“I had hoped,” said Mr. Elliott, breaking at length this silence, “to find you by this time over upon our side.”

“The cold-water side, you mean?” There was perceptible annoyance in Mr. Birtwell’s tone.

“On the side of some reform in our social customs.  Why can’t you join with your excellent wife in taking the initiative?  You may count on me to endorse the movement and give it my countenance and support.”

“Thank you, Mr. Elliott, but I’m not your man,” returned Mr. Birtwell.  He spoke with decision.  “I have no desire to be counted in with reformers.”

“Think of the good you might do.”

“I am not a philanthropist.”

“Then think of the evil you might prevent.”

“The good or the evil resulting from my action, take which side I may, will be very small,” said Mr. Birtwell, with an indifference of manner that showed his desire to drop the subject.  But Mr. Elliott was only leading the way for some plainer talk, and did not mean to lose his opportunity.

“It is an error,” he said, “to make light of our personal influence or the consequences that may flow from what we do.  The hand of a child is not too weak to hold the match that fires a cannon.  When evil elements are aggregated, the force required to release them is often very small.  We may purpose no wrong to our neighbor in the indulgence of a freedom that leads him into fiery temptation; but if we know that our freedom must of necessity do this, can we escape responsibility if we do not deny ourselves?”

“It is easy to ask questions and to generalize,” returned Mr. Birtwell, not hiding the annoyance he felt.

“Shall I come down to particulars and deal in facts?” asked Mr. Elliott.

“If you care to do so.”

“I have some facts—­very sad and sorrowful ones.  You may or may not know them—­at least not all.  But you should know them, Mr. Birtwell.”

There was no escape now.

“You half frighten me, Mr. Elliott.  What are you driving at?”

“I need not refer,” said the clergyman, “to the cases of Archie Voss and Mr. Ridley.”

Mr. Birtwell raised his hands in deprecation.

“Happily,” continued Mr. Elliott, “Mr. Ridley has risen from his fall, and now stands firmer, I trust, than ever, and farther away from the reach of temptation, resting not in human but in divine strength.  Archie is in heaven, where before many days his mother will join him.”

“Why are you saying this?” demanded Mr. Birtwell.  “You are going too far.”  His face had grown a little pale.

“I say it as leading to something more,” replied the clergyman.  “If there had been no more bitter fruit than this, no more lives sacrificed, it would have been sad enough.  But—­”

“Sir, you are trifling,” exclaimed Mr. Birtwell, starting from his chair.  “I cannot admit your right to talk to me in this way.”

“Be calm, my dear sir,” answered Mr. Elliott, laying his hand upon his companion.  “I am not trifling with you.  As your warm personal friend as well as your spiritual counselor, I am here to-night to give a solemn admonition, and I can best do this through the communication of facts—­facts that stand on record for ever unchangeable whether you know them or not.  Better that you should know them.”