The Rev. Ernest Shafton laid his hand upon the shoulder of his brother, perused in silence the official paper before him, and then walked to the window. Deeply cogitating, he stood there for some time, while Mr. Harris's face grew darker, and he muttered, "Turned against me, like every one else! Well, it's my own doing." "Harris," said Mr. Shafton, suddenly, "do you know what this means for you, my poor fellow?" "Ruin, I suppose," was the gloomy answer. "Ay, ruin for time and eternity--having preached to others to become yourself a castaway; but you will not suffer alone, Harris. Your gentle, refined wife will be plunged from comfort to penury; your beautiful, promising children will know the cruel shifts of poverty; will hear their father's name uttered in accents of contempt by a scoffing world; will watch his downward career with fear and loathing, and yet, oh! mark my words, will probably follow in his footsteps, drag out miserable existences, and eventually fill drunkards' graves." "God forbid! God forbid! anything but that," exclaimed the startled minister, rising in great agitation and pacing the room. "God does forbid; but you Harris, are paving your children's road to ruin. Come, I have a proposal to make. By God's help, I will save you if you will let me." "Do what you will, I am ready to submit to anything," groaned the trembling man. "I will use all my influence to change this dismissal into a long suspension of duties. Meanwhile, you shall leave your home and come and stay with me, and I will stand beside you while you fight in God's strength against your foe; but, my brother, you must pledge yourself to abstain from all intoxicants, now and for ever. Say, are you resolved, for the sake of your wife and children, and your own eternal happiness, to put the accursed thing beneath your feet?" There was a solemn pause, and in the silence a woman's step crossed the floor, and gentle hands twined round the erring man's neck. "Jessie, help me, decide for me now," he cried. Ernest Shafton repeated his proposal to the wife, asking if she would second his efforts to save her husband, by her willing consent to leave him in the care of his friend for a year, or longer if needful, until his reformation were effected. "A year, did you say? a lifetime, if necessary," was the instant reply. Stooping to her husband's ear she whispered, "Go, dear Henry, and in God's strength fight and conquer. Let no regretful thought turn towards me, for I shall be content. "'While thee I see Living to God, thou art alive to me!'"