“I grieve, dear Frank, to hear you speak in this way,” said Mrs Oliphant, very gravely and sadly; “you should go on your knees and humble yourself in the dust, not before poor sinners, such as I and my child are, but before Him who alone can pardon your sin. I think you are deceiving yourself. I fear so. It is not that Mary is void of pity. She does not take upon herself to condemn you—it is not her province; but that does not make her feel that she can look upon you as one who could really make her happy. Alas! it is one of the miserable things connected with the drink, that those who have become its slaves cannot be trusted. I may seem to speak harshly, but I must speak out. Your expressions of sorrow and penitence cannot secure your future moderation. You mean now what you say; but what guarantee have we that you will not again transgress?”
“My own pledged word,” replied Frank, proudly, “that henceforth I will be all that Mary would have me be.”
“Except a pledged total abstainer,” said Mrs Oliphant, quietly.
Frank remained silent for a few moments, then he said,—
“If I cannot control myself without a pledge, I shall never do so with one.”
“No, not by the pledge only, or chiefly. But it would be a help. It would be a check. It would be a something to appeal to, as being an open declaration of what you were resolved to keep to. But oh, I fear that you do not wish to put such a restraint upon yourself, as you must do, if you would really be what you would have us believe you mean to be. Were it otherwise, you would not hesitate—for Mary’s sake, for your own peace’s sake - to renounce at once, and for ever, and entirely, that drink which has already been to you, ay, and to us all, a source of so much misery. Dear Frank, I say it once for all, I never could allow my beloved child to cast in her lot for life with one of whom I have reason to fear that he is, or may become, the slave of that drink which has driven peace, and joy, and comfort out of thousands of English homes.”
“But why should you fear this of me?” persisted Frank. “Within the last three years I have fallen twice. I do not deny it. But surely two falls in that long space of time do not show a habit of excess. On each occasion I was overcome—taken off my guard. I have now learned, and thoroughly, I trust, the lesson to be watchful. I only ask for one more trial. I want to show Mary, I want to show you all, that I can still be strictly sober, strictly moderate, without total abstinence, without a pledge. And oh, do not let it be said that the mother and daughter of a minister of the gospel were less ready to pardon than their heavenly Master.”
“Oh, Frank,” cried Mrs Oliphant, “how grievously you mistake us! Pardon! Yes; what are we that we should withhold pity or pardon? But surely it is one thing to forgive, and quite another thing to entrust one’s happiness, or the happiness of one’s child, into hands which we dare not hope can steadily maintain it. I can say no more. Write to Mary, and she will answer you calmly and fully by letter, as she could not do were she to meet you now.”
Poor Frank! Why did he not renounce at once that enticing stimulant which had already worked him so much misery? Was it worth while letting so paltry an indulgence separate for ever between himself and one whom he so dearly loved? Why would he not pledge himself at once to total abstinence? There was a time when he would have done so—that time when he spoke on the subject to the rector, and made the attempt at his own home. But now a spell seemed to hold him back. He would not or could not see the necessity of relinquishing that which he had come to crave and love more than his daily food.
“I must use it,” he said to himself; “but there is no reason why I should abuse it.”