"No," he said, emphatically. "Understand what you are asking. My safeguard of an unbroken word is gone! The longing for that stuff—accursed though I know it—is awakened. Nothing but shame at giving way before these poor fellows that I have preached temperance to withholds me at this very moment."
"But it does withhold you! Oh, Harold! You know you can be strong. You know God gives strength, if you would only try."
"I know you say so."
"Because I know it. Oh, Harold! try my way. Do ask God to give you what you want to stand up against this."
"If I did, it would not undo the past."
"Something else can do that."
He did not answer, but reached his hat, saying something again about time, and the fly. I must make another effort. "Oh, Harold! give up this! Do not be so cruel to Dora and to me. Have you made us love you better than anybody, only to go away from us in this dreadful way, knowing it is to give yourself up to destruction? Do you want to break our hearts?"
"Me!" he said, in a dreamy way. "You don't really care for me?"
"I? Oh, Harry, when you have grown to be my brother, when you are all that I have in this world to lean on and help me, will you take yourself away?"
"It might be better for you," he said.