"I wish I could help you. But, indeed, I can not," said Wilkinson, looking serious. "I have been a good deal crowded of late, and shall have my hands full, and more than full for some time to come. I never knew money so tight as it is just now."
"Nor I neither. Well, I suppose we shall get through somehow. But I must own that things look dark."
"The darkest hour is just before the break of day," said Wilkinson, with an earnestness that expressed his faith in what he said. His faith was born of a resolution to separate himself from all dangerous companionship and habits, and a deeply felt conviction of the all-sustaining strength of his wife"s self-denying affection.
"Yes--yes--so the proverb says, and so the poet sings," returned Ellis, thoughtfully. "This seems to be my darkest hour. G.o.d grant it be only the precursor of day!"
"Amen!" The solemn response of Wilkinson was involuntary.
"And so you can"t help me?" said Ellis, recovering himself, and speaking in a more cheerful voice.
"Indeed I cannot."
"Well, help will come, I suppose. There is nothing like trying. So good morning. Time is too precious to waste just now."
Between the store of Wilkinson and that of Ellis was a refectory, where the latter often repaired for a lunch and something to drink about eleven or twelve o"clock. It was now twelve, and, as Ellis had taken only a light breakfast, and omitted his morning dram, he felt both hungry and dry. Almost as a matter of course, he was about entering this drinking-house, when, as he stepped on the threshold, his eyes rested on the form of Carlton, standing by the bar with a gla.s.s in his hand. Quickly he turned away, and kept on to his store, where he quenched his thirst with a copious draught of ice-water. Not a drop of liquor had pa.s.sed his lips when he went home at dinner-time. And he was as free from its influence when he joined his family at the close of day. Cara received him with the kindness and consideration that were so grateful to his feelings; and he spent the evening, safe from all dangers, at home.
CHAPTER XVII.
"WILL you have the money now, dear?" said Mrs. Wilkinson, as she arose, with her husband, from the dinner-table, on the day she announced to him the fact that she had saved a few hundred dollars, out of the amount given her for the expenses of the family.
"No, not to-day," replied Wilkinson. "In fact, Mary," he added, "I don"t feel just right about taking your money; and I think I must manage to get along without it."
"John!" Mrs. Wilkinson seemed hurt by her husband"s words.
"It is yours, Mary," was replied with much tenderness of manner. "You have saved it for some particular purpose, and I shall not feel happy to let it go back again and become absorbed in my business."
"Have we divided interests, John?" said Mrs. Wilkinson, in a low, serious voice, as she clung to her husband"s arm, and looked steadily into his face.
"I hope not, Mary."
"Am I not your wife?"
"Yes, yes; and one of the best of wives."
"And do I not love you?"
"Never for a single moment has a doubt of your love been whispered in my heart."
"Such a whisper would have wronged me. Yes, my husband, I do love you, and as my very life."
Wilkinson bent down and pressed his lips to hers.
"Love ever seeks to bless its object," continued Mary, "and finds, in doing so, its purest delight. Do you think I could use the money I have, in any way that would bring me so much pleasure as by placing it in your hands? Surely your heart says no."
"I will take it, dear," said Wilkinson, after a slight pause. His voice was unsteady as he spoke; "and you will have your reward," he added, in tones filled with a prophecy for the future.
"Never--never--never shall act of mine bring a shadow to that dear face!" was the mental e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of Wilkinson, as, with an impulse of affection he could not restrain, he threw his arms around his wife and hugged her to his bosom.
"Bless you! Bless you, Mary!" came, almost sobbing, from his overflowing heart.
On his way to his store, that afternoon, Wilkinson felt the old desire to stop and get his usual gla.s.s of brandy, and he was actually about to enter a drinking-house, when the image of his wife came so distinctly before his mind, that it seemed almost like a personal presence. He saw a shadow upon her face, and the dimness of tears was in her tender blue eyes.
"No!" said he resolutely, and with an audible expression, and quickly pa.s.sed on.
How his bosom rose and fell, with a panting motion, as if from some strong physical effort.
"What an escape! It was the very path of danger!" such were his thoughts. "To venture into that path again were the folly of a madman.
No, Mary, no! Your love shall draw me back with its strong attraction.
A new light seems breaking all around me. I see as I never saw before.
There is the broad way to destruction, and here winds the narrow but pleasant path of safety. Ruined hopes, broken hearts, and sad wrecks of humanity are scattered thickly along the first, but heavenly confidence, joyful hearts, and man, with the light of celestial truth upon his upturned face, is to be found in the other. Shall I hesitate in which to walk? No!"
With a quicker and more elastic step Wilkinson pursued his way, and reached his store just as a customer from the country, who had been waiting for him, was leaving.
"Just in time," said the latter. "I"ve been waiting for you over half an hour."
"I dined later to-day than usual," returned Wilkinson.
"I wanted to settle my bill, but there were two or three items which your clerk could not explain. So I concluded to let the matter stand over until I was in the city again, which will be in the course of a few weeks. However, as you are here, we will arrange it now."
So the two men walked back to the desk upon which lay Wilkinson"s account books. The customer"s bill was referred to, and one or two slight discrepancies reconciled. The amount of it was nearly two hundred dollars.
"You will take off five per cent. for cash, I presume?"
"Certainly," replied Wilkinson.
The money was paid down.
"So much for not stopping on the way to business for a gla.s.s of brandy."
This thought was spontaneous in the mind of Wilkinson. After his customer had left, he fell into a musing state, in which many thoughts were presented, that, from the pain and self-condemnation they occasioned, he tried to push from his mind. But he was not able to do this. Much of the history of his daily life for the past few years presented itself, and, in reviewing it, many things stood out in bold relief, which were before regarded as of little moment. Not until now did he clearly see the dangerous position in which he stood.
"So near the brink of ruin!" he sighed. "I knew the path to be a dangerous one; I knew that other feet had slipped; but felt secure in my own strength. Ah! that strength was weakness itself. I a drunkard!"
He shuddered as the thought presented itself. "And Mary, the hopeless, brokenhearted wife of one lost to every enn.o.bling sentiment of the human mind! It is awful to think of it!"
Wilkinson was deeply disturbed. For some time longer his mind dwelt on this theme: then, in the depths of his own thoughts, and in the presence of Heaven, he resolved to be in safety, by avoiding the path of danger; to put forever from his lips the cup from which he had so often drank confusion.
Suddenly he appeared to be lifted above the level he had occupied, into a region whose atmosphere was purer, and to a position from which he saw things in new relations. It was only then that he fully comprehended the real danger from which he had escaped.
"And my wife has saved me!" was the involuntary acknowledgment of his heart.
The rest of the afternoon was spent by Wilkinson in a careful investigation of his affairs. He ascertained the entire amount he would have to pay in the coming six months, and also his probable resources during the time. The result was very discouraging. But for the sum lost to Carlton he would have seen all clear; but the abstraction of so much lessened his available means, and would so clog the wheels of his business as to make all progress exceedingly difficult.
There was a shadow on the brow of Wilkinson when he met his wife that evening, and she saw it the moment he came in, notwithstanding his effort to seem cheerful. This shadow fell upon her heart, but she did not permit its reproduction on her countenance.