Chapter III

Before ten o’clock, the two ladies had settled the question of Charles’s defection, and passed naturally enough into mousse de laines, laces, and the newest fashions. Mrs. Winslow did not like to say that he was a monster in the hearing of his wife; but she fully believed it; and Mrs. Prescott, moved by the arguments of her friend, concluded that she was used much more hardly than she had ever suspected.

Punctual to his appointed hour, Charles came home. Mrs. Winslow playfully upbraided him for his want of constancy in leaving his wife to spend the evening alone; but the husband made a “moral question” of it, and proceeded to discuss the topic at length.

An hour was used up in the unprofitable argument, and the clock struck eleven.

Mrs. Winslow yawned, and wondered why Frank did not come—began to think the books must have gotten into a snarl to keep him so late.

It was half past eleven before he came.

“How are ye, old boy?” said he, grasping the hand of Prescott. “How are the Sons to-night?”

“As usual—thriving.”

“What makes you so late, Frank?” asked Mrs. Winslow. “You promised to come at ten o’clock.”

“The books got a little twisted. But sit down, Suke; I want to talk with Charley;” and Frank threw himself into a rocking chair before the fire.

“No, no, Frank; it is almost twelve o’clock.”

“Never mind; sit down. They say there is more liquor drank since the Maine law was made than ever before,” said Frank, turning to Charles Prescott.

“And there is more cheating, killing, and stealing since the ten commandments were made than ever before. What does that prove?”

“Bah!”

“You refer to the golden calf?”

“Seriously, Charley, in my opinion, the fanatics, who made that law ought to be held responsible for half the drunkenness in the community.”

“And Paul, Peter, and John for half the sins the gospel was intended to prevent.”

“You talk like one of the fanatics,” said Frank, his cheek reddening with anger.

“I merely change the application of the principles which your remarks cover.”

“You distort them. A fanatic can’t argue the question fairly. Come, Suke, let’s go home.”

Frank Winslow rose from his chair, but instantly sank back again.

“What is the matter, Frank?” asked his wife.

“Nothing; don’t you see?” and he attempted to rise again, but without success.

“What ails you? How strange you act!”

“Your Sons and your Maine laws are a humbug, Charley; there’s no rubbing that out. Tell me about your—hic—Maine law!”

“O Heavens!” groaned the poor wife.

“What the deuse’s the—hic—matter now?”

It was too plain to be longer concealed; Frank Winslow was drunk! The heat of the room was revealing the terrible truth to the poor wife, to the fond sister, that the husband and brother was helplessly intoxicated!

Charles Prescott was shocked; Carrie’s cheek was pale, and her frame trembled; that smile was gone, for the loving brother was a drunkard!

It was an agonizing moment to the fond wife. Mountains of sombre clouds came rolling down before her bewildered senses, and the future was dark with poverty, woe, disgrace, and death. The drunkard’s grave yawned like a cavern of hell in the path of her husband.

“O, Frank, Frank!” exclaimed she, throwing herself into his arms, and bathing his brow with her woman’s tears.

“What in —— ails you all?” said Frank, gazing round him with a drunken leer.

Charles attempted to get him upon his feet; but he was utterly helpless.

“Let me—hic—alone. I am none of your cussed—hic—fanatics, that can’t go alone;” and he fell at full length upon the floor.

Mrs. Winslow threw herself into a chair, and sobbed in bitterness of spirit. Carrie wept upon her bosom. It was a sad sight, that group of weepers over the drunken body of a noble-hearted, generous young man. Angels weep over such pitiable objects.

With much difficulty Charles Prescott succeeded in putting him to bed; but, to all save the besotted inebriate, it was a sleepless night. Tears stained the pillow of the wife and sister, and silent prayers rose to heaven for the preservation of the erring young man.

Morning came, and Frank had slept off his debauch. He was conscious of his position, and with shame and humiliation he presented himself in the breakfast room of his friend. The pale, anxious faces, the red and swollen eyes of his wife and sister, told him what they had suffered.

Like a true man, he acknowledged his fault, and promised to amend. Charles pointed out the necessity of making a principle of abstinence, to which he assented, and promised to connect himself with the Sons. He kept his promise, and in a few weeks was initiated.

Mrs. Prescott, after the impressive lesson she had received from the experience of her brother, was convinced that active membership in a temperance society, or at least a cherished principle of abstinence, was necessary in these degenerate days for the salvation of the young man.

Her husband had resisted temptation through the salutary influence of the “Sons;” and she could not but reflect how unreasonable she had been in attempting to lure him away from the fountain of his principle.

Even Mrs. Winslow has so far overcome her timidity as to be content to stay alone every Saturday night, while her husband attends the meetings of the Order. It is a blessed thing for the wife to be assured that, while he is away from her in those hours which properly belong to her, he is fortifying his soul against the temptations that every where beset him.