WARNED, YET WRECKED.

White Ribbon, Volume 35, Issue 416, 18 March 1930, Page 10

WARNED, YET WRECKED.

CHAPTER VII. After the sad scene related in our last chapter, things went from bad to worse in Jack’s home. The fatal inherited craving had been fullv roused in Maude, and clamoured for satisfaction. Moreover, she was fast losing her sense of shame, and no longer dreaded that Jack should find her under the influence of the poison. Her frequent lapses from the path of sobriety began to be talked about, careful matrons shunmsl her. am. si e was driven for companionship upon the fast set. Here sire was not the only one who exceeded the limits of moderation, but others joined in wild carousals and yet wilder excesses. What Jack soften'd none could guess. Rut his patience never failed. He pleaded with Maude, he took her out as often as possible, and did all he could to wean her from the fatal habit which was slowly 1 : surely ruining their home and making shipwreck of their love. One evening, returning from his office, Jack heard his little daughter crying in the nursery. He hastened thither, and what a sight met his eyes. Maude, wildly excited, was playing with little Betsy and tossing her up and down. The child, a bonnie maiden of two years old, was terrified, and called aloud for her nurse. Her fear irritate the drunken mother, and she slapped the child just as Jack entered the room. “Daddy, oh Baddy!” wailed the little one. Jack, his patience failing at last, snatched the child from his wife, and giving her a very straight look, said: “You had better go and get. ready for dinner.” H»> ihen went and called the nurse, and, after soothing the little one’s fears, he handed her over to the nurse. He gave strict orders that she was not to leave her charge for one minute that night. Jack dined alone that evening. Then he sought Maude for a last appeal. But, even for her baby's sake, she refused to give up her wine. She was tearful, reproached Jack for his interference, then became maudlin, and finally went to sleep. As Jack looked at her flushed, bloated features, and heard her heavy breathing, he contrasted her with *he

beautiful girl he had married, and in his heart he cursed the traffic, which could so drown the image of the divine in any human face. He had thought deeply of the risk his little girl incurred while he was absent at his office. To-night’s scene had decided him, at all costs, to save her from another such ordeal. So he went across to his mother's home, and was fortunate in finding her alone, quietly reading before the fire. She looked up with a pleasant smile and greeted him with a warmth of affection she rarely showed to anyone. She had heard much, and guessed more, of the terrible state of affairs at his home. But no w T ord had passed her lips that could reflect upon her son’s wife. Even to Jack himself, she had kept silence. When he w’anted her help, he would ask for it. that she well knew. And, to-night, she sensed that that time had come. For a while they talked of current events. Then Jack rose and stood looking into the fire. At last, with his usual directness, he turned to his mother. “Mum! will you give my Betsy a home here with you and a mother’s care?’’ Mrs. Mason was staggered. His need must be great when he would consent to part with the child he <o loved. “Of course, 1 will do anything to help you. That goes without saying. But are you sure it is wise to take Betsy from her mother? Is Maude willing for me to have her girlie?” For a space Jack hesitated. But perfect candour had ever been Mrs. Mason’s w’av of dealing with her children. “Mother, it almost breaks my heart to say it. but Maude is not fit to look after Betsy.” His mother did not pretend to misunderstanc him. “Will you not take away from Maude her greatest incentive to conquer her evil habit, of you deprive her of her child?” “I can’t help that. I cannot sacrifice my darling, even for her mother. I've injured my girlie enough by giv ng her such an heredity; I dare not add the greater ir.jury of keeping her in such an environment as my home now" is.” He paused, and then went on. as if

the words w’ere wrung from him. “Maude is giving Betsy sips of wine. Mother, I can't allow' that, can I?“ Very surprised at this, and deeply angered. Mrs. Mason replied: “No, my boy, at any cost that must lie rendered impossible. Can I help you, my son?” “Only take my girlie, give her a mother’s love, and bring her up to hate the poison that is killing her mother and breaking her father’s heart.” “Can I do anything to help Maude? Will she not go to a hospital for treatment, and strive to break the aw’fu! chains of habit?" "No! I've tried all I know, to persuade her, but it’s no use. She promises to take less alcohol, but will not promise to abstain entirely. And that is her only hope 4. Do you know’ of a good, capable nurse, w hom I can get to take care of Maude, and keep the drink from her?" “Yes, Jack, I do happen to know’ of one. She is well used to such cases, and is kind as well as firm. But your father thinks you should place her under restraint, and separate your life from her’s.” “Mother, I took Maude for better for worse, until death us do part. I w'as warned, and heeded not the w’arning. Deliberately I took the step, and I’m not going to be a cow’ard and desert the woman who trusted me. With your help, mother, I can safeguard my child, and knowing she is tenderly guarded. I can carry my burden without faltering.” “Cast thy burden on the and He shall sustain thee." And as she softly <inoted these words, she opened her arms and gathered her boy to her heart. And, as Jack felt her loving arms around him, for a space he broke dow’n utterly. The only sounds in that quiet room, wrere a strong man’s sobs, and his mother’s murmured words of tenderness. Over that hour of anguish we draw’ a veil. Mrs. Mason had felt for the victims of the liquor trade, for years, but to-night she felt with them. The iron had entered her owti soul. Slowly Jack’s sobs came, and soon he rose comforted. He rose and kls=ed his mother a fond “Goodnight,” and w’ent out to his wretched home and his lonely life. (To be continued).