out of the dreary wilderness in which he had been, straying seemed
to open before him, and he resolved to walk therein. Fatal delusion!

As soon as Mr. Ridley had supplied Mrs. General Locran with terrapin
and oysters and filled a plate for himself, he poured out two
glasses of wine and handed one of them to the lady, then, lifting
the other, he bowed a compliment and placed it to his lips. The lady
smiled on him graciously, sipping the wine and praising its flavor.

"Pure as nectar," was the mental response of Mr. Ridley as the
long-denied palate felt the first thrill of sweet satisfaction. He
had taken a single mouthful, but another hand seemed to grasp the
one that held the cup of wine and press it back to his lips, from
which it was not removed until empty.

The prescription of Mr. Elliott failed. Either the wine was not pure
or his theory was at fault. It was but little over an hour from the
fatal moment when Mr. Ridley put a glass of wine to his lips ere he
went out alone into the storm of a long-to-be-remembered night in a
state of almost helpless intoxication, and staggered off in the
blinding snow that soon covered his garments like a winding sheet.






CHAPTER VII.