For John's Sake Part 3

In one hour all Ruth's bright hopes for the future, and John's well-doing in a distant land, faded; and when she pa.s.sed out of the reeking atmosphere of the little room into the cool, tranquil moonlight, her heart seemed to have died within her.

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CHAPTER IV.

QUITE UNLIKE HIMSELF.

"HOW quiet we are, to be sure!" exclaimed John, when he began to observe that Ruth was paying no attention to his noisy talk. "I suppose you're offended with d.i.c.k. That's very silly, for he means no harm, and has just been used to say what he likes. He's a good-hearted fellow at bottom."

"I don't mind for myself, John; but, oh, I'm sure he won't do you any good. I wish you would go out by yourself, and not depend upon his promises, for I feel he isn't to be trusted."

"Rubbish, Ruth; who should I trust if not my own brother? and besides, I've got my eyes open, and am able to look out for myself."

"But, John, do forgive me for saying it, you didn't look out for yourself even this evening, for you let d.i.c.k give you more brandy than you have ever been in the habit of taking, and it has made you quite unlike yourself, and I cannot help being afraid of what may happen if you go away with him."

"I suppose you mean to say I'm drunk," angrily cried John.

"No, John, I can't say that; but it wouldn't take much more brandy to make you so."

"Then you'd best go home by yourself, for I'm no fit company for you,"

and John roughly threw Ruth's hand off his arm, and turned back with unsteady footsteps towards the town. The girl stood dismayed. John was indeed quite unlike himself, to leave her in a lonely road to find her way home unattended. She waited for some time, hoping that he would relent, but the last sound of his footsteps died away, and presently she slowly walked on.

"Why, where's John?" asked cook, as Ruth entered the kitchen.

"Oh, he'll be in directly, I expect. He's just turned back for something. You go off to bed, and I'll see to the fire," carelessly returned Ruth.

"Something wrong, I believe," said cook to herself, as she lit her candle, and followed Jane upstairs.

For an hour Ruth waited, and then, unable to bear the suspense, she threw a shawl over her head, and slipped down to the garden gate to watch for John. At length, shivering with cold, she was about to return to the house, when she heard in the distance the noisy s.n.a.t.c.h of a song.

"It can't be John, of course; but I'll just hide behind the laurels till the drunken fellow has pa.s.sed," thought Ruth. Nearer and nearer came the sound, till, with beating heart, Ruth stepped into the moonlight, and laid her hand on the lips that were profaning the stillness of the midnight air.

"Oh, John; hush, hush! If master should hear you! Oh, what have you been doing, my poor boy?" John made but a feeble resistance to the strong loving hands that drew him into the house.

"Well, I've had a spree, and why mayn't I, with my own brother?" he said, with an inane smile on his face, as he sank into a chair. Ruth made no answer, but wrung a towel out of cold water, and bound it around John's throbbing temples. Then she put the remains of some strong coffee, which had been sent down from the drawing-room, over the fire.

"Drink it," she said, offering it to him when it was sufficiently heated.

"It's horrid," said John, shuddering as he tasted the unmilked, sugarless liquid.

"It will do you good; drink it at once." John obeyed, and Ruth stood watching the effect of ministrations such as she had so often rendered in the past to her drinking mother. In a few minutes John rose to his feet with a sigh.

"I've been a fool to-night, Ruth; but I'll go off to bed, and by morning I'll be in my right senses," he said.

She lit his candle, and carried it for him to the foot of the attic stairs, then went to her own room, and till morning light dawned, resolved endless schemes for preventing the carrying out of John's plans to go abroad with the brother whose influence had already been so powerful for evil. Finally, she determined to speak plainly to John, and tell him she could never consent to follow him if he had anything to do with d.i.c.k, unless he promised to sign the pledge before going away. Then she fell into a troubled sleep, until it was time to commence another day's duties.

"I'm desperately ashamed of myself," said John, when alone with Ruth the next day; "can you find it in your heart to forgive me for costing you so much pain?"

"Don't talk of forgiveness, John; I shall think nothing of all I have suffered, if it will only teach you to be careful and avoid drinking with d.i.c.k in the future."

"I promise you he shall never make me forget myself again; and if you will only trust me, dear, I'll try and hold my head up once more."

"I do trust you, John; but I want you to do what I have done, and promise faithfully not to touch drink again. If you take only a little, it may lead to more, as it did last night; but if you can say 'I never touch it,' you put yourself out of the way of being tempted. Do listen to me now, and be persuaded."

"Really, Ruth, that is too much to expect. It isn't manly to be bound by a pledge, and it makes a fellow look as if he hadn't any pluck or self-confidence to be afraid of a gla.s.s. Why, I believe d.i.c.k would have nothing to do with me if I took your advice."

"So much the better, then," was the decided answer; "d.i.c.k will be your ruin if you depend on him. Do give him up and go out by yourself. Master would give you testimonials to his friends in Melbourne, and you could be quite independent of your brother."

"I'm not going to depend on d.i.c.k; I've got myself to look to. All I want from d.i.c.k is a start, and I'll take care he doesn't lead me into harm's way. If not for my own sake, for yours, Ruthie, dear, I will be careful."

It was hard for Ruth to utter her determination after John's tender words; but the bitter past had been too vividly before her all the morning to allow her to falter in her purpose for more than a pa.s.sing moment.

"John," she said, "I've quite made up my mind that I cannot follow you to Australia unless you take the pledge first, or at least promise that you will not take intoxicants; for, unless you do so, I know that with the many temptations you will meet, especially if you persist in going with d.i.c.k, that all hope of a happy home will be at an end, and I will never risk pa.s.sing through what I once did."

"What on earth are you saying, Ruth? Why, you've promised and can't break your word. I'm going for your sake, and here you say you won't come out to me," cried John, scarce believing his ears.

"No, John, I can't, unless you promise what I wish. When I pa.s.sed my word to you I didn't know what I know now, and I'm quite justified in recalling my promise."

"You're a cruel, hard-hearted girl, and I don't believe you care a straw for me, or you wouldn't make a hindrance out of such a paltry thing. I only made a slip yesterday evening, and I vow it shall be for the last time."

Deeply pained, Ruth only shook her head.

"So you won't believe me! Well, I'll promise no such thing as you ask. I won't be tied to any woman's ap.r.o.n strings," and in extreme irritation, John flung himself out of the kitchen.

"This is too hard!" exclaimed Ruth despairingly. Poor girl! the only earthly brightness that had ever come to her was soon quenched in gloom, and she knew nothing of the comfort and peace which faith in the protection and love of a Heavenly Father can afford in the darkest hour.

No wonder that courage and hope nearly died out of her stricken heart.

The days went by, and John made no attempt to bridge the chasm between himself and Ruth. She knew he was making preparations for speedily leaving England. She also knew that whenever he returned from visiting his father's home, he was more or less the worse for drink. As usual, she stayed up for him, and kept her knowledge of his condition from her fellow-servants, though she could not hide from them that the relationship between them had changed.

"You're not treating that girl well, I believe," said cook sharply to John one day; "you'll never meet her equal again, though you may cross the seas."

"Mind your own business," angrily retorted John, following Ruth into the garden.

"Have you anything to say to me, Ruth? I'm going home to-morrow, and I expect to sail next week," he said. If his tone had been less hard, Ruth might have ventured to plead again with him, but she simply said:

"No, John, I have said all that I mean to, except that I wish you all success and happiness."

"Same to you, Ruth," dryly responded John, and turned on his heel.

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