"The wine, I mean. While to you and me it may be only a pleasant and cheery friend, to one like Mr. Ridley it may be the deadliest of enemies."
"An enemy to most people, I fear," returned Mrs. Birtwell, "and the more dangerous because a hidden foe. In the end it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder."
Her closing sentence cut like a knife, and Mr. Elliott felt the sharp edge.
"He fell," resumed Mrs. Birtwell, "but the hurt was not with him alone. His wife died on the next day, and it has been said that the condition in which he came home from our house gave her a shock that killed her."
Mrs. Birtwell shivered.
"People say a great many things," returned Mr. Elliott, "and this, I doubt not is greatly exaggerated. Have you asked Doctor Hillhouse in regard to the facts in the case? He attended Mrs. Ridley, I think."
"No. I've been afraid to ask him."
"It might relieve your mind."
"Do you think I would feel any better if he said yea instead of nay? No, Mr. Elliott. I am afraid to question him."
"It's a sad affair," remarked the clergyman, gloomily, "and I don't see what is to be done about a it. When a man falls as low as Mr. Ridley has fallen, the case seems hopeless."