"It was only that I was wondering if she had some wine, whether it might not do her good," Margaret proceeded timidly. "She told me herself she thought it would, and if so—you know, father, you used to take wine yourself, and—"
"Did your mother send you to me on this mission?" he interrupted sternly.
"No. I came of my own accord."
"I am glad to hear that. But I cannot give my consent to your mother's taking wine, or stimulants of any kind; they would be harmful for her, the doctors agree upon that point. You have reminded me that I once drank wine myself, Margaret. I bitterly regret ever having done so."
"Why?" she asked wonderingly, impressed by the solemnity of his tone. Then her thoughts flew to Salome Petherick's father, and she cried, "But, father, you never drank too much!"
"I was never tempted to drink to excess, for I had no craving for stimulants. It is small credit to me that I was always a sober man; but people are differently constituted, and my example may have caused others to contract habits of intemperance. The Vicar here is a teetotaler from principle. He tells me that the force of example is stronger than any amount of preaching. Lately, I have had cause to consider this matter very seriously, and I am determined that never, with my permission, shall any intoxicating liquors be brought inside my doors. The servants understand this: I should instantly dismiss one who set my rule at defiance. As to your mother—" he paused a moment in hesitation, the expression of his countenance troubled, then continued—"she is weak, and still very far from well, but, in her heart of hearts, she knows I am right. Do not tell her you have broached this subject to me. Come, let us go and see if she is still asleep."
"You are not angry with me, father?" Margaret asked, as she followed him into the house.
"No, no! I am not, indeed!"
Mrs. Fowler awoke with a start as her husband and little daughter entered the drawing-room. Mr. Fowler immediately rang for tea, and when it was brought, Margaret poured it out. At first, Mrs. Fowler would not touch it, but finally, to please the others, drank a cupful, and felt refreshed. A few minutes later, Mr. Amyatt was shown into the room, and she brightened up and grew quite animated. Margaret and her father exchanged pleased glances, delighted at the interest the invalid was evincing in the conversation.
"I think I shall soon be well enough to go to church on Sundays," Mrs. Fowler informed the Vicar. "My husband tells me you have a very good choir."