“Had the injury been a few inches farther up, she would ere this have breathed her last,” said the doctor—­looking steadily at Brooks, until the eyes of the latter sunk to the floor.

Just then there were signs of returning life in the poor girl, and the doctor turned towards her all his attention.  In a little while, she began to moan, and moved her arms about, and soon opened her eyes.

After she was fully restored again to conscious life, Mr. Green returned to his home, where he was met with eager questions from his wife.—­After describing all he had seen, he made this remark—­

“There are few better men than Thomas Brooks when he it sober; but when he is drunk he acts like a demon.”

“He must be a demon to strike with his hard fist, a delicate creature like his daughter Margaret.  And she is so good a girl.  Ah, me! to what dreadful consequences does this drinking lead!”

“It takes away a man’s reason,” said Mr. Green, “and when this is gone, he becomes the passive subject of evil influences.  He is, in fact, no longer a man.”

Mrs. Green sighed deeply.

“His poor wife!” she murmured; “how my heart aches for her, and his poor children!  If the husband and father changes, from a guardian and provider for his family, into their brutal assailant, to whom can they look for protection?  Oh, it is sad! sad!”

“It is dreadful! dreadful!” said Mr. Green.—­

“It is only a few years ago,” he added, “since Brooks began to show that he was drinking too freely.  He always liked his glass, but he knew how to control himself, and never drowned his reason in his cups.  Of late, however, he seems to have lost all control over himself.  I never saw a man abandon himself so suddenly.”

“All effects of this kind can be traced back to very small beginnings,” remarked Mrs. Green.

“Yes.  A man does not become a drunkard in a day.  The habit is one of very gradual formation.”

“But when once formed,” said Mrs. Green, “hardly any power seems strong enough to break it.  It clings to a man as if it were a part of himself.”

“And we might almost say that it was a part of himself,” replied Mr. Green:  “for whatever we do from a confirmed habit, fixes in the mind an inclination thereto, that carries us away as a vessel is borne upon the current of a river.”

“How careful, then, should every one be, not to put himself in the way of forming so dangerous a habit.  Well do I remember when Mr. Brooks was married.  A more promising young man could not be found—­nor one with a kinder heart.  The last evil I feared for him and his gentle wife was that of drunkenness.  Alas! that this calamity should have fallen upon their household.—­What evil, short of crime, is greater than this?”

“It is so hopeless,” remarked Mr. Green.  “I have talked with Brooks a good many times, but it has done no good.  He promises amendment, but does not keep his promise a day.”