Danger; Or, Wounded in the House of a Friend Part 30

"Yes, sir. It's pure wine that the people want. My sentiments exactly.

If we had pure wine, we'd have no drunkenness. You know that as well as I do. I've heard you talk, Mr. Elliott, and you talk right--yes, right, sir."

"When did you hear me talk?" asked Mr. Elliott, who was beginning to feel worried.

"Oh, at a party last winter. I was there and heard you."

"What did I say?"

"Just these words, and they took right hold of me. You said that 'pure wine could hurt no one, unless indeed his appet.i.te were vitiated by the use of alcohol, and even then you believed that the moderate use of strictly pure wine would restore the normal taste and free a man from the tyranny of an enslaving vice.' That set me to thinking. It sounded just right. And then you were a clergyman, you see, and had studied out these things and so your opinion was worth something. There's no reason in your cold-water men; they don't believe in anything but their patent cut-off. In their eyes wine is an abomination, the mother of all evil, though the Bible doesn't say so, Mr. Elliott, does it?"

At this reference to the Bible in connection with wine, the clergyman's memory supplied a few pa.s.sages that were not at the moment pleasant to recall. Such as, "Wine is a mocker;" "Look not upon the wine when it is red;" "Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? ... They that tarry long at the wine;" "At last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder."

"The Bible speaks often of the misuse of wine," he answered, "and strongly condemns drunkenness."

"Of course it does, and gluttony as well. But against the moderate use of good wine not a word is said. Isn't that so, sir?"

"Six months ago you were a sober man, Mr. Ridley, and a useful and eminent citizen. Why did you not remain so?"

Mr. Elliott almost held his breath for the answer. He had waived the discussion into which his visitor was drifting, and put his question almost desperately.

"Because your remedy failed." Mr. Ridley spoke in a repressed voice, but with a deliberate utterance. There was a glitter in his eyes, out of which looked an evil triumph.

"My remedy? What remedy?"

"The good wine remedy. I tried it at Mr. Birtwell's one night last winter. But it didn't work. _And here I am!_"

Mr. Elliott made no reply. A blow from the arm of a strong man could not have hurt or stunned him more.

"You needn't feel so dreadfully about it," said Mr. Ridley seeing the effect produced on the clergy man. "It wasn't any fault of yours. The prescription was all right, but, you see, the wine wasn't good. If it had been pure, the kind you drink, all would have been well. I should have gained strength instead of having the props knocked from under me."

But Mr. Elliott did not answer. The magnitude of the evil wrought through his unguarded speech appalled him. He had learned, in his profession, to estimate the value of a human soul, or rather to consider it as of priceless value. And here was a human soul cast by his hand into a river whose swift waters were hurrying it on to destruction. The sudden anguish that he felt sent beads of sweat to his forehead and drew his flexible lips into rigid lines.

"Now, don't be troubled about it," urged Mr. Ridley. "You were all right. It was Mr. Birtwell's bad wine that did the mischief."

Then his manner changed, and his voice falling to a tone of solicitation, he said:

"And now, Mr. Elliott, you know good wine--you don't have anything else. I believe in your theory as much as I believe in my existence. It stands to reason. I'm all broken up and run down. Not much left of me, you see. Bad liquor is killing me, and I can't stop. If I do, I shall die.' G.o.d help me!"

His voice shook now, and the muscles of his face quivered.

"Some good wine--some pure wine, Mr. Elliott!" he went on, his voice rising and his manner becoming more excited. "It's all over with me unless I can get pure wine. Save me, Mr. Elliott, save me, for G.o.d's sake!"

The miserable man held out his hands imploringly. There was wild look in his face. He was trembling from head to foot.

"One gla.s.s of pure wine, Mr. Elliott--just one gla.s.s." Thus he kept on pleading for the stimulant his insatiable appet.i.te was craving. "I'm a drowning man. The floods are about me. I am sinking in dark waters. And you can save me if you will!"

Seeing denial still on the clergyman's face, Mr. Ridley's manner changed, becoming angry and violent.

"You will not?" he cried, starting from the chair in which he had been sitting and advancing toward Mr. Elliott.

"I cannot. I dare not. You have been drinking too much already,"

replied the clergyman, stepping back as Mr. Ridley came forward until he reached the bell-rope, which he jerked violently. The door of his study opened instantly. His servant, not, liking the visitor's appearance, had remained in the hall outside and came in the moment he heard the bell. On seeing him enter, Mr. Ridley turned from the clergyman and stood like one at bay. His eyes had a fiery gleam; there was anger on his brow and defiance in the hard lines of his mouth. He scowled at the servant threateningly. The latter, a strong and resolute man, only waited for an order to remove the visitor, which he would have done in a very summary way, but Mr. Elliott wanted no violence.

The group formed a striking tableau, and to any spectator who could have viewed it one of intense interest. For a little while Mr. Ridley and the servant stood scowling at each other. Then came a sudden change. A start, a look of alarm, followed by a low cry of fear, and Mr. Ridley sprang toward the door, and was out of the room and hurrying down stairs before a movement could be made to intercept him, even if there had been on the part of the other two men any wish to do so.

Mr. Elliott stood listening to the sound of his departing feet until the heavy jar of the outer door resounded through the pa.s.sages and all became still. A motion of his hand caused the servant to retire, As he went out Mr. Elliott sank into a chair. His face had become pale and distressed. He was sick at heart and sorely troubled. What did all this mean? Had his unconsidered words brought forth fruit like this? Was he indeed responsible for the fall of a weak brother and all the sad and sorrowful consequences which had followed? He was overwhelmed, crushed down, agonized by the thought, It was the bitterest moment in all his life.

CHAPTER XXI.

MR. ELLIOTT still sat in a kind of helpless maze when his servant came in with the card of Mrs. Spencer Birtwell. He read the name almost with a start. Nothing, it seemed to him, could have been more inopportune, for now he remembered with painful distinctness that it was at the party given by Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell that Ridley had yielded to temptation and fallen, never, he feared, to rise again.

Mrs. Birtwell met him with a very serious aspect.

"I am in trouble," was the first sentence that pa.s.sed her lips as she took the clergyman's hand and looked into his sober countenance.

"About what?" asked Mr. Elliott.

They sat down, regarding each other earnestly.

"Mr. Elliott," said the lady, with solemn impressiveness, "it is an awful thing to feel that through your act a soul may be lost."

Mrs. Birtwell saw the light go out of her minister's face and a look of pain sweep over it.

"An awful thing indeed," he returned, in a voice that betrayed the agitation from which he was still suffering.

"I want to talk with you about a matter that distresses me deeply,"

said Mrs. Birtwell, wondering as she spoke at Mr. Elliott's singular betrayal of feeling.

"If I can help you, I shall do so gladly," replied the clergyman. "What is the ground of your trouble?"

"You remember Mr. Ridley?"

Mrs. Birtwell saw the clergyman start and the spasm of pain sweep over his face once more.

"Yes," he replied, in a husky whisper. But he rallied himself with an effort and asked, "What of him?" in a clear and steady voice.

"Mr. Ridley had been intemperate before coming to the city, but after settling here he kept himself free from his old bad habits, and was fast regaining the high position he had lost. I met his wife a number of times. She was a very superior woman; and the more I saw of her, the more I was drawn to her. We sent them cards for our party last winter.

Mrs. Ridley was sick and could not come. Mr. Ridley came, and--and--"

Mrs. Birtwell lost her voice for a moment, then added: "You know what I would say. We put the cup to his lips, we tempted him with wine, and he fell."

Mrs. Birtwell covered her face with her hands. A few strong sobs shook her frame.

"He fell," she added as soon as she could recover herself, "and still lies, prostrate and helpless, in the grasp of a cruel enemy into whose power we betrayed him."