“You can do much, John, if you will.”

“If I will, Mr. Gray?”

“Yes, John, if you will.”

“There is nothing that I am not ready to do, Mr. Gray—­even the cutting off of my right hand, could it be of any avail.”

“You swore off, as I believe you called it, for six months, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Had you any desire to drink, during that time?”

“None.”

“Sign a pledge of perpetual total-abstinence, and you are safe from all future temptations.  Time will doubtless heal the present painful wounds.”

“And make a slave of myself, Mr. Gray.  Surely I ought to have power enough over myself to abstain from all intoxicating drinks, without binding myself down by a written contract.”

“That is true; but, unfortunately, you have not that control over yourself.  Your only safety, then, lies in the pledge.  Take that, and you throw between yourself and danger an insurmountable barrier.  You talk about freedom; and yet are a slave to the most debasing appetite.  Get free from the influence of that eager, insatiable desire, and you are free, indeed.  The perpetual total-abstinence pledge will be your declaration of independence.  When that is taken, you. will be free, indeed.  And until it is taken, rest assured, that none of your friends will again have confidence in you.  For their sakes,—­for your sister’s sake, that peace may once more be restored to her troubled heart—­for the sake of her, from whose lip you dashed the cup of joy, sign the pledge.”

“I will sign it, Mr. Gray.  But name not her whom I have so deeply wronged.  I can never see Helen Weston again.”

“Time heals many a wound, and closes many a breach my young friend.”

“It can never heal that wound, nor close that breach,” was the sad response.  “But give me a pen and ink, and some paper; and let me write a pledge.  I believe it is necessary for me to sign one.”

The materials for writing were brought as desired, and Barclay wrote and subscribed a pledge of perpetual abstinence from all that could intoxicate.

“That danger is past,” he said, with a lighter tone, as he arose from the table at which he had been writing.  “I can never pass another such a week as that which has just elapsed.”

“Now come down and take a good warm breakfast with me,” Mr. Gray said, in a cheerful voice.

“Excuse me if you please,” Barclay replied.  “I cannot meet your family this morning, after what has occurred.  Besides, I must see my sister as quickly as possible, and relieve, as far as lies in my power, her suffering heart.”

“Go then, John Barclay,” the old man said.  “I will not, for Alice’s sake, urge you to linger a moment.”

It was still early when Mr. Barclay entered his own home.  He found Alice sitting in the parlour so pale, haggard, and wretched, that her features hardly seemed like those of his own sister.  She looked up into his face as he came in with a sad, doubting expression, while her lips trembled.  One glance, however, told her heart that a change had taken place, and she sprang quickly towards him.