"And is that your only reason, dear Frank?" asked Mrs Oliphant.

"Oh no! that's not all; the plain truth is this, I can't help thinking that if I keep getting fonder and fonder of beer and wine, as I'm doing now, I shall get too fond of it by-and-by."

Mr Oliphant sighed, and poor Mary exclaimed,--

"Oh, Frank, don't say that."

"Ay, but it's true; don't you think, Mr Oliphant, that I should be better and safer without it?"

"I do, most sincerely, my dear boy," answered the rector; "yes, both better and safer; and specially the latter."

"I know," said Frank, "that papa and mamma are not fond of total abstinence; but then, I cannot think that they have really looked into the matter as you have."

"No, Frank, your father and mother do not see the matter in the same light as myself and I have no right to blame them, for, when I first came to Waterland, I thought nearly the same as they do. Perhaps they will take _my_ view by-and-by."

Frank shook his head, and then went on,--

"But you do think it the best thing for young people, as well as grown- up people, to be abstainers?"

"Yes, a.s.suredly; and I will tell you why. I will give you a little ill.u.s.tration. There is a beautiful picture representing what is called the 'Lorelei,' a spirit fabled to haunt some high rocks that overlook the Rhine. This spirit is represented in the picture as a beautiful female, with a sweet but melancholy expression of countenance. She kneels on the top of the rock, and is singing to a harp, which she strikes with her graceful fingers. Below is a boat with two men in it, the one old, and the other young. The boat is rapidly nearing the rocks, but both the men are utterly unconscious of their danger--the old man has ceased to hold the helm, the young man has dropped the oars, and both are fondly stretching out their hands towards the deceiving spirit, wholly entranced with her song--a few moments more and their boat will be a wreck. Now, it is because the drink is such an enticing thing, like the Lorelei spirit; because it seems to sing pleasantly to us, and makes us forget where we are; because it lures on old and young to their ruin, by robbing them of their self-control;--it is for these reasons that I think it such a happy thing to put every safeguard between ourselves and its snares."

"Yes," said Frank thoughtfully; "I know the drink is becoming a snare to me, or may become so. What shall I do? Ought I to give it up altogether?"

"It is a very difficult thing to answer that question," replied the rector. "I could hardly urge you to give up beer and wine altogether, if your father and mother positively forbid your doing so; there is no sin, of course, in the simple taking of fermented liquors, and therefore I could not advise you to go directly contrary to your parents' orders in this matter."

"There is no harm, however, in my trying to give up beer and wine, if my father and mother will allow me?"

"Certainly not, my dear boy; and may G.o.d make your way plain, and remove or overcome your difficulties."

The day after this conversation, Frank was sitting in his place at the dinner-table of the hall. The butler brought him a gla.s.s of beer. "No, thank you," he said. A little while after he filled a tumbler with water, and began to drink it.

"Frank, my boy," said his father, "are not you well? Why don't you take your beer as usual?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, papa; but I'd rather have the water."

"Well, put some port wine in it, at any rate, if you don't fancy the beer to-day."

"I'd rather have neither beer nor wine, thank you, papa."

By this time Lady Oldfield's attention was drawn to what was pa.s.sing between her husband and son.

"Dear Frank," she said, "I shall not allow you to do anything so foolish as to drink water. James, hand the beer again to Master Frank."

"Indeed, dear mamma," he urged, "I mean what I say; I really should rather have water."

"Absurd!" exclaimed her ladyship angrily; "what folly has possessed you now? You know that the medical men all say that wine and beer are necessary for your health."

"I'm sure, mamma, the medical men needn't trouble themselves about my health. I'm always very well when I have plenty of air and exercise.

If ever I feel unwell, it is when I've had more wine or beer than usual."

"And who, pray, has been putting these foolish notions into your head?

I see how it is; I always feared it; the Oliphants have been filling your head with their extravagant notions about total abstinence.

Really, my dear," she added, turning to Sir Thomas, "we must forbid Frank's going to the rectory, if they are to make our own child fly in the face of our wishes."

"Mamma," cried Frank, all on fire with excitement and indignation, "you're quite mistaken about the Oliphants; they have none of them been trying to talk me over to their own views. I began the subject myself, and asked Mr Oliphant's advice, and he told me expressly that I ought not to do what you would disapprove of."

"And why should you ask Mr Oliphant's advice? Cannot you trust your own father and mother? I am not saying a word against Mr Oliphant as a clergyman or a Christian; he preaches the gospel fully and faithfully, and works hard in his parish, but on this subject of total abstinence he holds views which neither your father nor I approve of; and, really, I must not have you tampered with in this matter."

"Well, dear mamma, I've done; I'll do as you wish. Farewell water-- welcome beer and wine; James, a gla.s.s of ale."

It was two years after this that a merry company from the hall and rectory set out to explore a remarkable ruin about five miles distant from Waterland. Frank was leader of the party; he had never given his parents any more anxiety on the score of total abstinence--on the contrary, he had learned to take so freely of wine and beer, that his mother felt at times a little alarmed lest he should seriously overpa.s.s the bounds of moderation. When at the rectory, he never again alluded to the subject, but rather seemed eager to turn the conversation when any remark fell from Mr or Mrs Oliphant on the evils arising from intemperance. And now to-day he was in the highest spirits, as he rode on a sprightly little pony by the side of Mary Oliphant, who was mounted on another pony, and was looking the picture of peaceful beauty. Other young people followed, also on horseback. The day was most lovely, and an inspiriting canter along lane and over moor soon brought them to the ruin. It was a stately moss-embroidered fabric, more picturesque in its decay than it ever could have been in its completeness. Its shattered columns, solitary mullions, and pendent fragments of tracery h.o.a.ry with age, and in parts half concealed by the negligent profusion of ivy, entranced the mind by their suggestive and melancholy beauty; while the huge remnant of a ma.s.sive tower seemed to plead with mute dignity against the violence which had rent and marred it, and against the encroaching vegetation, which was climbing higher and higher, and enveloping its giant stones in a fantastic clothing of shrub and bramble.

Frank and his party first shut up their horses in the old refectory, closing the entrance with a hurdle, and then dispersed over the ruins.

Mary had brought her drawing-pad, that she might sketch a magnificent pillar, and the remains of a transept arch which rose gracefully behind it, crowned with drooping ivy, and disclosing in the back ground, through a shattered window, the dreamy blue of the distant hills. She sat on the mutilated chapiter of a column, and was soon so wholly absorbed in her work, that she never turned her eyes to notice Frank Oldfield, who, leaning against a low archway, was busily engaged in a vigorous sketch, of which herself was the prominent object. And who could blame him? for certainly a lovelier picture, or one more full of harmonious contrast, could hardly have been found, than that presented by the sweet and graceful figure of the rector's daughter, with its surroundings of ma.s.sive masonry and majestic decay. She all life, a creature of the present, and yet still more of the future, as bright with the sunshine of a hope that could never die; and they, those mouldering stones, that broken tracery, those mossy arches, sad in the desolation of the present, sadder still in the memories of an unenlightened past. Frank finished his sketch, and, holding it behind him, stole gently up to the side of Mary Oliphant.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a most lovely little bit; and yet, I have the vanity to think that my choice of a subject has been better than your own."

"The drawing is, no doubt," she answered; "but I hardly think you can find such a picturesque group as this in any other part of the ruins."

"Let us compare, then," he said, and placed his own sketch by the side of hers.

"Oh, Frank," she cried, "how can you be so foolish?"

At the same time the colour which flushed her face, and the bright smile which lighted it, showed that the folly was not very reprehensible in her eyes.

"Is it so very foolish?" he asked, half seriously, half playfully.

"Well; I wish I had shown the same kind of folly in my choice of some other things as I have in the choice of a subject."

She was about to reply, when suddenly, without any warning, a savage- looking dog dashed into the open s.p.a.ce before them, and, making a fierce rush at Mary, caught her by the dress.

"Down, you brute, down!" shouted Frank; but the dog still retained his hold, and growled and tossed himself about savagely. Frank had no stick nor weapon of any kind in his hands, but he darted to a heap of loose stones, and s.n.a.t.c.hing one up turned towards the dog. In the meantime, Mary, in extreme terror, had dropped her drawing-pad, and plucking her dress from the fierce creature's mouth, fled with all her speed across the pavement, and sprang up the projecting stones of an old archway.

The dog, with a loud yell, followed her, and easily overtook her, as the ascent up which she had climbed presented a broad footing. Utterly terrified, and unconscious of what she was doing, the poor girl clambered higher and higher to escape her enemy. Frank had now turned upon the dog, and hurled one huge stone at him; it pa.s.sed near, but did not touch him. Mary's terror only excited the furious animal to follow, and as she saw him close upon her again, with a wild cry she leaped right across to an old fragment of a turret which stood out by itself in an angle of the wall. The dog hesitated, but, before it could decide to follow her, another stone from Frank had struck it full in the side.

With a tremendous howl it tumbled down into the court and fled. Poor Mary! she gasped for breath, and could not for a long time recover her self-possession. When at last she became more calm, soothed and encouraged by the kind voice and earnest entreaties of Frank, it was only to awake to the extreme danger of her present position. Fear had made her take a leap which she could never have dared to attempt in her calm senses. She looked across the chasm over which she had sprung, and shuddered. Could she try the leap back again? No; she dared not. In the meantime, the stones to which she was clinging began to loosen beneath her weight. She looked down, and became giddy.

"Oh, save me--save me--I shall fall!" she cried. She clutched at a strong stem of ivy which was climbing up the wall close by, and so supported herself; but it was evident that she could not long retain her hold in that constrained position, even if the stonework did not give way beneath her feet. All the party had now gathered in the open s.p.a.ce below, and some began to climb the path by which she had mounted.

Frank, in the meanwhile, was making desperate efforts to reach the poor girl.

"Hold on--hold on--dear Mary!" he cried; "a few moments, and I shall be with you; don't lose courage--keep a firm grasp on the ivy; there--I've got a landing on the top of this old arch; now, I'm only a few feet off--steady, steady--don't stir for your life--only a few moments more and I shall be at your side."

It was perilous work indeed; and all who beheld him held their breath as he made his way towards where the object of their deep anxiety was crouched. Now he was clinging to a rough projecting stone, now swinging by a rusty bar, now grasping ivy or brambles, and every now and then slipping as the old masonry gave way beneath his feet. At last, with immense exertion, he gained a ledge a little below where the terrified girl was perched, half lying, half crouching. Here he had firm standing-ground. Placing his hand gently upon her, he bade her slide down towards him, a.s.suring her that she would have a firm footing on the ledge. She obeyed at once, feeling his strong arm bearing her up and guiding her. Another moment, and she stood beside him. But now, how were they to descend? She dared not attempt to leap back to the spot from whence she had sprung in her terror, and there was no regular descent from the slab on which they were perched, but only a few projecting stones down the perpendicular face of the wall, and these at wide intervals.

"There's no way but a roundabout climb down by the ivy," said Frank at last. "Trust to me, dear Mary, and do exactly what I tell you. I will go first, and do you place hand and foot just as I bid you. There--put your foot in that crevice--now take firm hold of that branch; there--now the other foot--now the next step a little to the right, the good ivy makes a n.o.ble ladder--now we're nearly landed; there--be careful not to slip on that round stone--one step more, and now we're safe. Oh, thank G.o.d, _you're_ safe!"

He clasped her to his heart; she knew that heart was hers; she could not resent that loving embrace; it was but for a moment. He released her, and was turning to the friends who were gathering and pressing round, when a heavy stone, loosened in their descent, fell on his outstretched arm, and struck him to the ground.

Mary sprang towards him with a cry of deep distress.

"Frank, dear Frank--you're hurt--you're dreadfully hurt, I'm sure."