If the veil could be lifted, and the desolate and miserable home of the drunkard shown in all their hideous deformity, a picture would be presented which the most phlegmatic and unimpressionable would shudder to look upon.
It is a sad reflection that nothing can be done to purge the land of this terrible scourge.
Bristow had an amiable, forgiving, and patient wife. Her life, since she had been united to her drunken husband was one of sorrow and suffering.
She had for her companion, and to a certain extent this was a solace to her, Bessie Dalton, who on many occasions had sheltered her from the domestic storm which burst over her defenceless head.
The gentleman who had been the companion of these two women on the evening of the concert saw them to the door of their residence after the performance was over.
He took the liberty of calling the next day. He was introduced to Bristow, who, for a wonder, was perfectly sober, and when in this state he was a decent, well-behaved man enough.
He was very respectful in his manner, and thanked his visitor for the kindness and consideration he had displayed in protecting his wife from the rougher portion of the crowd gathered in the entrance hall.
The interview was but of brief duration; after an exchange of civilities the stranger took his departure.
And he called several times after this, and saw both Bessie Dalton and Mr. Bristow.
Ultimately, however, these visits culminated in a scene which we shall have to describe in a future chapter.