It was not possible, so impelled by appetite and so indulging its demands, for Ellis Whitford to keep from drifting out into the fatal current on whose troubled waters thousands are yearly borne to destruction.

After her humiliation at Mrs. Birtwell’s, a smile was never seen upon the mother’s face.  All that she deemed it wise to say to her son when he awoke in shame next morning she said in tears that she had no power to hold back.  He promised with solemn asseverations that he would never again so debase himself, and he meant to keep his promise.  Hope stirred feebly in his mother’s heart, but died when, in answer to her injunction, “Touch not, taste not, handle not, my son.  Herein lies your only chance of safety,” he replied coldly and with irritation: 

“I will be a man, and not a slave.  I will walk in freedom among my associates, not holding up manacled wrists.”

Alas! he did not walk in freedom.  Appetite had already forged invisible chains that held him in a fatal bondage.  It was not yet too late.  With a single strong effort he could have rent these bonds asunder, freeing himself for ever.  But pride and a false shame held him back, from making this effort, and all the while appetite kept silently strengthening every link and steadily forging new chains.  Day by day he grew feebler as to will-power and less clear in judgment.  His fine ambition, that once promised to lift him into the highest ranks of his profession, began to lose its stimulating influence.

None but his mother knew how swiftly this sad demoralization was progressing, through others were aware of the fact that he indulged too freely in wine.

With a charity that in too many instances was self-excusing, not a few of his friends and acquaintances made light of his excesses, saying: 

“Oh, he’ll get over it;” or, “Young blood is hot and boils up sometimes;” or, “He’ll steady himself, never fear.”

The engagement between Ellis and Blanche still existed, though Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell were beginning to feel very much concerned about the future of their daughter, and were seriously considering the propriety of taking steps to have the engagement broken off.  The young man often came to their house so much under the influence of drink that there was no mistaking his condition; but if any remark was made about it, Blanche not only exhibited annoyance, but excused and defended him, not unfrequently denying the fact that was apparent to all.

One day—­it was several months from the date of that fatal party out of which so many disasters came, as if another Pandora’s box had been opened—­the card of Mrs. Whitford was placed in the hands of Mrs. Birtwell.

“Say that I will be down in a moment.”

But the servant who had brought up the card answered: 

“The lady wished me to say that she would like to see you alone in your own room, and would come up if it was agreeable.”