"You are mamma's dear boy to remember her lunch time. Yes, bring it out, though it is quite early."
The wine was brought, and one glass, and then another, and yet another was drained; the little fellow meanwhile standing by. Catching sight of his wistful looks, the mother said: "Come, and have a sip, Bertie."
"Papa says I mustn't," faltered Bertie, but drawing a step nearer. Lost to all sense of duty to husband or child, Mrs. Stewart answered:
"Come, and drink, I tell you; didn't your father say you were not to have any at dinner, and this is lunch?"
She poured out a full glass, which the child drank without further demur. He was shortly asleep on the sofa, waking at dinner-time in fretful mood, and turning impatiently from his food.
"You mustn't have it, Bertie," said his eldest sister; "we all have to do without it now, thanks to papa's whimsical notions."
"Wait till you're a man, Bertie, and you can drink as much as you please, as I mean to," remarked his fourteen-year-old brother with a contracted brow, and a longing glance towards his mother's glass; while she, poor deluded woman, looked on, languidly smiling, with never a thought of the possible future of these children for whom she had suffered and toiled. Many a time, when scarcely conscious of her own actions, did she encourage them to partake with her in secret of that which was banished from the table. It was only by the awful but timely discovery of their mother's degradation that the children were prevented from following in her steps.
A few months later, upon entering the house at the close of the day, the father was met by his eldest daughter, a girl of seventeen, who, with dismay on her face, exclaimed: "Oh, papa, do come upstairs, and see what is the matter with poor mamma. She has been sleeping heavily for hours, and when I have tried to disturb her, she has spoken quite wildly, and then gone to sleep again. A dreadful thought has just occurred to me that perhaps she has taken poison." Mr. Stewart anxiously followed his daughter to the room where his wife was lying on the bed. He bent over her. Her unnatural appearance, and the strong smell of liquor which proceeded from her parted lips, told the tale; and the truth, horrible and ghastly, stood revealed to the husband.
"Papa, tell me the truth; is it poison?" asked his daughter, as Mr. Stewart staggered to a seat. He hesitated a moment, then hoarsely said: