"It is a mercy that she did not lose her life," observed Claudius; "but for the gallant conduct of Ned Franks, who risked his own to save it, the unhappy creature must have perished, a victim to that horrible vice of intemperance. Bad as it is in a man, it is doubly disgusting in a woman."
"It seems almost like a possession by a devil," said the vicar; "but we have the encouragement of knowing that our Master has power even to cast out devils. Does poor Nancy seem conscious of her sin before God? Does she show any sign of repentance?"
"I do not know what to think," replied the curate, undecidedly. "The woman listens in silence to what I have to say; she does not fire up as she would have done a short time since at anything like reproof; her black eyes have lost their fierceness, but I fear that rather sullen gloom than humble contrition has taken its place. I cannot tell what to make of her manner; it is so difficult to read the human heart."
"Difficult, indeed," said the vicar; and he added, but not aloud, "especially for those who have but lately mastered even its alphabet."
"I have suggested to her total abstinence," continued Claudius Leyton. "I have read and heard that where there is a passion for strong drink, the only chance of overcoming that passion is by never tasting a drop."
"You are right; there are cases where temperance is impracticable without total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors. The enemy is so determined to gain admission, that the door must be, as it were, bolted and barred against him, for, if the smallest opening were left, he would rush in with irresistible force. But how did Nancy take your suggestions?"
"In sullen silence, as usual," replied Mr. Leyton. "She stares fixedly at the wall before her, and I scarcely know whether she is listening or not to what I say. I fear that it shows a want of charity in myself," continued the young clergyman, "but I own that that woman inspires me with a feeling of repulsion."
"Hers is a case which needs much prayer and patience," observed the vicar.
"I certainly should never go to see her but from a sense of duty," said the young man, who had scarcely yet acquired the grace of patience, and to whom a violent-tempered woman, addicted to intoxication, was rather an object of disgust than of pity. "How different was my next visit to a sick-bed! How refreshing to the spirit it was to sit by that excellent man, Ben Stone, and see how calmly and cheerfully a Christian can bear sickness, and look forward to death!"
"Ah! so you have been with our poor friend, the carpenter? How did you find him?" asked the vicar, with interest.