my knight, Sir Ellis."

And she almost dragged him down the room to where half a dozen girls
and young men were having a wordy contest about something. He was in
the midst of the group before he really understood who the young lady
was that had laid such violent hands upon him. He then recognized her
as the daughter of a well-known merchant. He had met her a few times in
company, and her bearing toward him had always before been marked by a
lady-like dignity and reserve. Now she was altogether another being,
loud, free and familiar almost to rudeness.

"You must have some wine, Sir Knight, to give you mettle for the
conflict," she said, running to the table and filling a glass, which
she handed to him with the air of a Hebe.

Whitford did not hesitate, but raised the glass to his lips and emptied
it at a single draught.

"Now for knight or dragon, my lady fair. I am yours to do or die," he
exclaimed, drawing up his handsome form with a mock dignity, at which a
loud cheer broke out from the group of girls and young men that was far
more befitting a tavern-saloon than a gentleman's dining-room.

Louder and noisier this little group became, Whitford, under a fresh
supply of wine, leading in the boisterous mirth. One after another,
attracted by the gayety and laughter, joined the group, until it
numbered fifteen or twenty half-intoxicated young men and women, who
lost themselves in a kind of wild saturnalia.

It was past twelve o'clock when Mrs. Whitford entered the dining-room,
where the noise and laughter were almost deafening. Her face was pale,
her lips closely compressed and her forehead contracted with pain. She
stood looking anxiously through the room until she saw her son leaning
against the wall, with a young lady standing in front of him holding a
glass in her hand which she was trying to induce him to take. One
glance at the face of Ellis told her too plainly his sad condition.

To go to him and endeavor to get him away Mrs. Whitford feared might
arouse his latent pride and make him stubborn to her wishes.

"You see that young man standing against the wall?" she said to one of
the waiters.

"Mr. Whitford do you mean?" asked the waiter.

"Yes," she replied. "Go to him quietly, and say that his mother is
going home and wants him. Speak low, if you please."

Mrs. Whitford stood with a throbbing heart as the waiter passed down
the room. The tempter was before her son offering the glass of wine,
which he