The group formed a striking tableau, and to any spectator who could have viewed it one of intense interest.  For a little while Mr. Ridley and the servant stood scowling at each other.  Then came a sudden change.  A start, a look of alarm, followed by a low cry of fear, and Mr. Ridley sprang toward the door, and was out of the room and hurrying down stairs before a movement could be made to intercept him, even if there had been on the part of the other two men any wish to do so.

Mr. Elliott stood listening to the sound of his departing feet until the heavy jar of the outer door resounded through the passages and all became still.  A motion of his hand caused the servant to retire, As he went out Mr. Elliott sank into a chair.  His face had become pale and distressed.  He was sick at heart and sorely troubled.  What did all this mean?  Had his unconsidered words brought forth fruit like this?  Was he indeed responsible for the fall of a weak brother and all the sad and sorrowful consequences which had followed?  He was overwhelmed, crushed down, agonized by the thought, It was the bitterest moment in all his life.

CHAPTER XXI.

Mr. Elliott still sat in a kind of helpless maze when his servant came in with the card of Mrs. Spencer Birtwell.  He read the name almost with a start.  Nothing, it seemed to him, could have been more inopportune, for now he remembered with painful distinctness that it was at the party given by Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell that Ridley had yielded to temptation and fallen, never, he feared, to rise again.

Mrs. Birtwell met him with a very serious aspect.

“I am in trouble,” was the first sentence that passed her lips as she took the clergyman’s hand and looked into his sober countenance.

“About what?” asked Mr. Elliott.

They sat down, regarding each other earnestly.

“Mr. Elliott,” said the lady, with solemn impressiveness, “it is an awful thing to feel that through your act a soul may be lost.”

Mrs. Birtwell saw the light go out of her minister’s face and a look of pain sweep over it.

“An awful thing indeed,” he returned, in a voice that betrayed the agitation from which he was still suffering.

“I want to talk with you about a matter that distresses me deeply,” said Mrs. Birtwell, wondering as she spoke at Mr. Elliott’s singular betrayal of feeling.

“If I can help you, I shall do so gladly,” replied the clergyman.  “What is the ground of your trouble?”

“You remember Mr. Ridley?”

Mrs. Birtwell saw the clergyman start and the spasm of pain sweep over his face once more.”

“Yes,” he replied, in a husky whisper.  But he rallied himself with an effort and asked, “What of him?” in a clear and steady voice.