By a mutual and tacit consent the subject was here dropped, and soon after Mrs. Birtwell retired.  On gaining the street she stood with an air of indetermination for a little while, and then walked slowly away.  Once or twice before reaching the end of the block she paused and went back a few steps, turned and moved on again, but still in an undecided manner.  At the corner she stopped for several moments, then, as if her mind was made up, walked forward rapidly.  By the firm set of her mouth and the contraction of her brows it was evident that some strong purpose was taking shape in her thoughts.

As she was passing a handsome residence before which a carriage was standing a lady came out.  She had been making a call.  On seeing her Mrs. Birtwell stopped, and reaching out her hand, said: 

“Mrs. Sandford!  Oh, I’m glad to see you.  I was just going to your house.”

The lady took her hand, and grasping it warmly, responded: 

“And I’m right glad to see you, Mrs. Birtwell.  I’ve been thinking about you all day.  Step into the carriage.  I shall drive directly home.”

Mrs. Birtwell accepted the invitation.  As the carriage moved away she said: 

“I heard something to-day that troubles me.  I am told that Mr. Ridley, since the death of his wife, has become very intemperate, and that his family are destitute—­so much so, indeed, that his daughter has applied to you for the situation of day-governess in order to earn something for their support.”

“It is too true,” replied Mrs. Sandford.  “The poor child came to see me in answer to an advertisement.”

“Have you engaged her?”

“No.  She is too young and inexperienced for the place.  But something must be done for her.”

“What?  Have you thought out anything?  You may count on my sympathy and co-operation.”

“The first thing to be done,” replied Mrs. Sandford, “is to lift her out of her present wretched condition.  She must not be left where she is, burdened with the support of her drunken and debased father.  She is too weak for that—­too young and beautiful and innocent to be left amid the temptations and sorrows of a life such as she must lead if no one comes to her rescue.”

“But what will become of her father if you remove his child from him?” asked Mrs. Birtwell.

Her voice betrayed concern.  The carriage stopped at the residence of Mrs. Sandford, and the two ladies went in.

“What will become of her wretched father?”

Mrs. Birtwell repeated her question as they entered the parlors.

“He is beyond our reach,” was answered.  “When a man falls so low, the case is hopeless.  He is the slave of an appetite that never gives up its victims.  It is a sad and a sorrowful thing, I know, to abandon all efforts to save a human soul, to see it go drafting off into the rapids with the sound of the cataract in your ears, and it is still more sad and sorrowful to be obliged to hold back the loving ones who could only perish in their vain attempts at rescue.  So I view the case.  Ethel must not be permitted to sacrifice herself for her father.”