‘Because--oh! there are many reasons; don’t make me reiterate them. But one is, that I am afraid your conduct would excite his attention and, perhaps, his suspicions. You are not master of yourself, Henry! That dreadful morphia makes you just the same as if you were intoxicated. It is killing you, body and soul. You take far too much of it. You must give it up. Oh! do promise me, Hal, to try and do without it. Half your time you are so stupid, you don’t know what you are saying or doing. Even the servants see the alteration in you. _Do_ give it up, Henry. I would ask it of you on my bended knees if I thought it would have any effect. Promise me you will throw the horrid bottle away, and never take any more of it.’ ‘I cannot, I cannot!’ he replied in a despairing whisper. ‘I take it to keep _her_ away. Directly I leave it off for a night _she_ comes and reproaches me with--you know what--and I cannot bear her eyes, they drive me mad.’ ‘Dear husband, it is only your fancy. She is far too happy, by this time, not to have forgotten and forgiven long ago. Only pray for God’s forgiveness and all will be right. Or come away with me, as you proposed once before, and let us try to be at peace with our children again, in a new land.’ ‘Not now,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘not while Arthur is in England. He would suspect--he would come too. Wait!--wait, till he is gone away again.’ ‘Oh! Harry, never mind him. He may not go back to India for years. And your health is getting worse and worse. New scenes and interests would drive these feverish fancies out of your head. What is anything worth, in comparison to that? Leave the business to take care of itself! Sell it for anything it may fetch; only come away from England, and let me try to help you to overcome the dreadful habit you have contracted.’ ‘It is too late, my dear. I could not do without it now. I should go mad.’ ‘Henry, you _will_ go mad if you do not leave it off! That Doctor Govan, who came here last evening, detected your fondness for morphia at once, and he told Arthur--’ But the idea that he was watched, raised the devil in Henry Hindes at once. ‘How _dare_ Arthur set traps to catch me!’ he exclaimed furiously, ‘and you are aiding and abetting him. _Who_ told you what the doctor said? When have you seen my brother since? Are you all in league against me?’ ‘No! no! Henry; don’t be so foolish,’ replied his wife. ‘No one says or thinks anything except for your good. But your brother is anxious on your account. Anyone would be who had known you in former days. You cannot know how ill you look. And so he brought his friend to see you, hoping he might suggest a remedy. But Doctor Govan said nothing will do you any good until you leave off morphia.’