, and may not be well
enough to be seen this morning."
"Very sick! Oh, ma'am!" The face of Ethel grew white and her lips
trembled.
"Not dangerously," said Mrs. Birtwell, "but yet quite ill. I am
going now to see him; and if you will come here in a couple of
hours, when I shall return home--"
"Oh. ma'am, let me go along with you," broke in Ethel. "I won't ask
to see him if it isn't thought best, but I'll know how he is without
waiting so long."
The fear that Mr. Ridley might die in his delirium had troubled Mrs.
Birtwell all night, and it still oppressed her. She would have much
preferred to go alone and learn first the good or ill of the case,
but Ethel begged so hard to be permitted to accompany her that she
could not persist in objection.
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