“Then he will only the more need my love and care.”

Persuasion, appeal, remonstrance, were useless.  Then Mr. Birtwell interposed with authority.  Ellis was denied the house and Blanche forbidden to see him.

This was the condition of affairs at the time Mrs. Birtwell became so deeply interested in Mr. Ridley and his family.  Blanche had risen, in a measure, above the deep depression of spirits consequent on the attitude of her parents toward her betrothed husband, and while showing no change in her feelings toward him seemed content to wait for what might come.  Still, there was something in her manner that Mrs. Birtwell did not understand, and that occasioned at times a feeling of doubt and uneasiness.

“Where is Blanche?” asked Mr. Birtwell.  It was the evening following that on which Mr. Ridley bad been taken to the Home for inebriates.  He was sitting at the tea-table with his wife.

“She is in her room,” replied Mrs. Birtwell.

“Are you sure?” inquired her husband.

Mrs. Birtwell noticed something in his voice that made her say quickly: 

“Why do you ask?”

“For no particular reason, only she’s not down to tea.”

Mr. Birtwell’s face had grown very serious.

“She’ll be along in a few moments,” returned Mrs. Birtwell.

But several minutes elapsed, and still she did not make her appearance.

“Go up and knock at Miss Blanche’s door,” said Mrs. Birtwell to the waiter.  “She may have fallen asleep.”

The man left the room.

“I feel a little nervous,” said Mr. Birtwell, setting down his cup, the moment they were alone.  Has Blanche been out since dinner?”

“No.”

“All right, then.  It was only a fancy, as I knew it to be at the time.  But it gave me a start.”

“What gave you a start?” asked Mrs. Birtwell.

“A face in a carriage.  I saw it for an instant only.”

“Whose face?”

“I thought for the moment it was that of Blanche.”

Mrs. Birtwell grew very pale, leaned back in her chair and turned her head listening for the waiter.  Neither of them spoke until he returned.

“Miss Blanche is not there.”

Both started from the table and left the room, the waiter looking after them in surprise.  They were not long in suspense.  A letter from Blanche, addressed to her mother, which was found lying on her bureau, told the sad story of her perilous life-venture, and overwhelmed her parents with sorrow and dismay.  It read: 

“My dear father and mother:  When you receive this, I shall be married to Ellis Whitford.  There is nothing that I can say to break for you the pain of this intelligence.  If there was, oh how gladly would I say it!  My destiny is on me, and I must walk in the way it leads.  It is not that I love you less that I go away from you, but because I feel the voice of duty which is calling to me to be the voice of God.  Another life and another destiny are bound up in mine, and there is no help for me.  God bless you and comfort you, and keep your hearts from turning against your loving