With slow steps and bowed head Mr. Ridley left the station-house and took his way homeward.  How could he meet his wife?  What of her?  How had she passed the night?  Vividly came up the parting scene as she lay with her babe, only a few days old, close against her bosom, her tender eyes, in which he saw shadows of fear, fixed lovingly upon his face.

He had promised to be home soon, and had said a fervent “God bless you!” as he left a kiss warm upon her lips.

And now!  He stood still, a groan breaking on the air.  Go home!  How could he look into the face of his wife again?  She had walked with him through the valley of humiliation in sorrow and suffering and shame for years, and now, after going up from this valley and bearing her to a pleasant land of hope and happiness, he had plunged down madly.  Then a sudden fear smote his heart.  She was in no condition to bear a shock such as his absence all night must have caused.  The consequences might be fatal.  He started forward at a rapid pace, hurrying along until he came in sight of his house.  A carriage stood at the door.  What could this mean?

Entering, he was halfway up stairs when, the nurse met him.

“Oh, Mr. Ridley,” she exclaimed, “why did you stay away all night?  Mrs. Ridley has been so ill, and I couldn’t get the doctor.  Oh, sir, I don’t know what will come of it.  She’s in a dreadful way—­out of her head.  I sent for Dr. Hillhouse last night, but he didn’t come.”

She spoke in a rapid manner, showing much alarm and agitation.

“Is Dr. Hillhouse here now?” asked Mr. Ridley, trying to repress his feelings.

“No, sir.  He sent Dr. Angier, but I don’t trust much in him.  Dr. Hillhouse ought to see her right away.  But you do look awful, sir!”

The nurse fixed her eyes upon him in a half-wondering stare.

Mr. Ridley broke from her, and passing up the stairs in two or three long strides, made his way to the bath-room, where in a few moments he changed as best he could his disordered appearance, and then hurried to his wife’s chamber.

A wild cry of joy broke from her lips as she saw him enter; but when he came near, she put up her hands and shrunk away from him, saying in a voice that fairly wailed, it was so full of disappointment: 

“I thought it was Ralph—­my dear, good Ralph!  Why don’t he come home?”

Her cheeks were red with fever and her eyes bright and shining.  She had started up in bed on hearing her husband’s step, but now shrunk down under the clothing and turned her face away.

“Blanche!  Blanche!” Mr. Ridley called the name of his wife tenderly as he stood leaning over her.

Moving her head slowly, like one in doubt, she looked at him in a curious, questioning way.  Then, closing her eyes, she turned her face from him again.

“Blanche!  Blanche!” For all the response that came, Mr. Ridley might as well have spoken to deaf ears.  Dr. Angier laid his hand on his arm and drew him away: