er was rising above all personal fear and dread. He
knew that at any moment the fiend of delirium might spring upon him,
and then this tender child would be left alone with him in his awful
conflict. The bare possibility of such a thing made him shudder, and
all his thought was now directed toward the means of saving her from
being a witness of the appalling scene.

The shock and anger produced by the mention of Mrs. Birtwell's name had
passed off, and his thought was going out toward her in a vague,
groping way, and in a sort of blind faith that through her help in his
great extremity might come. It was all folly, he knew. What could she
do for a poor wretch in his extremity? He tried to turn his thought
from her, but ever as he turned it away it swung back and rested
in-this blind faith.

Raising his eyes at last, his mind still in a maze of doubt, he saw
just before him an the table a small grinning head. It was only by a
strong effort that he could keep from crying out in fear and starting
back from the table. 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.