at him, Mrs. Birtwell saw that his countenance was distorted
by terror. Instantly two men came in from the adjoining room and
quickly restrained him. After two or three fruitless efforts to break
away, he submitted to their control, and was immediately removed to
another part of the building.

With white lips and trembling limbs Mrs. Birtwell stood a frightened
spectator of the scene. It was over in a moment, but it left her sick
at heart.

"What will they do with him?" she asked, her voice husky and choking.

"All that his unhappy case requires," replied Mr. G----. "The man you
saw go first to his side can pity him, for he has himself more than
once passed through that awful conflict with the power of hell upon
which our poor friend has now entered. A year ago he came to this Home
in a worse condition than Mr. Ridley begging us for God's sake to take
him in. A few weeks saw him, to use sacred words, 'clothed and in his
right mind,' and since then he has never gone back a single step. Glad
and grateful for his own rescue, he now devotes his life to the work of
saving others. In his hands Mr. Ridley will receive the gentlest
treatment consistent with needed restraint. He is better here than he
could possibly be anywhere else; and when, as I trust in God the case
may be, he comes out of this dreadful ordeal, he will find himself
surrounded by friends and in the current of influences all leading him
to make a new effort to reform his life. Poor man! You did not get him
here a moment too soon."

CHAPTER XXIV.

MRS. BIRTWELL slept but little that night and in the brief periods of
slumber that came to her she was disturbed by unquiet dreams. The
expression of Mr. Ridley's face as the closing door shut it from her
sight on the previous evening haunted her like the face of an accusing
spectre.

Immediately after breakfast she dressed herself to go out, intending to
visit the Home for reforming inebriates and learn something of Mr.
Ridley. Just as she came down stairs a servant opened the street door,
and she saw the slender figure of Ethel.

"My poor child!" she said, with great kindness of manner, taking her by
the hand and drawing her in. "You are frightened about your father."

"Oh yes, ma'am," replied Ethel, with quivering lips. "He didn't come
home all night, and I'm so scared about him. I don't know what to do.
Maybe you'll think it wrong in me to trouble you about it, but I am in
such distress, and don