CHAPTER XXI.
ONE OF THE VICTIMS.
MEANTIME there were other interests at stake that winter than thoseinvolved in the renovation of the old church. For instance, there wasHarry Matthews, who kept Claire's heart constantly filled with anxiousthought.
It became more and more apparent that he was in great and growingdanger. Claire saw much of him. He had been one of the most faithfulhelpers during the preparations for the concert, and he was still oneof the energetic workers, being included in all their plans. Moreover,he was a genial, society-loving, warm-hearted young fellow; one of thesort with whom a sympathetic girl soon becomes intimate. Claire hadoften, in the earlier days of her girlhood, sighed over the fact thatshe had no brother; and now it seemed sometimes to her as if this Harrywere a sort of brother, over whose interests she must watch. So sheexercised an older sister's privilege in growing very anxious about him.
Neither was he so gayly happy as he had been early in the season. Hehad kept his pledge, coming to her at first with laughing eyes andmock gravity of face, pretending to making confession like the goodlittle boy in the story book, who is sorry, and won't do so any moreif he can help it. She always received these admissions with a gentlegravity, so unmistakably tinged with sadness and disappointment,that they presently ceased to be amusing to him. He was beginning tomake discoveries: first, that it was by no means an agreeable thingfor a manly young man to seek a young woman whom he respected, andvoluntarily admit that he had again been guilty of what he knew shelooked upon with distrust, not only, but with actual dismay; and secondthat he had the confession to make much more frequently than he hadsupposed could possibly be the case; that, in short, the habit which hehad supposed such a light one, was growing upon him; that on occasionswhen he withstood the invitations and temptations, the struggle was ahard one, which he shrank from renewing. Still he made resolves. Itwas absurd to suppose that he could keep running after Miss Benedict,or sending her notes to say that he had again indulged in a habit thathe had assured her was of no consequence, and that he could break ina day if he chose. He knew now that this was folly. It was not to bebroken in a day. He began to suspect that possibly he was a slave, withlittle or no power to break it at all. The tenor of his notes changedsteadily. The first one ran thus:
"I have to inform your most gracious majesty that I have this day committed the indiscretion of taking about two thirds of a glass of champagne with an old school chum whom I have not seen for six months. It is another chapter of the old story--he 'beguiled me and I did' drink. Of course it was no fault of mine; and it gives me comfort to inform you that the tempter has gone on his way to Chicago, and that I do not expect to see him for another six months. So humbly craving your majesty's pardon for being thus obliged to trouble her--owing to a certain foolish pledge of mine--I remain your humble subject.
"HARRY MATTHEWS."
The last one she received was briefly this:
"_Miss Benedict_:--I have failed again, though I did not mean to do so. I beg you will erase my name from that page, and care nothing more about it or me."
Over the first note Claire had lingered with a troubled air, but onthis last one there dropped tears. She had adopted Harry by thistime as a young brother, and she could not help carrying his perilabout in her heart. Still, if he had not gone too far, there was morehope for the writer of this brief note, with its undertone of fierceself-disgust, than for the one who could so merrily confess what hebelieved was, at the worst, a foible.
One evening they walked home together from the church. She was silent,and her heart was heavy. She had caught the odor of wine about him,though he had made a weak effort to conceal it with rich spices. Theywalked half the distance from the church to the Academy, having spokennothing beyond an occasional commonplace. Truth to tell, Claire wasin doubt what to say, or whether to say anything. She had spoken manywords to him; she had written him earnest little notes; what use to saymore? It was he who broke the silence, speaking moodily:
"It is of no use, Miss Benedict; I shall have to ask you to releaseme from that pledge. I cannot keep rushing around to the Academy totell you what befalls me; it is absurd. And--well, the fact is, as Iam situated, I simply can not keep from using liquor now and then;oftener, indeed, than I had supposed when I signed that paper. It musthave been a great bore to you, and I owe you a thousand apologies;but you see how it is, I must be released and left to myself. I havebeen true to my promise, as I knew I should be when I made it, but Ican't have you troubled any longer; and, as I say, I _have_ to drinkoccasionally."
He did not receive the sort of answer which he had expected. He wasprepared for an earnest protest, for an argument; but Claire said, hervoice very sad the while:
"I know you can not keep from drinking, Harry, and I have known it fora long while."
Now, although he had told himself several times in a disgusted way thathe was a coward, and a fool, and a slave, and that he did not deserveto have the respect of a lady, his pride was by no means so far gonethat he liked to hear the admission from other lips than his own thathe was bound in chains which he could not break.
"What do you mean?" he asked, haughtily enough.
"I mean, Harry, that you are tempted, awfully tempted, to become adrunkard! I mean that I do not think you can help yourself; I think youhave gone beyond the line where your strength would be sufficient. Youinherit the taste for liquor. Never mind how I learned that; I know it,and have known it for a long time. As surely as Satan lives, he hasyou in his toils. Oh, Harry!"
There were tears in her voice. She was not one who easily lostself-control before others, but this was a subject on which her heartwas sore. He did not know how many times she had said to herself: "Whatif he were my brother, and mamma sat at home watching and praying forhim, and he were as he is! And his mother is a widow, and has only thisone, and she sits at home and waits!" And this mother's fast-comingagony of discovery had burned into her soul until it is no wonder thatthe tears choked what else she might have said.
But Harry was haughty still. He was more than that, however; he wasfrightened. If the darkness of the night had not shielded his face fromobservation, its pallor would have frightened her. He tried, however,to steady his voice as he said:
"Miss Benedict, what do you mean? I do not understand. Do you meanthat I am foreordained to become a drunkard, and that I can not helpmyself?"
"Oh, Harry! I mean that the great enemy of your soul has discoveredjust how he can ruin you, body and soul, and he means to do it. Youhave toyed with him until you can not help yourself. You _can not_,Harry. There is no use to fancy that you can. He has ruined many ayoung man as self-reliant as you. He is too strong for you, and toomean! He has ways of dissembling that you would scorn. He is not honestwith you. He has made you believe what was utterly false. He has youin his toils, and as surely as you are here to-night, just so surelywill you fail in the battle with him. You do not know how to cope withSatan; you need not flatter yourself that you do. He has played withmany a soul, coaxed it to feel just that sense of superiority over himwhich you feel, until it was too late, and then laughed at his victimfor being a dupe."
During the first part of this sentence, Harry Matthews, thoughstartled, was also angry. He had always prided himself on hisself-control, upon being able to go just so far in a given directionand no farther unless he chose; and even in this matter, when he hadaccused himself of being a slave, he had not believed it; he hadbelieved simply that he had discovered himself to be more fond ofintoxicants than he had supposed, and that the effect to give them upinvolved more self-sacrifice than it was worth while to make; and whilehe was vexed that even this was so, he had honestly believed this to bethe whole story. It was not until this moment that the sense of beingin actual peril, and being insufficient for his own rescue, rushed overhim. I do not know why it did at that time, unless the Holy Spirit sawhis opportunity and willed that it sho
uld be so.
There was almost mortal anguish in the low voice that sounded at lastin answer to Claire's cry of fear.
"God help me, then! What can I do?"
The question surprised Claire, startled her. She had prayed for it, butshe was like many another Christian worker in that she had not seemedto expect the answer to her prayer. Verily, He has to be content withexceeding little faith! Claire had expected the blind young man wouldgo on excusing himself, and assuring her of her mistake. None the lesswas she eager with her answer:
"If you only _meant_ that cry! If you only would give up the unequalstrife, and stand aside and cry out, 'O Lord, undertake for me'! whata world would be revealed to you. Harry Matthews, there is just Onewho fought a battle with Satan and came off victor, and there neverwill be another. The victory must come through Him, or it is at best avery partial, and at all times a doubtful one. In Him are safety andeverlasting strength, and outside of Him is danger."
She did not say another word, nor did he, other than a half-audible"Good-night!" as he held open the Academy gate for her to pass. Shewent in feeling frightened over much that she had said. Ought sheto have spoken so hopelessly to him? What if he turned in despair,and plunged into excesses such as he had not known before? Men hadreformed, and signed the pledge and kept it, apparently without the aidof Christ; at least, they had not owned allegiance to him, though wellshe knew that his restraining grace was, after all, what kept any manfrom rushing headlong to ruin. God held back even those who would notown his detaining arm. But she had felt so hopeless in regard to Harry,so certain that nothing short of an acknowledged leaning on Christwould be sufficient for his needs. The more she had prayed for him,the more sure had she been that in Christ alone lay his refuge. Shehad not meant to say this to him. Yet the thoughts seemed to crowd outof themselves, when he gave them opportunity. Now she went to her roomshivering and trembling over the possible results.
She had very little opportunity, however, for thought; and there wasthat awaiting her which was not calculated to quiet her mind.
It was Alice Ansted who rose up from before the east window, where afine view was to be had of the rising moon, and came forward to meether as she entered her own room.
"I beg your pardon for having taken possession. There was company inthe parlor, and Mrs. Foster said she thought I might come here and waitfor you. Is there another committee meeting this evening? or can I hopeto have you to myself for five minutes?"
"There is no committee meeting this evening," Clarie said, smiling,"we have been down to measure the platform, and arrange for the organ,but I believe now that everything is done. Take this easy-chair. I amglad you waited for me. There are several things about which I wish toconsult you," she added.
"They have to do with that church, I know. I shall not let you getstarted on that topic. I should be perfectly certain not to get youback to any other to-night; and I want to do the talking myself. I cannot see why you care so much for that church."
Claire laughed.
"We care for anything for which we work, and especially for which wesacrifice a little, you know. Why, you care for it yourself. Don't youthink you do, a little?"
"I care for you, and for your opinion. I have been telling mamma onlythis evening, that when the old barn gets fixed up, I believe I will godown there to church. I am not so fond of riding that I care to take aneight-mile ride every Sunday; besides, I think it looks silly. Mammathinks we are all becoming idiotic, for all the daughters and the sonsided with me, and papa said he didn't care a rush light which we did;that it would be easier for the horses to come down here."
"Good news," said Claire, brightly. "I have been hoping for somethingof the kind. Then you will begin to attend the prayer-meeting, ofcourse, and it does need you so much!"
"I'm sure I don't see why I should. I never attended prayer-meeting intown, and I have belonged to that church for years. The idea of _my_helping along a prayer-meeting! You do have some very absurd ideas,Claire Benedict, though I may as well admit that the only reason Iwould have for coming here to church would be to give you pleasure. Butthis is not in the least what I came to talk to you about, I knew weshould get on that subject, and never get away from it."
"Let us go right away from it, and tell me, please, just what you wantto talk about. Only let me say this one little thing: I want you tocome down to prayer-meeting next Wednesday evening, and discover in howmany ways you can help it. Now I am ready."