CHAPTER X.

DEEPER STILL.

WITH bowed head and despair tugging at his heart, Rodney passed through the noise and business of the streets. He was bent upon seeing over again the poor place where his wife had died and Nelly been killed. It was the middle of the morning as he approached it, and as he shrank from being the object of notice to his former neighbours, he slunk down the side-alleys and passages, which brought him almost opposite the building where his home had been. Again he climbed the worn steps and gave a low knock at his own door, which was quickly answered by a voice calling, "Come in."

Yes, his home was gone, quite gone. Here was another family on the same road to ruin as himself, dwelling within the old walls. Upon the hearth was a woman sitting on a low stool and nursing a wailing baby, with a bottle in reach of her hand, while the scent of gin, which made every nerve in him creep and tingle, filled the place.

She looked up with blood-shot eyes: and asked him what his business might be.

"I'd a friend who lived here once," he said, leaning against the door-post, for he felt faint and giddy, "John Rodney by name. I suppose he's gone?"

"Oh! He's dead," answered the woman, "drowned himself: and a good thing too. Everybody was glad to hear the news. His little girl set herself afire, and him lying there, the brute, too drunk to stir; couldn't lift hand or foot to help her. Mrs. Simpson, as lived next door, said how she see him crawl away after, down them steps and up the street, and three days after his body was found in the river."

"What did you say about the little girl?" he asked, sick at heart.

"Why! She set herself afire at this very grate, and him lying as it might be there, and she ran out, all in a flame, down them steps, and was burned to death. Bless you! I'd lots of folks to see the place, specially ladies; but they're forgetting it now. I couldn't bear it at first myself, but I bore up. This 'll help you bear up against anything."

She laid her hand on the bottle, smiling drearily, and Rodney shivered and shuddered throughout all his frame. He knew well what it would do for him: what a warmth, what a genial glow would run through all his veins, till some, at least, of this deadly sickness of heart would pass away. In the hospital he had had wine given to him at stated intervals, and his burden had always seemed lighter after he drank it. Here, within the narrow compass of these bare walls was the scene of his most terrible remembrance; but here also the temptation beset him with awful and renewed strength. He gazed with greedy eyes at the bottle in the woman's hand.

[Illustration: THE VISIT TO THE OLD HOME.]

"It's all gone," she said, "or I'd have given you a drop."

Rodney turned away without a word, his brain on fire with the old hellish craving for drink. Some words were running through his mind with monotonous repetition,—

"Cool my tongue, for I am tormented in this flame."

Half-way down the narrow street lay a man in the gutter, the butt for any passer-by to kick at. The children had strewn ashes upon his head and face, from the dust-heaps which lay before each door, without disturbing the profound slumber of the drunkard. Rodney stood still and gazed at him, with a mingled feeling of wonder and envy to think of what, deep draughts he must have taken, and what utter forgetfulness had come over him. At length, he passed onwards to the more public thoroughfares. There was the old frequented gin-palace, with its easily swinging doors, and its attractive appliances to help the temptation to conquer him. He could resist no longer; and he did not turn away from the counter till the whole of the money, given to him to carry him to his mother's home, was gone.

It was some hours before Rodney came to himself; being hastened to it by a shove from the foot of the proprietor, who had allowed him to lie asleep in a corner of the place during the slack hours of the daytime. It was time for him now to make room for others who had money to spend. He gathered himself up and stood on his feet, looking drearily into the man's face.

"Where am I to go to?" he asked. "I've spent my last penny with you. I haven't got a hole to put my head in, nor a farthing in my pocket. Where am I to go to?"

"Where you were last night," said the man angrily.

"I came out of the infirmary this morning," he answered, in a bewildered tone; "where am I to go to to-night?"

"To the workhouse then," said the man; "only out of this anyhow."

He opened the door, and pushed him out.

Rodney tottered to a doorway, and sat down, gazing at the stream of people constantly passing by, with a rigid and stony face of despair. It was still twilight, and a crimson flush was tinging the sky westward, while a fresh invigorating breeze played about his burning forehead.

"Oh God! Oh God!" he cried within himself. "I meant to have kept that vow. Where can I hide myself from these places that entrap me? Would to God they'd take me into some madhouse, and put a strait-waistcoat on me! I am mad, or the devil is in me. If I could but crawl to some place where they'd lock me up and keep me from it, if I died for thirst! Oh! If there were only such a place for a madman like me!"

But there was no place for him, even to shelter him for the night. He was homeless, without a penny or a friend in the great and busy town. Or rather, there was one refuge for him—the workhouse. The thought of going there came dimly to him at first; but by and by he began to see that it was not merely the only place for him, but it was a place where he could not be assailed by the sight and smell of the poison which took away his senses. As long as he could keep to the resolution of remaining within its walls, he would be preserved from the temptation of the numberless gin-palaces which met him at every turn. It might be that after a time, the spell would be broken; the devil's witchcraft which had cost him so much.

It was a painful pilgrimage, with his heavy feet and despairing spirit, to make his way to the workhouse. He could only be admitted to the casual ward for the night; but the next morning he entered, as an inmate, this last and only refuge.

"God help me," he said to himself, "God help me to keep inside these walls. I daren't trust myself in the streets. If there's any chance for me, it's here."

[Illustration]