"SHALL I read to you, ma?" said Emma Martin, a little girl, elevenyears of age, coming up to the side of her mother, who sat in amusing attitude by the centre-table, upon which the servant had justplaced a light.
Mrs. Martin did not seem to hear the voice of her child; for shemoved not, nor was there any change in the fixed, dreamy expressionof her face.
"Ma," repeated the child, after waiting for a few moments, laying,at the same time, her head gently upon her mother's shoulder.
"What, dear?" Mrs. Martin asked, in a tender voice, rousing herselfup.
"Shall I read to you, ma?" repeated the child.
"No--yes, dear, you may read for me"--the mother said, and her toneswere low, with something mournful in their expression.
"What shall I read, ma?"
"Get the Bible, dear, and read to me from that good book," repliedMrs. Martin.
"I love to read in the Bible," Emma said, as she brought to thecentre-table that sacred volume, and commenced turning over itspages. She then read chapter after chapter, while the motherlistened in deep attention, often lifting her heart upwards, andbreathing a silent prayer. At last Emma grew tired with reading, andclosed the book.
"It is time for you to go to bed, dear," Mrs. Martin observed, asthe little girl showed signs of weariness.
"Kiss me, ma," the child said, lifting her innocent face to that ofher mother, and receiving the token of love she asked. Then,breathing her gentle,
"Good-night!" the affectionate girl glided off, and retired to herchamber.
"Dear child!" Mrs. Martin murmured, as Emma left the room. "My hearttrembles when I think of you, and look into the dark and doubtfulfuture!"
She then leaned her head upon her hand, and sat in deep, andevidently painful abstraction of mind. Thus she remained for a longtime, until aroused by the clock which struck the hour of ten.
With a deep sigh she arose, and commenced pacing the room backwardsand forwards, pausing every now and then to listen to the sound ofapproaching footsteps, and moving on again as the sound went by.Thus she continued to walk until nigh eleven o'clock, when some onedrew near, paused at the street door, and then opening it, camealong the passage with a firm and steady step.
Mrs. Martin stopped, trembling in spite of herself, before theparlour door, which a moment after was swung open. One glance at theface of the individual who entered, convinced her that hersolicitude had been unnecessary.
"Oh, James!" she said, the tears gushing from her eyes, in spite ofa strong effort to compose herself,--"I am so glad that you havecome!"
"Why are you so agitated, Emma?" her husband said, in some surprise,looking inquiringly into Mrs. Martin's face.
"You staid out so late--and--you know I am foolish sometimes!" shereplied, leaning her head down upon his shoulder, and continuing toweep.
A change instantly passed upon Mr. Martin's countenance, and hestood still, for some time, his face wearing a grave thoughtfulexpression, while his wife remained with her head leaning upon him.At last he drew his arm tenderly around her, and said--
"Emma, I am a sober man."
"Do not, dear James! speak of that. I am so happy now!"
"Yes, Emma, I will speak of it now." And as he said so, he gentlyseated her upon the sofa, and took his place beside her.
"Emma"--he resumed, looking her steadily in the face. "I haveresolved never again to touch the accursed cup that has so well-nighdestroyed our peace for ever."
"Oh, James! What a mountain you have taken from my heart!" Mrs.Martin replied, the whole expression of her face changing assuddenly as a landscape upon which the sun shines from beneath anobscuring cloud. "I have had nothing to trouble me but that--yetthat one trouble has seemed more than I could possibly bear."
"You shall have no more trouble, Emma. I have been for some monthsunder a strange delusion, it has seemed. But I am now fully awake,and see the dangerous precipice upon which I have been standing.This night, I have solemnly resolved that I would drink no morespirituous liquors. Nothing stronger than wine shall again pass mylips."
"I cannot tell you how my heart is relieved," the wife said. "Thewhole of this evening I have been painfully oppressed with fear anddark forebodings. Our dear little girl is now at that age, when herfuture prospects interest me all the while. I think of them nightand day. Shall they all be marred? I have asked myself often andoften. But I could give my heart no certain answer. I need not tellyou why."
"Give yourself no more anxiety on this point, Emma," her husbandreplied. "I will be a free man again. I will be to you and my dearchild all that I have ever been."
"May our Heavenly Father aid you to keep that resolution," was thesilent prayer that went up from the heart of Mrs. Martin.
The failing hope of. her bosom revived under this assurance. Shefelt again as in the early years of their wedded life, when hope andconfidence, and tender affection were all in the bloom and vigour oftheir first developement. The light came back to her eye, and thesmile to her lip.
It was about four months afterwards, that Mr. Martin was invited tomake one of a small party, given to a literary man, as visiter froma neighbouring city.
"I shall not be home to dinner, Emma," he said, on leaving in themorning.
"Why not, James?" she asked.
"I am going to dine at four, with a select party of gentlemen."
Mrs. Martin did not reply, but a cloud passed over her face, inspite of an effort not to seem concerned.
"Don't be uneasy, Emma," her husband said, noting this change. "Ishall touch nothing but wine. I know my weakness, and shall be on myguard."
"Do be watchful over yourself, for my sake, and for the sake of ourown dear child," Mrs. Martin replied, laying her arm tenderly uponhis shoulder.
"Have no fear, Emma," he said, and kissing the yet fair andbeautiful cheek of his wife, Mr. Martin left the house.
How long, how very long did the day seem to Mrs. Martin! The usualhour for his return came and went, the dinner hardly tasted; andthen his wife counted the hours as they passed lingeringly away,until the dim, grey twilight fell with a saddening influence aroundher.
"He will be home soon, now," she thought. But the minutes glidedinto hours, and still he did not come. The tea-table stood in thefloor until nearly nine o'clock, before Mrs. Martin sat down withlittle Emma. But no food passed the mother's lips. She could noteat. There was a strange fear about her heart--a dread of comingevil, that chilled her feelings, and threw a dark cloud over herspirits.
In the meantime, Martin had gone to the dinner-party, firm in hisresolution not to touch a drop of ardent spirits. But the taste ofwine had inflamed his appetite, and he drank more and more freely,until he ceased to feel the power of his resolution, and again putbrandy to his lips, and drank with the eagerness of a worn andthirsty traveller at a cooling brook. It was nine o'clock when thecompany arose, or rather attempted to arise from the table. Not allof them could accomplish that feat. Three, Martin among the rest,were carried off to bed, in a state of helpless intoxication.
Hour after hour passed away, the anxiety of Mrs. Martin increasingevery moment, until the clock struck twelve.
"Why does he stay so late?" she said, rising and pacing the roombackwards and forwards. This she continued to do, pausing every nowand then to listen, for nearly an hour. Then she went to the doorand looked long and anxiously in the direction from which sheexpected her husband to come. But his well-known form met not hereager eyes, that peered so intently into the darkness and gloom ofthe night. With another long-drawn sigh, she closed the door, andre-entered the silent and lonely room. That silence was broken bythe loud and clear ringing of the clock. The hour was one! Mrs.Martin's feelings now became too much excited for her to controlthem. She sank into a chair, and wept in silent anguish of spirit.For nearly a quarter of an hour her tears continued to flow, andthen a deep calm succeeded--a kind of mental stupor, that remaineduntil she was startled again into distinct consciousness by thesound of the clock striking two.
All hope now faded from her bosom. Up to this time she hadentertained a feeble expectation that her husband might be kept awayfrom some other cause than the one she so dreaded; but now that propbecame only as a broken reed, to pierce her with a keener anguish.
"It is all over!" she murmured bitterly, as she again arose, andcommenced, walking to and fro with slow and measured steps.
It was fully three o'clock before that lonely, and almostheart-broken wife and mother retired to her chamber. How cruelly hadthe hope which had grown bright and buoyant in the last few months,gaining more strength and confidence every day, been again crushedto the earth!
For an hour longer did Mrs. Martin sit, listening in her chamber,everything around her so hushed into oppressive silence, that thetroubled beating of her own heart, was distinctly audible. But shewaited and listened in vain. The sound of passing footsteps that nowcame only at long, very long intervals, served but to arouse amomentary gleam in her mind, to fade away again, and leave it indeeper darkness.
Without disrobing, she now laid herself down, still listening, withan anxiety that grew more and more intense every moment. At last,over-wearied nature could bear up no longer, and she sunk into atroubled sleep. When she awoke from this, it was daylight. Oh, howweary and worn and wretched she felt! The consciousness of why shethus lay, with her clothes unremoved, the sad remembrance of herhours of waiting and watching through nearly the whole night, allcame up before her with painful distinctness. Who but she who hassuffered, can imagine her feelings at that bitter moment?
On descending to the parlour, she found her husband lying in ahalf-stupid condition on the sofa, the close air of the roomimpregnated with his breath--the sickening, disgusting breath of adrunken man! Bruised, crushed, paralyzed affection had now to liftitself up--the wife just ready to sink to the earth, powerless,under the weight of an overburdening affliction, had now to nerveherself under the impulse of duty.
"James! James!" she said, in a voice of assumed calmness--laying herhand upon him and endeavouring to arouse him to consciousness. Butit was a long time before she could get him so fully awake as tomake him understand that it was necessary for him to go up stairsand retire to bed. At length she succeeded in getting him into hischamber before the servants had come down; and then into bed. Oncethere, he fell off again into a profound sleep.
"Is pa sick?" asked little Emma, coming into her mother's chamber,about an hour after, and seeing her father in bed.
"Yes, dear, your father is quite unwell!" Mrs. Martin said, in acalm voice.
"What ails him, ma?" pursued the child.
"He is not very well, dear; but will be better soon," the mothersaid, evasively.
The little girl looked into her mother's face for a few momentsunsatisfied with the answer, and unwilling to ask another question.She felt that something was wrong, more than the simple illness ofher father.
It was near the middle of the day when Mr. Martin became fully awakeand conscious of his condition. If he had sought forgetfulness ofthe past night's debauch and degradation, the sad, reproving face ofhis wife, pale and languid from anxiety and watching, would tooquickly have restored the memory of his fall.
The very bitterness of his self-condemnation--the very keenness ofwounded pride irritated his feelings, and made him feel gloomy andsullen. He felt deeply for his suffering wife--he wished mostardently to speak to her a word of comfort, but his pride kept himsilent. At the dinner hour, he eat a few mouthfuls in silence, andthen withdrew from the table and left the house to attend to hisordinary business. On his way to his office, he passed a hotel wherehe had been in the habit of drinking. He felt so wretched--so muchin want of something to buoy up his depressed feelings, that heentered, and calling for some wine, drank two or three glasses.This, in a few minutes, had the desired effect, and he repaired tohis office feeling like a new man.
During the afternoon, he drank wine frequently; and when he returnedhome in the evening, was a good deal under its influence; so muchso, that all the reserve he had felt in the morning was gone. Hespoke pleasantly and freely with his wife--talked of future schemesof pleasure and success. But, alas! his pleasant words fell upon herheart like sunshine upon ice. It was too painfully evident that hehad again been drinking--and drinking to the extent of making himaltogether unconscious of his true position. She would rather athousand times have seen him overwhelmed by remorse. Then therewould have been something for her hope to have leaned upon.
Day after day did Mr. Martin continue to resort to the wine-cup.Every morning he felt so wretched that existence seemed a burden tohim, until his keen perceptions were blunted by wine. Then theappetite for something stronger would be stimulated, and draughtafter draught of brandy would follow, until when night came, hewould return home to agonize the heart of his wife with a new pang,keener than any that had gone before.
Such a course of conduct could not be pursued without its becomingapparent to all in the house. Mrs. Martin had, therefore, added tothe cup of sorrow, the mortification and pain of having theservants, and her child daily conscious of his degradation. Poorlittle Emma would shrink away instinctively from her father when hewould return home in the evening and endeavour to lavish upon herhis caresses. Sometimes Mr. Martin would get irritated at this.
"What are you sidling off in that way for, Emma?" he said,half-angrily, one evening, when he was more than usually under theinfluence of liquor, as Emma shrunk away from him on his coming in.
The little girl paused and looked frightened--glancing first at hermother, and then again, timidly, at her father.
"Come along here, I say," repeated the father, seating himself, andholding out his hands.
"Go, dear," Mrs. Martin said.
"I reckon she can come without you telling her to, madam!" herhusband responded, angrily. "Come along, I tell you!" he added in aloud, excited tone, his face growing red with passion.
"There now! Why didn't you come when I first spoke. to you, ha?" hesaid, drawing the child towards him with a quick jerk, so soon asshe came within reach of his extended hand. "Say. Why didn't youcome Tell me! Aint I your father?"
"Yes, sir," was the timid reply.
"And havn't I taught you that you must obey me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then why didn't you come, just now, when I called you?"
To this interrogation the little girl made no reply, but lookedexceedingly frightened.
"Did you hear what I said?" pursued the father, in a louder voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Then answer me, this instant! Why didn't you come when I calledyou?"
"Because, I--I--I was afraid," was the timid, hesitating reply.
Something seemed to whisper to the father's mind a consciousness,that his appearance and conduct while under the influence of liquor,might be such as not only to frighten, but estrange his child'saffection from him; and he seemed touched by the thought, for hismanner changed, though he was still to a degree irrational.
"Go away, then, Emma! Take her away, mother," he said, in a tonewhich indicated that his feelings were touched. "She don't love herfather any more, and don't care anything more about him," pushing atthe same time the child away from him.
Poor little Emma burst into tears, and shrinking to the side of hermother, buried her face in the folds of her dress, sobbing as if herheart were breaking.
Mrs. Martin took her little girl by the hand and led her from theroom, up to the chamber, and kissing her, told her to remain thereuntil the servant brought her some supper, when she could go to bed.
"I don't want any supper, ma!" she said, still sobbing.
"Don't cry, dear," Mrs. Martin said, soothingly.
"Indeed, ma, I do love father," the child said--looking up earnestlyinto her mother's face, the tears still streaming over her cheeks."Won't you tell him so?"
"Yes, Emma, I will tell him," the mother replied.
"And won't you ask him to come up and kiss me after I'm in bed?"
"Yes, dear."
"And will he come?"
"Oh, yes; he will come and kiss you."
Martin remained with her little girl until her feelings were quieteddown, and then she descended with reluctant steps to the parlour.There was that in the scene which had just passed, that sobered, toa great extent, the half-intoxicated husband and father, and causedhim to feel humbled and pained at his conduct; which it was tooapparent was breaking the heart of his wife, and estranging theaffection of his child.
When Mrs. Martin re-entered the parlour, she found him sitting neara table, with his head resting upon his hand, and his whole mannerindicating a state of painful self-consciousness. With theinstinctive perception of a woman, she saw the truth; and going atonce up to him, she laid her hand upon him, and said:
"James--Emma wants you to come up and kiss her after she gets intobed. She says that she does love you, and she wished me to tell youso."
Mr. Martin did not reply. There was something calm, gentle, andaffectionate, in the manner and tones of his wife--something thatmelted him completely down. A choking sob followed; when he arosehastily, and retired to his chamber. Mrs. Martin did not follow himthither. She saw that his own reflections were doing more for himthan anything that she could do or say; and, therefore, she deemedit the part of wisdom to let his own reflections be his companion,and do their own work.
When Mr. Martin entered his chamber, he seated himself near the bed,and leaned his head down upon it. He was becoming more and moresobered every moment--more and more distinctly conscious of the truenature of the ground he occupied. Still his mind was a good dealconfused, for the physical action of the stimulus he had takenthrough the day, had not yet subsided; although there was a strongmental counteracting cause in operation, which was graduallysubduing the effect of his potations. As he sat thus, leaning hishead upon his hand, and half-reclining upon the bed, a deep sigh, orhalf-suppressed sob, caught his ear. It came from the adjoiningchamber. He remembered his child in an instant. His only child--whomhe most fondly loved. He remembered, too, her conduct, but a shorttime before, and saw, with painful distinctness, that he wasestranging from himself, and bringing sorrow upon one whose gentlenature had affected even his heart with feelings of peculiartenderness.
"My dear child!" he murmured, as he arose to his feet, and wentquietly into her room. She had already retired to bed, and lay withher head almost buried beneath the clothes, as if shrinking awaywith a sensation akin to fear. But she heard him enter, andinstantly rose up, saying, as she saw him approach her bed--
"O, pa, indeed I do love you!"
"And I love you, my child," Mr. Martin responded, bending over herand kissing her forehead, cheeks, and lips, with an earnestfondness.
"And don't you love ma, too?" inquired Emma.
"Certainly I do, my dear! Why do you ask me?"
"Because I see her crying so often--almost every day. And she seemsso troubled just before you come home, every evening. She didn't useto be so. A good while ago, she used to be always talking about whenpa would be home; and used to dress me up every afternoon to seeyou. But now she never says anything about your coming home atnight. Don't you know how we used to walk out and meet yousometimes? We never do it now!"
This innocent appeal was like an arrow piercing him with the mostacute pain. He could not find words in which to fame a reply. Simplykissing her again, and bidding her a tender good-night, he turnedaway and left her chamber, feeling more wretched than he had everfelt in his life.
It was about twelve years since the wife of Mr. Martin had unitedher hopes and affections with his. At that time he was esteemed byall--a strictly temperate man, although he would drink with afriend, or at a convivial party, whenever circumstances led him todo so. From this kind of indulgence the appetite for liquor wasformed. Two years after his marriage, Martin had become so fond ofdrinking, that he took from two to three glasses every day,regularly. Brandy at dinner-time was indispensable. The meal wouldhave seemed to him wanting in a principal article without it. It wasnot until about five years after their marriage that Mrs. Martin wasaroused to a distinct consciousness of danger. Her husband came homeso much intoxicated as to be scarcely able to get up into hischamber. Then she remembered, but too vividly, the slow, but sureprogress he had been making towards intemperance, during the pasttwo or three years, and her heart sunk trembling in her bosom with anew and awful fear. It seemed as if she had suddenly awakened from adelusive dream of happiness and security, to find herself standingat the brink of a fearful precipice.
"What can I do? What shall I do?" were questions repeated over andover again; but, alas! she could find no answer upon which hertroubled heart could repose with confidence. How could she approachher husband upon such a subject? She felt that she could not alludeto it.
Month after month, and year after year, she watched with an anguishof spirit that paled her cheek, and stole away the brightness fromher eye, the slow, but sure progress of the destroyer. Alas! how didhope fail--fail--fail, until it lived in her bosom but a faint,feeble, flickering ray. At last she ventured to remonstrate, and metwith anger and repulse. When this subsided, and her husband began toreflect more deeply upon his course, he was humbled in spirit, andsought to heal the wound his conduct and his words had made. Thencame promises of amendment, and Mrs. Martin fondly hoped all wouldbe well again. The light again came back to her heart. But it didnot long remain. Martin still permitted himself to indulge in wine,which soon excited the desire for stronger stimulants, and he againindulged, and again fell.
Ten times had he thus fallen, each time repenting, and each timerestoring a degree of confidence to the heart of his wife, bypromises of future abstinence. Gradually did hope continue to growweaker and weaker, at each relapse, until it had nearly failed.
"There is no hope," she said to herself, mournfully, as she sat indeep thought, on the evening in which occurred the scene we havejust described. "He has tried so often, and fallen again at everyeffort. There is no hope--no hope!"
It was an hour after Mr. Martin had retired to his chamber, that hiswife went up softly, and first went into Emma's room. The child wasasleep, and there was on her innocent face a quiet smile, as ifpleasant images were resting upon her mind. A soft kiss wasimprinted on her fair forehead, and then Mrs. Martin went into herown chamber. She found that her husband had retired to bed and wasasleep.
But few hours of refreshing slumber visited the eyelids of thealmost despairing wife. Towards morning, however, she sank away intoa deep sleep. When she awoke from this, it was an hour afterdaylight. Her husband was up and dressed, and sat beside the bed,looking into her face with an expression of subdued, but calm andtender affection.
"Emma," he said, taking her hand, as soon as she was fairlyawakened, "can you again have confidence in me, or has hope failedaltogether?"
Mrs. Martin did not reply, but looked at her husband steadily andinquiringly.
"I understand you," he said, "you have almost, if not altogetherceased to hope. I do not wonder at it. If I had not so often mockedyour generous confidence, I would again assure you that all will bewell. I see that what I say does not make the warm blood bound toyour face, as once it did. I will not use idle words to convinceyou. But one thing I will say. I have been, for sometime past,conscious, that it was dangerous for me to touch wine, or ale, oranything that stimulates, as they do. They only revive an appetitefor stronger drinks, while they take away a measure of self-control.I have, therefore, most solemnly promised myself, that I will neveragain touch or taste any spirituous liquors, wine, malt, or cider.Nor will I again attend any convivial parties, where these thingsare used. Hereafter, I shall act upon the total-abstinenceprinciple--for only in total-abstinence, is there safety for onelike me."
There was something so solemn and earnest in the manner of herhusband, that Mrs. Martin's drooping spirits began to revive. Againdid her eye brighten, and her cheek kindle. Then came a gush oftears attesting the power of a new impulse. The failing hope wasrenewed!
And day after day, week after week, and month after month, did thathope strengthen and gain confidence. Years have passed, since thattotal-abstinence resolution was taken, and not once during the timehas Martin been tempted to violate it. Yet, is he vividly conscious,that only in total-abstinence from everything that can intoxicateis there safety for him.
THE END.
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