The servant came back with information that the visitor’s name was Ridley.  At mention of this name the expression on Mr. Elliott’s countenance changed: 

“Did you say he was in liquor?”

“Yes, sir.  Shall I tell him that you cannot see him, sir?”

“No.  Is he very much the worse for drink?”

“He’s pretty bad, I should say, sir.”

Mr. Elliott reflected for a little while, and then said: 

“I will see him.”

The servant retired.  In a few minutes he came back, and opening the door, let the visitor pass in.  He stood for a few moments, with his hand on the door, as if unwilling to leave Mr. Elliott alone with the miserable-looking creature he had brought to the study.  Observing him hesitate, Mr. Elliott said: 

“That will do, Richard.”

The servant shut the door, and he was alone with Mr. Ridley.  Of the man’s sad story he was not altogether ignorant.  His fall from the high position to which he had risen in two years and utter abandonment of himself to drink were matters of too much notoriety to have escaped his knowledge.  But that he was in the slightest degree responsible for this wreck of a human soul was so far from his imagination as that of his responsibility for the last notorious murder or bank-robbery.

The man who now stood before him was a pitiable-looking object indeed.  Not that he was ragged or filthy in attire or person.  Though all his garments were poor and threadbare, they were not soiled nor in disorder.  Either a natural instinct of personal cleanliness yet remained or a loving hand had cared for him.  But he was pitiable in the signs of a wrecked and fallen manhood that were visible everywhere about him.  You saw it most in his face, once so full of strength and intelligence, now so weak and dull and disfigured.  The mouth so mobile and strong only a few short months before was now drooping and weak, its fine chiseling all obliterated or overlaid with fever crusts.  His eyes, once steady and clear as eagles’, were now bloodshotten and restless.

He stood looking fixedly at Mr. Elliott, and with a gleam in his eyes that gave the latter a strange feeling of discomfort, if not uneasiness.

“Mr. Ridley” said the clergyman, advancing to his visitor and extending his hand.  He spoke kindly, yet with a reserve that could not be laid aside.  “What can I do for you?”

A chair was offered, and Mr. Ridley sat down.  He had come with a purpose; that was plain from his manner.

“I am sorry to see you in this condition, Mr. Ridley,” said the clergyman, who felt it to be his duty to speak a word of reproof.

“In what condition, sir?” demanded the visitor, drawing himself up with an air of offended dignity.  “I don’t understand you.”

“You have been drinking,” said Mr. Elliott, in a tone of severity.

“No, sir.  I deny it, sir!” and the eyes of Mr. Ridley flashed.  “Before Heaven, sir, not a drop has passed my lips to-day!”