Mr. Ridley, with pale, anxious face, and eyes in which, were pictured the unutterable anguish of his soul, watched Dr. Hillhouse as he sat by his wife’s bedside with an eager interest and suspense that was painful to see.  He followed him when he left the room, and his hand closed on his arm with a spasm as the door shut behind them.

“How is she, doctor?” he asked, in a hoarse, panting whisper.

“She is very sick, Mr. Ridley,” replied Dr. Hillhouse.  “It would be wrong to deceive you.”

The pale, haggard face of Mr. Ridley grew whiter.

“Oh, doctor,” he gasped, “can nothing be done?”

“I think we had better call in another physician,” replied the doctor.  “In the multitude of counselors there is wisdom.  Have you any choice?”

But Mr. Ridley had none.

“Shall it be Dr. Ainsworth?  He has large experience in this class of diseases.”

“I leave it entirely with you, Dr. Hillhouse.  Get the best advice and help the city affords, and for God’s sake save my wife.”

The doctor went away, and Mr. Ridley, shaking with nervous tremors, dropped weak and helpless into a chair and bending forward until his head rested on his knees, sat crouching down, an image of suffering and despair.

CHAPTER IX.

“Ellis, my son.”

There was a little break and tremor in the voice.  The young man addressed was passing the door of his mother’s room, and paused on hearing his name.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping inside and looking curiously into his mother’s face, where he saw a more than usually serious expression.

“Sit down, Ellis; I want to say a word to you before going to Mrs. Birtwell’s.”

The lady had just completed her toilette, and was elegantly dressed for an evening party.  She was a handsome, stately-looking woman, with dark hair through which ran many veins of silver, large, thoughtful eyes and a mouth of peculiar sweetness.

The young man took a chair, and his mother seated herself in front of him.

“Ellis.”

The tremor still remained in her voice.

“Well, what is it?”

The young man assumed a careless air, but was not at ease.

“There is a good old adage, my son, the remembrance of which Has saved many a one in the hour of danger:  Forewarned, forearmed.”

“Oh, then you think we are going into danger to-night?” he answered, in a light tone.

“I am sorry to say that we are going where some will find themselves in great peril,” replied the mother, her manner growing more serious; “and it is because of this that I wish to say a word or two now.”

“Very well, mother; say on.”

He moved uneasily in his chair, and showed signs of impatience.

You must take it kindly, Ellis, and remember that it is your mother who is speaking, your best and truest friend in all the world.”