The glow faded from Mrs. Birtwell’s face and the light went out of her eyes.  Her voice was husky and choking as she replied: 

“One fact does not invalidate another.  Because men who have acquired a taste for wine will have it whether we provide it for them or not, it is no reason why we should set it before the young whose appetites are yet unvitiated and lure them to excesses.  It does not make a free indulgence in wine and brandy any the more excusable because men overeat themselves.”

“But,” broke in Mr. Birtwell, with the manner of one who gave an unanswerable reason, “if we exclude wine that men may not hurt themselves by over-indulgence, why not exclude the oysters and terrapin?  If we set up for reformers and philanthropists, why not cover the whole ground?”

“Oysters and terrapin,” replied Mrs. Birtwell, in a voice out of which she could hardly keep the contempt she felt for her husband’s weak rejoinder, “don’t confuse the head, dethrone the reason, brutalize, debase and ruin men in soul and body as do wine and brandy.  The difference lies there, and all men see and feel it, make what excuses they will for self-indulgence and deference to custom.  The curse of drink is too widely felt.  There is scarcely a family in the land on which its blight does not lie.  The best, the noblest, the purest, the bravest, have fallen.  It is breaking hopes and hearts and fortunes every day.  The warning cross that marks the grave of some poor victim hurts your eyes at every turn of life.  We are left without excuse.”

Mrs. Birtwell rose as she finished speaking, and returned to her chamber.

CHAPTER IV.

“Mr. Voss,” said the waiter as he opened the door of the breakfast-room.

Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell left the table hurriedly and went to the parlor.  Their visitor was standing in the middle of the floor as they entered.

“Oh, Mr. Voss, have you heard anything of Archie?” exclaimed Mrs. Birtwell.

“Nothing yet,” he replied.

“Dreadful, dreadful!  What can it mean?”

“Don’t be alarmed about it,” said Mr. Birtwell, trying to speak in an assuring voice.  “He must have gone home with a friend.  It will be all right, I am confident.”

“I trust so,” replied Mr. Voss.  “But I cannot help feeling very anxious.  He has never been away all night before.  Something is wrong.  Do you know precisely at what time he left here?”

“I do not,” replied Mr. Birtwell.  “We had a large company, and I did not note particularly the coming or going of any one.”

“Doctor Angier thinks it was soon after twelve o’clock.  He saw him come out of the dressing-room and go down stairs about that time.”

“How is Frances?” asked Mrs. Birtwell.  “It must be a dreadful shock to her in her weak state.”

“Yes, it is dreadful, and I feel very anxious about her.  If anything has happened to Archie, it will kill her.”