that so, sir?"

"Six months ago you were a sober man, Mr. Ridley, and a useful and
eminent citizen. Why did you not remain so?"

Mr. Elliott almost held his breath for the answer. He had waived the
discussion into which his visitor was drifting, and put his question
almost desperately.

"Because your remedy failed." Mr. Ridley spoke in a repressed voice,
but with a deliberate utterance. There was a glitter in his eyes, out
of which looked an evil triumph.

"My remedy? What remedy?"

"The good wine remedy. I tried it at Mr. Birtwell's one night last
winter. But it didn't work. _And here I am!_"

Mr. Elliott made no reply. A blow from the arm of a strong man could
not have hurt or stunned him more.

"You needn't feel so dreadfully about it," said Mr. Ridley seeing the
effect produced on the clergy man. "It wasn't any fault of yours. The
prescription was all right, but, you see, the wine wasn't good. If it
had been pure, the kind you drink, all would have been well. I should
have gained strength instead of having the props knocked from under me."

But Mr. Elliott did not answer. The magnitude of the evil wrought
through his unguarded speech appalled him. He had learned, in his
profession, to estimate the value of a human soul, or rather to
consider it as of priceless value. And here was a human soul cast by
his hand into a river whose swift waters were hurrying it on to
destruction. The sudden anguish that he felt sent beads of sweat to his
forehead and drew his flexible lips into rigid lines.

"Now, don't be troubled about it," urged Mr. Ridley. "You were all
right. It was Mr. Birtwell's bad wine that did the mischief."

Then his manner changed, and his voice falling to a tone of
solicitation, he said:

"And now, Mr. Elliott, you know good wine--you don't have anything
else. I believe in your theory as much as I believe in my existence. It
stands to reason. I'm all broken up and run down. Not much left of me,
you see. Bad liquor is killing me, and I can't stop. If I do, I shall
die.' God help me!"

His voice shook now, and the muscles of his face quivered.

"Some good wine--some pure wine, Mr. Elliott!" he went on, his voice
rising and his manner becoming more excited. "It's all over with me
unless I can get pure wine. Save me, Mr. Elliott, save me, for God's
sake!"

The miserable man held out his hands imploringly. There was wild look
in his face. He was trembling from head to foot.

"One glass of pur