Saved as by Fire! CHAPTER 4.
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I did not feel easy in my mind until I had called at Granger's office on the next day. I found him all right and busy at work. His eyes brightened as he saw me, and he said, with genuine heartiness, as he grasped my hand: "I was so sorry you called yesterday without finding me at home. Helen told me of your visit. I had gone out for a stroll in the Park."
While I was hesitating whether or not to say that I had seen him there, he added, with a shade of pride and self-confidence in his voice: "I had an opportunity to test the native strength that lies with every man, yesterday — and to prove the power of a resolute 'I will not.'"
"Ah? What were the circumstances?" I wished to get his own story, and so gave no intimation of what I had seen.
He replied: "I met two friends while walking near Belmont, and they invited me to join them in a drink. My first thought was to say No; but not wishing to be disagreeable, I said, 'All right,' and we went over to Proskauer's. I had just a little fight with myself as we walked along; but it was soon over, and will stood firmly on guard. 'What will you take?' asked one of them, as we sat down in front of the restaurant. 'Claret punch,' said the other. 'And you?' looking at me. Will was all right and on guard, as I have said, and 'Soda water for me,' came without a shade of hesitation in my voice. I never felt in greater freedom, nor more at ease and assured. Thank you from my heart, friend Lyon; you have helped me to get the full mastery of myself."
"If a man only wills to overcome in the day of temptation, his victory is sure," said I, with renewed confidence; for, was not the proof of this before me? "I am glad for your victory," I continued. "It not only gives you increased assurance of safety, but makes clear to your mind wherein this safety lies. It is within ourselves that we must look for help and strength. God is always giving us the power to live right and to dwell beyond the reach of our enemies; but He does not use that power for us. This we must do for ourselves."
"All as clear to me as the sun at noonday," Granger replied. "And how strong I feel in this consciousness that if I will not — all Hell, as you have said, cannot move me. To stand self-confident, is to stand sure."
But for all his confidence and my own, I did not feel that Granger was wholly safe. If there had been no such thing as infirmity of the will, no sudden assaults of the enemy in unguarded moments, no alluring enticements of the flesh, nor subtle reasonings of the sensual principle, which is so ready to say when forbidden fruit is at the lip, "You shall notsurely die," I might not have doubted. But I could not rule these considerations out of the question. They were ever existing sources of danger and causes of anxiety; and I knew but too well that the history of moral defection, was the history of their dominion over the will of man.
"But, after all," I could not help saying, "is it not safest for us to keep as much as possible out of the way of temptation?"
"Yes," he answered, in a tone that was almost indifferent. "Safest, of course, to be in a sheltered enclosure — than out on the battle-field. But the skill to fight, and the power to resist assault, cannot be gained while one lies beyond the reach of danger. We must be brave and strong, and ever ready for the fight; not so much seeking to avoid conflict, as to be armed and ready, and quick to strike when the foe appears. Does any man know his strength, until it is tried? Is any man really strong, until he has met temptation and come out victorious?"
There are truths which become changed into fallacies, because not considered in relation to other truths; or because of their too limited or too general application. In the case of Granger, while I could not deny the abstract truth of what he had been saying, I felt that he stood in great danger of letting it be to him, little more than a betraying fallacy.
I saw him frequently after this, and observed him closely. How fast the old strength, the old working force, and the old ambition were returning. And with all, how strong he seemed to be in the new power which he had gained.
"My 'will not' is my sword and shield," he said to me, many weeks after his new life began. "If my enemy assaults me from a distance, I catch his arrows upon this shield; if he falls upon me suddenly, I defeat him with this sword."
Time passed, and still Granger's feet were standing on solid ground. Business came flowing in, and men who had important cases were again employing him as their counsel. He did not keep out of the way of temptation as much as I thought prudent; but his "I will not" held him above the force of all allurement.
At home, the new aspect of things was like the coming of spring after a long and desolate winter. The poor, little, ill-attired house, was changed for one larger and more comfortable, and furnished in a style more befitting the tastes and habits of his wife and children. Old social relations were in many cases restored, and Mrs. Granger was seen now and then in public places with her husband. Heart-ache, deprivation, toil and humiliation, had made sorrowful changes in her face, and shadowed her beautiful eyes; but slowly the new spring-time which opened upon her life, wrought its sweet changes, until you began to lose sight of the winter's ravages, and to find in their stead, the pleasant signs of a fast-coming and bountiful summer.
For a whole year Granger held his ground, walking safely amid temptations that assailed him on the right hand and on the left. His profession brought him into familiar association with men who not only used wine freely themselves, but made its offer to their friends, a social courtesy. Still, his steady refusal to touch or taste was maintained. "I will not"continued to be his tower of strength.
"I am prouder of this self-mastery," he said to me one day, "than of any achievement in my life. In the strength of this asserted manhood, I stand as a rock, unmoved, though the billows dash madly against me."
"He who rules his own spirit, is better than he who captures a city," I replied. "The greatest of all heroes, is the man who conquers himself."
"Say, rather, he who, single-handed, meets the infernal crew who would drag him down to death and Hell, and beats them back!" he replied.
There was a proud flash in his eyes as he lifted himself to a statelier bearing.
"Have you seen Mr. Granger recently?" asked my wife, not many weeks afterwards. It was on Sunday, and we were sitting at the dinner-table. "No, why do you ask?" Something in Mrs. Lyon's voice gave me a feeling of uneasiness.
"I saw Mrs. Granger at church this morning, and she looked as if she had just come out of a spell of sickness."
"Was she at church last Sunday?"
"Yes."
"Did you observe anything unusual in her appearance then?"
"No."
"Was her daughter with her today?"
"Yes; and she looked almost as wretched as her mother. There's something wrong, I'm afraid. Oh, if Mr. Granger should have taken to drinking again, would it not be dreadful?"
My knife and fork dropped from my hands, and I half rose from the table, so pained and startled was I by this suggestion.
"Oh, no, no, that cannot be!" I replied, as I made an effort to compose myself. "Mr. Granger is too strong, and too well established in his reformation."
"From what I have heard you say," returned my wife, "I have been inclined to think him too self-confident. The boastful are not always the farthest removed from peril; and Granger has shown a weakness in this direction. His 'I will not,' in which you and he have put so great faith, may have proven his stone of stumbling."
"Why do you say that?" I demanded, in a voice meant to be assured, but into which came a betrayal of weakness and fear.
"A man," replied my wife, "who has such a firm faith in his 'I will not,' as Granger possesses, may fall through over-confidence in the power of self-mastery."
"How?"
"He may trust himself too far."
"I do not get your meaning. What is it?"
"Your friend is offered a glass of wine. The sight and the odor kindle into a sudden flame the old desire. He is conscious of strength, and with an emphatic mental 'I will not!' turns from the tempting glass. But, suppose, in his conscious, self-confident strength, as you call it, he should say, 'I will taste but a single glass,' what then? Is he not as sure of himself after a single glass, as he was before? Can he not say, 'So far and no farther?'"
"You know that he cannot," I replied, almost sharply, for her suggestion had struck me like a blow. "That single glass would not only break the strength of his will, but give to appetite a new and stronger power."
"Don't you see the perpetual danger in which he would stand?"
I did see it as I had not seen it before, though many times fears and misgivings had troubled me.
"But about Mrs. Granger and her daughter?" I asked. "How did they look?"
'I only saw them for a moment or two in the vestibule of the church. At the first glance, I scarcely recognized Mrs. Granger. There did not seem to be a particle of color in her face, which was pinched, as we see it in those who are suffering acute pain. She did not look up at anyone, and had the manner of a person who wished to shrink away without attracting observation. Depend upon it, there is something wrong with her husband."
"Something wrong with her husband!" It had the sound of a death-knell in my ears.
After dinner, I called at Granger's residence and asked for him, but was informed by the servant that he was not at home. I then inquired for Mrs. Granger, who sent word that she was not feeling well, and asked to be excused. The servant's manner was repressed and mysterious. I went away with a heavy weight pressing on my heart, and taking a car, rode out to the Park, thinking it possible that I might find Granger there. I spent the whole afternoon in the neighborhood of Belmont, but saw nothing of him. In the evening, I called at his house again, but was told, as before, that he was not at home. There was a look in the servant's face, as she made this answer, which led me to doubt its truth.
I made it my business to go to the lawyer's office as early as ten o'clock on the following day. He had not yet made his appearance. I returned at twelve; but he was still absent. Then I visited the court-rooms and inquired for him there; but no one remembered to have seen him within the last two or three days. Late in the afternoon, I again visited his office, but the door was still locked.
On the next day, and on the next, my efforts to find Granger were no more successful. He still remained away from his office. A week passed without my seeing him. I had again and again called at his residence, only to be informed that he was not at home.
Sitting in my office late one afternoon, I heard the door open, and turning, saw this man for whom so great a concern was lying on my heart. Was it all a dream, then — this year of reform and restoration? — a bright, but cheating dream? As I had seen him, debased, nerveless, wretched, a year ago — so I saw him now. Eyes blood-shot — clothes soiled and disordered — face shorn of all manliness, and marked in every lineament with debauchery and excess!
"Oh, Granger! Granger!" I cried out, the sorrow and pain which I felt going into my voice. "And has it come to this? All your strength gone — all your manhood trodden into the mire?"
"All gone," he answered, in a moody, dogged kind of way, as he shut the door and came a step or two forward. I saw that he was considerably under the influence of alcohol.
"I had hoped better things of you than this, Mr. Granger," said I, with a measure of rebuke in my voice.
"And I had hoped better things of myself," he replied, as he sat down, or rather, dropped heavily into a chair. "But I rather guess we built on a sandy foundation; and when the winds blew, and the rain fell, and the floods came, down went the house, and the fall thereof was great. Ha! Isn't it so? Don't you remember that talk we had with Mr. Stannard — about the new leaf I had turned, and the writing that was to go thereon. You and he differed about it, I remember; and I took your view of the case. But, do you know, I've always had a notion that he was nearest right."
"Then, in Heaven's name, try his way!" I exclaimed. "Anything to save you from this dreadful sin and debasement."
"That is, go and join the church." He gave a short, ironical laugh. "Nice subject for the church!" And he looked down at himself. "But, see here, Lyon," his manner changing, "I'm all cleaned out. Look!" and he held his pocket-book open. "All gone, you perceive. Had more than a hundred dollars when — when — I got on this confounded drinking spree! Lend me a twenty. I want to buy a clean shirt, and get a bath, and fix myself up before going home."
"Will you fix yourself up and go home?" I asked.
"Of course I will. But I can't meet Helen and the children looking like this. I'd rather go and jump into the river."
I hesitated, not feeling sure of him. He was under the influence of drink; and the word of a man in this condition can rarely, if ever, be trusted.
"Mr. Lyon. I'm not going to deceive you. I've set my foot down, and don't mean to drink another drop."
"Here are ten dollars," I said, taking a bank-bill from my pocket-book; "but before I give it to you, I must have your word, as a man of honor, that you will not spend a dollar of this money for liquor."
"My word and my honor, Mr. Lyon!" and he placed his hand over his heart.
In the next moment, he was reaching out eagerly for the money, which I let him take, though not without many misgivings as to his proper use of it. He rose immediately and made a movement to leave the office.
"Not yet, Mr. Granger. Sit down again. I wish to have a little more talk with you."
"I'll call in tomorrow," he replied, not resuming his seat, and showing considerable eagerness to get away. "Haven't been home since day before yesterday, and they're getting worried about me. Good afternoon!"
And before I could make a movement to intercept him, he was gone!
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