DANESBURY HOUSE.

Clutha Leader, Volume IV, Issue 166, 7 September 1877, Page 7

DANESBURY HOUSE.

By Mrs Heotiy Wood.

Chapter XXlir. OVERCOMING. William Danesbury was alone in his 'drawing-room, C n the evening- mentioned in the last chapter, when a servant opened the door to introduce a "visitor. ' Mr 8011, sir.' William had his head bent over some plans and • drawings on the table, in which he was making- corrections. He turned to receive his guest. It was a large farmer residing* near Eastborough. The Danesburys were executing- some orders of his, for agri- ■ cultural implements, and he had come to inquire on what day one of the machines could be delivered to him. William did not know, but said the overlooker of the department might be able to tell. ' Where can I find him V asked the 'farmer. 'He lives close by. I will go with .you. Will you take anything- first V ' Well, I don't care if I do take a glass of bran iy-and- water, to keep the cold out on my ride home/ was Mr Bell's answer, William was vexed at this. Since the conversation with Lord Temple, now three weeks ago, he had kept to -water, and did not much relish the temptation, that brandy on his own table, would induce. However, there " was no help for it, and he went to the cellar and brought up a bottle, which happened to be the last he had in the house. The servant appeared with hot water and glasses. 'Hey! don't you drink yourself?' cried the farmer, perceiving- that though he was sipping his, William took none. * You must excuse me to-nig % ht. I do not feel well.' William sat bj', the fumes of the brandy under his nose, and his very lips watering for it. He took out his handkerchief and held it to his mouth with his elbow on the table, his face resolutely turned from the bottle. The inward strife was great ; far greater than the reader, if he be a man of sobriety, can picture. The temptation ' was sorely close to him ; hardly, by 'his utmost will, could he keep his •hands from stretching out for the brandy, and their veins tingled with imposed self-restraint. A perspiration broke out over his head and face. Could he hold out 1 1 Lord, be thou my helper !' he inwardly breathed, ' for of my own strength I cannot withstand.' The farmer mixed another glass, and when he had finished it, rose, and said he was ready. William put the cork in the bottle, and placed it on the sideboard, not having touched the brandy ; and went out with Mr Ball. So far, ■victory. The overlooker was not at home ; he was gone to the " Ram," to take his glass and smoke his pipe. Very much did William Danesbury dislike to accompany Mr Bell there : but, again, thei'e %vas no help for it : for it would have been neither courteous nor business-like to suffer him to proceed alone. When he and Mr Bell entered the Ram, an inn of rather a superior class, the first in Eastborough, several gentle!men, whom William knew, were in the parlour ; amongst them was Mr Laughton, once poor Lionel's friend. ' It's never you !' sarcastically exclaimed Laugbton, addressing William. * I heard you had joined the teetotalers, •and were coming- out in a medal and blue ribbon.' "William winced : he was not yet sufficiently self-reliant to take these jokes with equanimity. Hs sat down in the midst of the temptation —the terrible temptation ; that at home was nothing toit. Glasses of ale were on ' the table ; glasses of hot rum and water, the slices of lemon swimming in it; glasses ot strong-flavoured gin ; glasses •of real cognac brandy ; and the fragrant steam, from all, ascended around, intoxicating* William Danesbury's senses, before a drop hnd passed his lips. Laughton -gave a quiet order, and William, on looking down, saw a glass of brandy-and-water, placed before him by the waiter. t Now, if you have not signed the pledge and cut us all dead, I recommend you to topple-up that,' said Laughton. ' You never tasted better brandy than this. It's a fresh lot they have got in, direct from France — it has the true Champagne flavour.' 'Come, Mr William Danesbury,' cried the farmer, 'you shirked it at home, but you can't refuse to drink with a friend now. Take up your glass. •Good health to you.' Poor William Danesbury! Silly William Danesbury ! Weak William Danesbury! All "his good resolves were going, he knew not whither : his "veins were throbbing, his heart was longing for that pernicious draught. •Never had the desire for it so_ sorely beset him. He resisted <it in his own house, but here — William Danesbury took up the glass and drained it. Then, remorse set in. He saw hira'self what he was, a weak, guilty 'foward, a man without self-restraint ; and yet, a self-sufficient man, who had trusted to himself. Why had he not asked for aid fco resist the temptation, as he had done in his own home ? It had. glanced across his mind to do so, »even as he took the. glass in his fingers,,

and he had driven it away unnoticed. So the successful struggles of weeks,' the recent victory over himself, the dying admonitions of his father, the new hopes of his wife, the advice of Lord Temple and of Arthur, and the 3 prayers of Isabel— all were undone by - the act of one moment. If self-torture - ever overtook a man, it did William, then. He rose from his seat, ready to curse himself. * Danesbury, you are not going !' * I must. I have an engagement.' That was so far true. For his wife was spending the evening at a friend's, and he had promised to g-o and bring her home. 1 Take another glass,' cried Laughton. ' Not to-night. Good evening all.' William Danesbury went out into the moonlight. It was shining very bright down the street, whitening the houses and the old-fashioned stones. To take the nearest way to his house, he must pass the churchyard : and hardly had he turned into its narrow lane, when he met Harding. 'Is it you. Mr William ! I am so glad !' 'It is more than I am,' returned William, « Why are you glad V * Because I saw you in, somewhere, Mr William, and I thought you would be better away,' he whisperqd ; * and I am thankful you have come away ; that's why, sir.' ' I am a wicked idiot, Harding, and nothing else. So don't trouble yourself to be thankful about me.' ' Perhaps you. have been led to transgress to-night, Mr William, and I know you have been striving against it lately. Forgive me, sir, but I was nearly on old man when you were a child, and I think if you were to fail at last it would break my heart,' llt is of no use striving,' returned William, gloomily. ' I have been striving, resolutely striving, and now a i moment's temptation has upset it' ' Strive on, strive on, Mr William, victory will be yours in the end. I know it will; if you only take the right means to help yourself.' * How can you say you know it, Harding, and assert it so impressively 1 lam no better than others. Worse.' ' Sir,' said Thomas Harding, the tears rolling down his cheeks, ' I will tell you why I know you will be kept, and preserved — if you only strive for it as you ought. I was in the chaise with your mother the night she died ; when she was hastening home to you, a baby. At the moment of the accident, when the chaise was cooing* over, and she saw her danger, and possibly foresaw her death, for when death comes to take the body, it is said to be visible to the living spirit — for in that last moment she offered up a prayer. 'My Saviour ! I can but commend my children to thee. Do thou make them thine, and keep them from the evil 3' ' Mr William,' added Thomas Harding, * no dying- mother ever commended her children to Christ in vain. He will keep you from the evil if you earnestly ask him.' William was much affected. ' Harding 1 , I cannot do it of myself. All my efforts come to nought.' . ' No, sir, not of yourself ; if we could do things of ourselves, Christ would not have told us to go to him. He is waiting 1 to give you aid, if you will only ask him ; you will not ask in vain. I have long wanted to say this to you, Mr William, but I did not know how. Forgive me, sir.' William wrung Thomas Hai'ding's hand with a grateful pressure, and continued his way towards the churchyard. He halted at the gate, as his brother had done before him, attracted by the white gravestones and the mounds of earth, which stood out so brightly in the moonlight. Conspicuous amidst them was the Danesbury tomb, and he stepped towards it. There she lay, his own mother, there was her name— " Isabel, the wife of John Danesbury." The words of Harding were ringing* in his ears, . and William's feelings overcame him : he bowed his head upon the iron railings, and burst into a flood of passionate tears, such as only man can shed. ' My mother ! do thou pray for me still, if it may be permitted thee. My Saviour ! teach me to pray. Keep me from the evil, as she asked of thee": teach and help me to overcome !' Exceedingly surprised he was, -to hear footsteps close to him 5 and, more surprised still, to find they were Arthur's. The latter linked his arm within his. ■ ' I was near the gate and saw you come in. William, what distresses you ? Let me know it. We are alone in the world, save Isabel.' ' 1 am so angry and vexed with myself ! Arthur, T have been striving to do right* to abstain ; for three weeks not a drop of liquor of any sort has passed my lips, aud water was becoming palatable. To-night has undone it all.' ' How was it f ( Bell came to my house about his machines, and said he would have some brandy-and-water. I sat by while he drank it, taking none — though it was a sore temptation. Afterwards vve had to go to the Ram to find Sears. Laughton and some more of my old cronies were there, and I was such a fool as to be tempted to drink.' 'Much?' ' One glass.' ' I wish you had not. But, William, do not despair ; if there was nothing to resist, there would be no victory. -Let

the relapse serve to strengthen you for future -fig-lit. Seek aid where you know it will be fuund.' ' I will seek it ; Td ■, answered Wil-, liam. ' But 'no one knows how hard the struggle Is^-the physical pain of abstaining — the 'inward, mental craving to fight against.' ' He knows, and He is all-sufficient. If you had nothing to overcome, where would be the reward 1 "He that overcometh shall inherit allthings ; and I shall be his God, and he shall be my son." Oh, William, think of the glorious end ! Persevere, and it will surely be yours.' Almost the same words that his wife, some weeks ago, had caused him to read to her. William wrung his brother's hand, as he had just before wrung Thomas Harding's, and departed to hi" home. He took a light, and went up-stairs to his bed-room, shut himself in, and paced about, too uneasy to sit, or rest. His mind , was a chaos : self-reproach, self-anger, doubt, despondency, and hope! Yes, in the midst of it all, there was a little ray of hope, whispering him that, if he so willed it, the victory would be his. Plow should he choose? On the one side, there was indulgence in his much-loved propensit}', a downward course of degradation and despair, ruin to his body, and, in the end, to his immortal soul. On the.other side, there was abstinence, self-denial, the drinking of water instead of wine ; but with it, came hope, peace, the ardent fulfilment of his appointed duties, a happy home here, and the end, life everlasting. If he embraced the first, he must reject his Saviour: if the latter, that ever-gra-" cious Saviour was waiting to help and strengthen him. William dropped his head upon his hands and thought. This little fleeting life, whose length, compared with eternity, was but as a grain of sand to the clouds of it on the sea-shore ! Eternity ! for ever I — for ever ! He lost himself in striving to comprehend the depths of the word. All do. Robert and Lionel had entered on that " for ever." How, ? What was their state ? What might be their remorse, their suffering .at that very moment, then, when he was spared, in mercy, and could yet choose the good or the evil 1 Their bodies were mouldering under the tombstones in the church-yard, b it theirnever-dying- souls had passed at once into futurity. What might it be for thfem ? What would it for him, unless he could overcome 1 William shuddered, and, taking his wife's Bible, opened it at the Book of Revelations. He was looking for the place, he knew there were several, which promises life to those who overcome ; but as he turned over the leaves, his eye fell on some other words. " And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God ; and the books were opened : and another book was opened, which is the book of life : and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works." According to their ivorks ! v And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire." Then he found what he was looking for. And he read the several verses fervently, with a yearning heart : a heart that felt its weakness, and its need of God. The following- were the two last his eyes fell on ; — " To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden mamia, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth, saving he that receiveth it. " To him that overcometh will f give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God." William Danesbury fell on his knees and bowed his head on the book, and sobbed as he had sobbed in the churchyard. Earnestly he prayed ; prayed that from that night henceforth, he might never return to his besetting sin, but might be kept in his recurring hours of temptation ; and, in the end, so overcome, as to sit down with the redeemed in paradise: He continued long in prayer. Perhaps it was the first time in William Danesbury's life that he had ever learned 50 to pray : to pray with earnest sobs and cries, not loud, but from the very depths of his heart, urgently as a drowning man calls for help to the living : it was the first time he had found how very near to him God was, how ready to hear him. He felt that he was a changed man from that hour : changed, in so far as that he had learned the need of aid and where to obtain it ; and when^ he arose from his knees there was a never-yet-known spirit o"f peace and comfort diffused through his soul. It made him think involuntarily of the new name Written on the white stone j perhaps he might yet; gain that. He remembered that he had to go for his wife. Descending the stairs, and entering the sitting-room for his hat, which he had left there on coming in, his eyes fell on the brandy bottle., Without a moment's deliberation he] carried it outside the door and emptied its contents on the flower bed ; then called to one of the seiyants to take the bottle down stairs. «. f May I- ever be as resolute in rejecting it !' he aspirated. . His thoughts were still busy as he walked along the road. Strange to say, though he could scarcely account for the sensation, he felt a sense of happi-, ness, of security, that he had never felt previously; as if he had entered on the right path to be reconciled to God.,.

' What can that new name be, which none knoweth, save he who receiveth it Vhe deliberated. ' I wonder whether it can be peace ; perfect, inward peace V When he reached the presence of huswife, she looked apprehensively at him. His face was pale, his ey< s were red ; as she approached close to him, his breath gave forth an odour she knew too well, and her heart sank within her. She put on her things directly, and they set out to return home. It was a silent walk, for her tears were nearly overflowing, and she dared not speak ; and William seemed buried in a reverie. As they passed through their own garden, she exclaimed suddenly, ' What a strong smell of brandy !' ' Yes/ he replied, f there is. Do you know what I have been doing to-night, Anna V ' What you ought not,' she faintly said. ' William, William, will nothing avail with you ?' - 'It did not to-night. I had to go on business to the Ram, and there I broke through. The temptation was terrible,' he murmured ; ' the desire for it burning me as a consumieg- fire : and I yielded.' She was weeping silently. He had halted with her at the flower-bed, in the midst of the grass-plot. * So I came home, and I took a bottle of brandy ; the last we had in the house, and which had been reached up, but not for me j and brought it out here, and emptied it on the earth. I trust — I think — that with this night my worst struggle is over. I believe that henceforth my strife will not be in vain. Anna I I !iave never said so much as that.' ' You — will — strive — in earnest?' she slowly breathed, scarcely daring to admit the rush of joy which his words, and, still more, his manner, brought her : • sti-ive aright V { Ay. And overcome — by the help of God.' (To be continued.)