nct of danger; and when the first
intimations of a decided purpose to make a breach between her and Ellis
came, she set her face like flint against them, not in any passionate
outbreak, but with a calm assertion of her undying love and her
readiness to accept the destiny that lay before her. To the declaration
of her mother that Ellis was doomed by inheritance to the life of a
drunkard, she replied:

"Then he will only the more need my love and care."

Persuasion, appeal, remonstrance, were useless. Then Mr. Birtwell
interposed with authority. Ellis was denied the house and Blanche
forbidden to see him.

This was the condition of affairs at the time Mrs. Birtwell became so
deeply interested in Mr. Ridley and his family. Blanche had risen, in a
measure, above the deep depression of spirits consequent on the
attitude of her parents toward her betrothed husband, and while showing
no change in her feelings toward him seemed content to wait for what
might come. Still, there was something in her manner that Mrs. Birtwell
did not understand, and that occasioned at times a feeling of doubt and
uneasiness.

"Where is Blanche?" asked Mr. Birtwell. It was the evening following
that on which Mr. Ridley bad been taken to the Home for inebriates. He
was sitting at the tea-table with his wife.

"She is in her room," replied Mrs. Birtwell.

"Are you sure?" inquired her husband.

Mrs. Birtwell noticed something in his voice that made her say quickly:

"Why do you ask?"

"For no particular reason, only she's not down to tea."

Mr. Birtwell's face had grown very serious.

"She'll be along in a few moments," returned Mrs. Birtwell.

But several minutes elapsed, and still she did not make her appearance.

"Go up and knock at Miss Blanche's door," said Mrs. Birtwell to the
waiter. "She may have fallen asleep."

The man left the room.

"I feel a little nervous," said Mr. Birtwell, setting down his cup, the
moment they were alone. "Has Blanche been out since dinner?"

"No."

"All right, then. It was only a fancy, as I knew it to be at the time.
But it gave me a start."

"What gave you a start?" asked Mrs. Birtwell.

"A face in a carriage. I saw it for an instant only."

"Whose face?"

"I thought for the moment it was that of Blanche."

Mrs. Birtwell grew very pale, leaned back in her chair and turned her
head listening for the waiter. Neither of them spoke until he returned.

"Miss Blanche is not there."

Both s