“Certainly I do.  As, for instance, I consider this binding of a man to perpetual total-abstinence, as an unnecessary infringement of individual liberty.  As I look upon it, the use of the pledge, is to enable a man, by the power of an external restraint, to gain the mastery over an appetite that has mastered him.  When that is accomplished, all that is wanted is obtained:  of what use is the pledge after that?”

“Very true,” was the encouraging reply.

“A man,” resumed Marshall, repeating the argument he had used to his wife, which now seemed still more conclusive, “has only to abstain for a year or two from liquor to have the morbid craving for it which over-indulgence had created, entirely eradicated.  Then he stands upon safe ground, and may take a social glass, occasionally, with his friends, without the slightest danger.  To bind himself up, then, to perpetual abstinence, seems not only useless, but a real infringement of individual liberty.”

“So it presents itself to my mind,” rejoined one of the company.

“I feel it to be so in my case,” was the reply of the reformed man to this, thus going on to invite temptation, instead of fleeing from it.

“Certainly, if I were the individual concerned,” remarked one of the company, “I should not be long in breaking away from such arbitrary restrictions.”

“How would you get over the fact of having signed the pledge?” asked Marshall, with an interest that he dared not acknowledge to himself.

“Easy enough,” was the reply.

“How?”

“On the plea that I was deceived into signing such a pledge.”

“How deceived?”

“Into a belief that it was the only remedy in my case.  There is no moral law binding any man to a contract entered into ignorantly.  The fact of ignorance, in regard to the fundamental principles of an agreement, vitiates it.  Is not that true?”

“It certainly is,” was the general reply to this question.

“Then you think,” said Marshall, after reflecting for a few moments, “that no moral responsibility would attach to me, for instance, if I were to act independently of my pledge?”

“Certainly none could attach,” was the general response; “provided, of course, that the end of that pledge was fully attained.”

“Of that there can be no doubt,” was the assumption of the reformed man.  “The end was, to save me from the influence of an appetite for drink, against which, in my own strength, I could not contend.  That end is now accomplished.  Two years of total abstinence has made me a new man.  I now occupy the same ground that I occupied before I lost my self-control.”

“Then I can see no reason why you should be denied the social privilege of a glass with your friends,” urged one of the company.

“Nor can I see it clearly,” Marshall said.  “Still I feel that a solemn pledge, made more solemn and binding by the subscription of my name, is not a thing to be lightly broken.  The thought of doing so troubles me, when I seriously reflect upon it.”