“It was your guardian angel, perhaps your mother’s, that saved you,” said Marmaduke.
“Oh! I forgot,” said Botfield. “Your brother is a Catholic; I suppose you are too?”
Marmaduke nodded assent; he felt that his Catholicity was not much to boast of. Like the poor outcast before him, he had lost his faith practically, though he adhered to it in name.
“Yes, it was an angel of some sort that rescued me,” said Botfield; “it was no doubt my own fault if the rescue was not complete. I went back to Mr. Kerwin, and asked him to give me, or get me, something to do. My chance on the stage was at an end, even if I could have turned to that: I was dead lame. He got me a situation as clerk in an office; but the weariness of the life and the pressure of remorse were more than I could bear. I took to drink. They forgave me once, twice; the third time I was dismissed. But of what use is it to go over that disgusting, pitiable story? Step by step I went down, lower and lower, sinking each time into fouler depths, drinking more loathsome draughts, wallowing in mire whose very existence such as you don’t dream of. I will spare you all those details. Enough that I came at last to what you see me. One day when hunger was gnawing me, and even the satanic consolation of the public-house was shut against me for want of a sixpence to pay for a glass of its diabolical elixir, I fell in with a man of the trade; he offered me work and bread. Hunger is not a dainty counsellor. I closed with the offer, and so sank into the last slough that humanity can take refuge in.…
“Now, Mr. Walpole, you have heard my history; it was a pain, and yet, somehow, a relief, to me to tell it. It has not been a very pleasant one for you to listen to; still, I don’t regret having inflicted it on you. You are very young; you are prosperous and happy, and, most likely, perfectly free from any of the temptations that have been the bane of my life; still, it never hurts a young man starting in life to hear an older man’s experience. If ever temptation should come near you, dash it from you with all your might; scorn and defy it from the first; hold no parley with it; to treat with perdition is to be lost.”
“You have done me a greater service than you know of,” said Marmaduke, rising and preparing to take leave of his singular entertainer. “Perhaps one day I may tell you.…” He took a turn in the narrow room, and then, coming back to Botfield, resumed in an agitated manner: “Why should I not own it at once? You have trusted me with all; I will tell you the truth.”
Botfield looked up in surprise, but said nothing.
“I stand on the very brink of the abyss against which you warn me. Like you, I am a barrister; like you, I hate my profession, and spend my time reading poetry and playing at private theatricals. They are my passion. A few nights ago I tried my luck at cards, and won. This tempted me; I played last night and lost—precisely the sum of twenty pounds.”
Botfield started and uttered a suppressed exclamation.
“I am in debt—not much—a mere trifle, if it lead to no worse! You see now what a service you may have done me; who knows? Perhaps my mother’s guardian angel prompted you to tell me your story as a warning, to save me before it was too late! I know that I came here to-day at the bidding of an angel; and reluctant enough I was to take the message!”