Blanche.”

In all their fond looks forward to the day when their beautiful child should stand in bridal robes—­and what parents with lovely daughters springing up toward womanhood do not thus look forward and see such visions?—­no darkly, brooding fancy had conceived of anything like this.  The voice that fell upon their ears was not the song of a happy bride going joyously to the altar, but the cry of their pet lamb bound for the sacrifice.

“Oh, madness, madness!” exclaimed Mr. Birtwell, in anger and dismay.

“My poor unhappy child!  God pity her! “sobbed the white-lipped mother, tearless under the sudden shock of this great disaster that seemed as if it would beat out her life.

There was no help, no remedy.  The fatal step had been taken, and henceforth the destiny of their child was bound up with that of one whose inherited desire for drink had already debased his manhood.  For loving parents we can scarcely imagine a drearier outlook upon life than this.

The anger of Mr. Birtwell soon wasted its strength amid the shallows of his weaker character, but the pain and hopeless sorrow grew stronger and went deeper down into the heart of Mrs. Birtwell day by day.  Their action in the case was such as became wise and loving parents.  What was done was done, and angry scenes, coldness and repulsion could now only prove hurtful.  As soon as Blanche returned from a short bridal-tour the doors of her father’s house were thrown open for her and her husband to come in.  But the sensitive, high-spirited young man said, “No.”  He could not deceive himself in regard to the estimation in which he was held by Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell, and was not willing to encounter the humiliation of living under their roof and coming in daily but restrained contact with them.  So he took his bride to his mother’s house, and Mrs. Birtwell had no alternative but to submit, hard as the trial was, to this separation from her child.

This was the shadow of the great evil in which Mrs. Birtwell was sitting on the day Mr. Ridley found himself amid the new influences and new friends that were to give him another start in life and another chance to redeem himself.  She had passed a night of tears and agony, and though suffering deeply had gained a calm exterior.  Ethel, after leaving the Home, came with a heart full of new hope and joy to see Mrs. Birtwell and tell her about her father.

The first impulse of the unhappy mother, sitting in the shadows of her own great sorrow, was to send the girl away with a simple denial.

“Say that I cannot see her this morning,” she said coldly.  But before the servant could leave the room she repented of this denial.

“Stay!” she called.  Then, while the servant paused, she let her thoughts go from herself to, Ethel and her father.

“Tell the young lady to wait for a little while,” she said.  “I will ring for you in a few minutes.”  The servant went out, and Mrs. Birtwell turned to her secretary and wrote a few lines, saying that she was not feeling well and could not see Miss Ridley then, but would be glad to have her call in two or three days.  Placing this with a bank-bill in an envelope, she rang for the servant, who took the letter down stairs and gave it to Ethel.