Chapter XI: Tempted

ONE afternoon when Arthur and Frank were at the Zoological Gardens, and were sitting under a tree resting, Frank exclaimed:

"I say, Arthur, are all your folks teetotallers?"

"Yes," said Arthur.

"Are you?"

"Why, yes, I suppose so."

"Catch me," answered Frank. "Did your father make you?"

"No, not in that sense."

"Then why don't you do as you like, and come and have a glass of ale now?"

"I have never taken any in my life."

"Don't even know the taste? You are 'a ninny.'"

"I'm not 'a ninny,' but I would not take any for the world."

"Afraid of it?"

"No, I don't think so. But we will not discuss it, please Frank."

"Why not, if you're not afraid of it? What made your father a teetotaller?"

"He said it was the dreadful evil he had seen it grow to in his professional experience."

"Very likely, but everyone is not so silly; and I can't see why you should go without a pleasure and all that, just because other people abuse it. You won't take too much. Come along, I mean to have a glass; I'm awfully thirsty. You never signed, I suppose?"

"No; but I would not break my determination. You go if you like, Frank, but I shan't."

Frank laughed, and ran off towards the refreshment-rooms. He was gone some time, and Arthur had time to think. When Frank rejoined him he began again.

"Well, now I feel jolly; I am not thirsty, and I feel as refreshed as possible."

"So do I," said Arthur, smiling slightly.

"How?"

Arthur pointed to a water tap close by.

"Nonsense! that's a very different thing. But, seriously, Arthur, do you mean to be judged for and petticoat governed all your life?"

"No," said Arthur, frowning; "but in this matter it is no petticoat government; I have made up my mind."

"You are too young yet to know."

"Very likely; but let the matter be, Frank. In some things you know a great deal more than I do, and better too, I daresay, but not in this."

Frank waved his hand airily, and rose up to go to the monkey-house, and Arthur followed, all the stronger for his victory.

Had he not good reason for his determination? Had not there been a time, not so long ago, when he had come into his father's study and found him with his head buried in his hands? He would have drawn back, but his father beckoned to him, and made him sit down by him "while he told him a story."

"Arthur, my boy, there were once two friends. Both were brought up with equal love and tenderness; both went to the same school, and then to college; both had opportunities of knowing the will of God, and of doing it. One, thank God, though with many falls and falters, passed through the temptations of youth, and came out a happy, successful man; the other—is just dead.

"At college he was the best fellow going. He was full of fun and gaiety, and scorned the idea of living like a recluse, or not using 'God's good gifts' to the full. At first he meant no harm, and was sure he could keep straight; but there was a gradual change in him. He began to keep later hours; he was tempted into more company than he had time or money for; he was ridiculed at first for his moderation, but soon threw away all caution, and took as much as he felt inclined.

"True, he suffered for it bitterly. There were days of wretchedness and anguish, days in which he cursed himself for his folly; but the insatiable longing came over him again, and once more he fell into it.

"My boy, what his parents and friends suffered for him no tongue can tell.

"His companions laughed at him as a good joke; where they could stop short, he had fallen.

"After a while he did not care to see his friends, and I lost sight of him. By a seeming accident, I was visiting a patient in a lodging-house in the West End, and was asked by the landlady to step in and see another lodger, who was very ill.

"I did so; and there I found a dying man, this college friend of whom I have been telling you.

"He was dozing, and I sat down by his side.

"Presently he opened his eyes. 'You, Arundel?' he said, feebly stretching out his hand and holding mine in his weak grasp. 'Yes; you were right, and I was wrong.'

"'It is not too late,' I said to him.

"'No;' he answered. 'I am like the thief on the cross; I have looked and lived. I am like the prodigal son, who, when he had spent all, came to himself and went to his father.'

"Then, my boy, I bent down and kissed him; kissed that poor worn-out, prematurely old face, which I had loved in our youthful days; and we wept together such tears as men weep.

"He told me, when we could say anything, that while he had laid on this death-bed, words spoken to him long ago, entreaties long disregarded, Scripture despised and trampled on, had come up before him, and had stared him in the face.

"He told me how despair had held him in its awful grip, and then how one night he had, as it were, seen a battle, in which One had come out victorious—One mighty to save. This One had agonized for his lost soul. This One had even died for his lost soul; and now came to him with the signs of victory in His blood-stained hands, and said to him, 'I give unto them eternal life: and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My hand.'

"Then, Arthur, he told me he had believed that conquering One.

"He knew how degraded, helpless, wicked, he himself was, but here was One who said, 'No one shall pluck thee out of My hand;' and he laid his sin-sick soul in the hand of Jesus, and rested his weary head on the heart of Jesus, and was forgiven.

"This morning, my boy, he has gone to be with that Saviour who bought him; no longer defiled, miserable, sinful; but washed, renewed, victorious, through Him who died for him."

Then Arthur's father ceased. But once more he looked up in the boy's face—

"My friend told me to warn all, all, against this awful curse of drink.

"I have told you all this, Arthur, that I may warn you, my son. May God bless you and keep you."

Could Arthur forget this scene? Was not the memory of this crushed, wasted life sufficient to help him to keep his resolve?

* * * * * * *

When they returned home from the Zoological Gardens that evening, Arthur was very silent.

Frank rallied him several times on his moroseness, but somehow felt it was a different sort of quiet from any of his previous fits of depression.

When tea was done, Arthur sought for his mother, and found her resting on the sofa in her room.

"May I come in and have a little talk with you, mother?"

"Oh yes, dear!"

Arthur sat down by her side and was silent.

"Well, my dear?" she said at last.

"Mamma, dear, I have something to tell you, and I don't know how to say it."

Mrs. Arundel put her soft hand into his, and with the greatest tenderness said, "What is it, my dear boy?"

"Mamma, I have been on the verge of—of—being tempted into actual sin. Oh, mamma, I thought I was strong! But—but—I did not know there could be so much wickedness."

"My child," said Mrs. Arundel, in a whisper of terrible fear, "What is it? What has tempted you?"

"It is nothing particular, dear mamma; it has been things Frank has told me of—things they do and say on board ship. Till to-day, I hardly guessed that he was trying to undermine my faith in you, and papa, and Ada; but this afternoon, a conversation we had put things in their true light. Oh, mamma, when I tell you that to-night we had arranged to go for a short time to the theatre!"

"My poor boy."

"We should not have been late. He promised to come away in an hour; but he said it was the late hours you and papa objected to; and somehow or other he made me feel it was only a lark, and not wrong. But I see it now; and think—just think!—if I had deceived you."

Mrs. Arundel pressed his hand closely, and he went on—

"Then he was always bringing up my love for you, and for Nellie and Ada, and making out it was 'petticoat government;' and I have been so cross and unhappy."

"Have you told me all the worst, dearest?" said Mrs. Arundel, very softly.

"Yes, mamma; the theatre was the worst. But somehow the stories he told me seem to feel the worst to me; and though I kept on telling him, I didn't want to hear, he only laughed and went on."

Mrs. Arundel laid her face on her boy's hand, and warm tears and kisses fell upon it. "My dear, dear boy!" she said.

"Do you think you will ever trust me again?" he asked, clasping her round the neck, and weeping.

"Indeed, indeed I shall."

"You must tell papa," said Arthur, in a low tone. "I do not think I can. But, oh, mamma, I am so very thankful I woke up in time."

"What made you think, dearest?"

"It was a story papa told me once; and when Frank and I were sitting in the Zoological Gardens to-day, it flashed across me, and all at once I felt as if I had been standing on the edge of a precipice without knowing it."

"Had you read your Bible as usual, dear, and prayed?"

"Well, I'm afraid not, mamma," he said sadly; "we were so late, and so tired, and he kept on talking all the time; somehow—"

"Yes, dear; I understand. Oh, Arthur, my child, it is a mercy that you have been saved. Now go down, my dear; it is getting late."

He put his arms round her, and kissed her over and over again. How thankful he was afterwards that he had made this full confession, and been forgiven.

"You do forgive me?" he said once more, coming back to her side.

"Yes, fully and freely, my dear, dear boy."

When Arthur re-entered the drawing room, Frank rose at once, and said aloud—

"Come, Arthur; I could not think where you were. You know you promised to show me Regent Street by gaslight."

"So late?" said Ada, looking up wondering.

"We shall not be long, Ada," said Arthur; then passing her, he added low, "Mamma knows."

When they slammed the front door behind them, Frank exclaimed irritably, "What a fool you have been; half our time is gone! I could not imagine where you could be. Come along; we shall have missed half of it!"

They hurried along for a moment or two, and then Arthur slackened.

"Too fast for you?" Frank asked, looking round annoyed.

"No," said Arthur; "but I am not going to the theatre."

"Not?"

"No; I have only come into the street to tell you so quietly. Frank, I'm afraid you have been trying to lead me into evil."

"Gammon!" said Frank.

"If it is that, I'll say no more," said Arthur firmly; "but I thank God He has shown me where you were leading me, and has stopped me in time."

Frank was going to add another angry word, but Arthur turned abruptly round and walked slowly home, followed, to his great surprise, by Frank.

"Look here," he said, as they came near home, "though you've turned coward, don't you go and tell."

"I've turned brave, and I have told," answered Arthur.