When he had finished, Stephen Welland surprised him, as well as his friend Sir Richard and the audience generally, by suddenly exclaiming, in a subdued but impressive voice, which drew general attention:
“Friends, I had no intention of saying a word when I came here, but, God forgive me, I have committed a sin, which seems to force me to speak and warn you against giving way to strong drink. I had—nay, I have—a dear friend who once put on the Blue Ribbon.”
Here he related the episode at the road-side tavern, and his friend’s terrible fall, and wound up with the warning:
“Fellow-men, fellow-sinners, beware of being laughed out of good resolves—beware of strong drink. I know not where my comrade is now. He may be dead, but I think not, for he has a mother and father who pray for him without ceasing. Still better, as you have just been told, he has an Advocate with God, who is able and willing to save him to the uttermost. Forgive me, Mr Seaward, for speaking without being asked. I could not help it.”
“No need to ask forgiveness of me, Mr Welland. You have spoken on the Lord’s side, and I have reason to thank you heartily.”
While this was being said, those who sat near the door observed that a young man rose softly, and slunk away like a criminal, with a face ashy pale and his head bowed down. On reaching the door, he rushed out like one who expected to be pursued. It was young Sam Twitter. Few of the inmates of the place observed him, none cared a straw for him, and the incident was, no doubt, quickly forgotten.
“We must hasten now, if we are to visit another lodging-house,” said Seaward, as they emerged into the comparatively fresh air of the street, “for it grows late, and riotous drunken characters are apt to be met with as they stagger home.”
“No; I have had enough for one night,” said Sir Richard. “I shall not be able to digest it all in a hurry. I’ll go home by the Metropolitan, if you will conduct me to the nearest station.”
“Come along, then. This way.”
They had not gone far, and were passing through a quiet side street, when they observed a poor woman sitting on a door-step. It was Mrs Frog, who had returned to sit on the old familiar spot, and watch the shadows on the blind, either from the mere force of habit, or because this would probably be the last occasion on which she could expect to enjoy that treat.