A slight tinge of color came into Ridley’s pale face.  He bit his lips and clenched his hands nervously.

From the office he went to the bar-room.  At the door he met a well-known lawyer with whom he had crossed swords many times in forensic battles oftener gaining victory than suffering defeat.  There was a look of pity in the eyes of this man when they rested upon him.  He suffered his hand to be taken by the poor wretch, and even spoke to him kindly.

“B——­,” said Ridley as he held up one of his hands and showed its nerveless condition, “you see where I am going?”

“I do, my poor fellow!” replied the man; “and if you don’t stop short, you will be at the end of your journey sooner than you anticipate.”

“I can’t stop; it’s too late.  For God’s sake get me a glass of brandy!  I haven’t tasted a drop since morning.”

His old friend and associate saw how it was—­saw that his over-stimulated nervous system was fast giving way, and that he was on the verge of mania.  Without replying the lawyer went back to the bar, at which he had just been drinking.  Calling for brandy, he poured a tumbler nearly half full, and after adding a little water gave it to Ridley, who drank the whole of it before withdrawing the glass from his lips.

“It was very kind of you,” said the wretched man as he began to feel along his shaking nerves the stimulating power of the draught he had taken.  “I was in a desperate bad way.”

“And you are not out of that way yet,” replied the other.  “Why don’t you stop this thing while a shadow of hope remains?”

“It’s easy enough to say stop”—­Ridley spoke in a tone of fretfulness—­“and of about as much use as to cry ‘Stop!’ to a man falling down a precipice or sweeping over a cataract.  I can’t stop.”

His old friend gazed at him pityingly, then, shrugging his shoulders, he bade him good-morning.  From the bar Ridley drifted to the reading-room, where he made a feint of looking over the newspapers.  What cared he for news?  All his interest in the world had become narrowed down to the ways and means of getting daily enough liquor to stupefy his senses and deaden his nerves.  He only wanted to rest now, and let the glass of brandy he had taken do its work on his exhausted system.  It was not long before he was asleep.  How long he remained in this state he did not know.  A waiter, rudely shaking him, brought him back to life’s dreary consciousness again and an order to leave the reading room sent him out upon the street to go he knew not whither.

Night had come, and Ethel, with a better meal ready for her father than she had been able to prepare for him in many weeks, sat anxiously awaiting his return.  Toward her he had always been kind and gentle.  No matter how much he might be under the influence of liquor, he had never spoken a harsh word to this patient, loving, much-enduring child.  For her sake he had often made feeble efforts at reform, but appetite had gained such mastery; over him that resolution was as flax in the flame.