But neither Mr. Elliott nor Mrs. Birtwell could let him go away in this condition. They felt too deeply their responsibility in the case, and felt also that One who cares for all, even the lowliest and most abandoned, had led him thither in his dire extremity.
Following him quickly, Mr. Elliott laid his hand firmly upon his arm.
"Stop a moment, Mr. Ridley," he said, with such manifest interest that the wretched man turned and looked at him half in surprise.
"Where are you going?" asked the clergyman.
"Where?" His voice fell to a deep whisper. There was a look of terror in his eyes. "Where? God only knows. Maybe to hell."
A strong shiver went through his frame.
"The 'Home,' Mr. Elliott! We must get him into the' Home,'" said Mrs. Birtwell, speaking close to the minister's ear.
"What home?" asked Mr. Ridley, turning quickly upon her.
She did not answer him. She feared to say a "Home for inebriates," lest he should break from them in anger.
"What home?" he repeated, in a stronger and more agitated voice; and now both Mr. Elliott and Mrs. Birtwell saw a wild eagerness in his manner.