It was not possible, so impelled by appetite and so indulging its
demands, for Ellis Whitford to keep from drifting out into the fatal
current on whose troubled waters thousands are yearly borne to
destruction.
After her humiliation at Mrs. Birtwell's, a smile was never seen
upon the mother's face. All that she deemed it wise to say to her
son when he awoke in shame next morning she said in tears that she
had no power to hold back. He promised with solemn asseverations
that he would never again so debase himself, and he meant to keep
his promise. Hope stirred feebly in his mother's heart, but died
when, in answer to her injunction, "Touch not, taste not, handle
not, my son. Herein lies your only chance of safety," he replied
coldly and with irritation:
"I will be a man, and not a slave. I will walk in freedom among my
associates, not holding up manacled wrists."
Alas! he did not walk in freedom. Appetite had already forged
invisible chains that held him in a fatal bondage. It was not yet
too late. With a single strong effort he could have rent these bonds
asunder, freeing himself for ever. But pride and a false shame held
him back, from making this effort, and all the while appetite kept
silently strengthening every link and steadily forging new chains.
Day by day he grew feebler as to will-power and less clear in
judgment. His fine ambition, that once promised to lift him into the
highest ranks of his profession, began to lose its stimulating
influence.
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