The man wept. "I tell you what it is, Mr. Ekworth," said he, "I have thought about it all, again and again. And I have made resolutions, I cannot tell how often; but it has been of no use. I am like those whom the apostle describes, 'Clouds without water; . . . trees whose fruit withereth, . . . twice dead, plucked up by the roots; raging waves of the sea, foaming up their own shame; wandering stars—' you know what follows, Mr. Ekworth." And the man rocked himself in his chair, and groaned deeply.
Once more did the pious visitor speak. "You cannot," he said, "surely you dare not give up everything as lost! Think of eternity—of the blackness of darkness for ever! and then flee to the strong for strength. You have made resolutions in your own strength—you have not sought the help of His Holy Spirit. You know you have not. I reminded you this morning, I tell you again, that there is One who can subdue your iniquities, and can cast all your sins into the depths of the sea. Go to Him."
"It is of no use," said Hallet, impatiently. "There is nothing you can say, sir, that I do not already know; but you do not know how hard my heart is. I know as well as you can tell me, that I have brought ruin on myself and my poor wife and family, and am killing myself by inches; and you know well how it began, Mr. Ekworth, for you warned me twenty years ago, when you first knew of my goings on at the Eight Bells; but it is of no use. I am just what I have made myself; and know where it is said, 'He which is filthy, let him be filthy still.'"
It seemed useless to urge with one who, while he knew what the consequences of his sins had been—what the eternal consequences would be, yet loved them too well to relinquish them; and at length Mr. Ekworth gave up the contest.
"I cannot say more to you, Hallet," he said, "but I must pray for you and with you."
And kneeling down, he poured out earnest supplications for the unhappy slave of sin, and then he rose to depart.
He did not take leave, however, till he had, unobserved by the infatuated sinner, placed a small sum in the hands of the poor wife as she accompanied him to the door.
Henry Ekworth seemed to breathe a freer air when he emerged into the dismal court below.
"I told you, Henry," said Mr. Ekworth to his son, as they walked on towards their lodgings, "that poor Hallet's history is another of the voices of the Eight Bells."
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