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Chapter IV.
Isafrel in Debate.

Though Isafrel almost from her earliest girlhood had been touched by every case of distress that came to her knowledge, and since she had arrived at young womanhood she had been an indefatigable worker for the relief of suffering, a new direction had been given to her efforts and a new and a burning zeal had inspired her whole nature.

The cause of this was the hope presented by recent legislation, which gave the prospect that the whole of that traffic to which she traced “the tragedy of life” might be driven out of the country, as it had been determined to submit the question to a plebiscite of the people.

Various attempts had been made to regulate and restrict the traffic, and great progress had been made in the direction of reform. But it had dawned on many thinking minds that it was a matter that could not be regulated; and that restrict it, and drive it in as much as they might, it would still break out in ulcers all over the social life.

So when the Referendum Act²¹ was passed, empowering a vote of the people on national prohibition, Isafrel felt roused to a new life, and determined that henceforward she would fight the evil at its source.

She had found that others, both women and men, had developed an enthusiasm in the same direction, and she had set herself to bring these together, especially the women, so that they might work in concert. Her timidity as a girl—for in spite of her enthusiasm she was a girl still, with all a young girl's shrinking sensitiveness—her timidity restrained her from thinking of addressing men collectively; and indeed she thought, however many good women might think to the contrary, that a woman, and especially a young woman like herself, was out of place in lecturing an assemblage of the stronger sex on their duties. But she had seen that she had the gift of addressing her own sex, and on two or three occasions she had been successful in moving them, to her own great surprise.

But she also learned that when she got a man by himself she had a wonderful power of interesting him. She knew well enough that her pretty face had something to do with it, for she knew she was pretty, and every time she looked in the glass it told her page 31 that she was pretty, wonderfully pretty; but she said to herself, if God has given me a pretty face, why should I not use it like every other gift for Him and for the good of humanity. And as her mind was now fired with only one object, she resolved that whenever she could get a man by himself she would try to win him over to help her in putting an end to this that she called “the tragedy of life.”

So one day when she was out in the suburbs on her bicycle, on some business of mercy, she thought she would call in and see Dr. Wilmott²², a clergyman who had been writing in the papers in defence of the liquor traffic. He was a man not only of learning and culture, but great ability, and though she had been pained by his letters, she thought them among the most brilliant she had read on the subject. She felt frightened at the thought of meeting him at first, but she heard that he was a good as well as a kind-hearted and courteous man, and she thought that whatever would come of it she would like to have a quiet talk with him.

So riding up to the door, and leaving her bicycle against the wall, she sent in her card. The doctor received her in his library with great kindness. He had often heard of Miss Chalmers as “the Angel Isafrel,” and was deeply interested in meeting the young girl that was creating such a sensation; and his manner was so gentle and so kind that she at once felt at ease with him.

After they had talked pleasantly on a variety of subjects, Isafrel, who always liked to come straight to the point, said: “Doctor, I have been reading your letters in the papers, and though I think them extremely clever and beautifully written, I cannot but say that I feel pained that one so able and so good as I know you to be, should have taken that side in the question.”

“And you have come to convert me?” said the doctor, laughing.

“Oh! no,” said Isafrel, blushing with confusion, “I could not think of that; but I did like to come and see you, and hear from yourself what can be the reasons that can induce a good and a kind-hearted man as you are to wish to see this thing continued which is causing such distress in the community.”

“Well, my dear,” said the doctor kindly, “I know as well as you do that it is an evil, and if I saw any way on right principles by which the evil can be lessened you will find no one more earnest on your side than I will be. But then there are many considerations which I dare say you, my dear, may hardly have been able to grasp, that have to be taken into account before a business like this can be settled in a summary fashion.”

“And these,” said Isafrel, “are just what I would like to hear from you.”

“Well, then, my child, you know we are here for God's purposes of moral government, and these are carried out by the conflicts which we have, by which our moral sense is exercised page 32 and strengthened. If we were to shut ourselves up in stone walls, as the recluses or anchorites used to do, so as to be freed, as it were, by mechanical means from temptation or evil, we would be defeating God's purposes, and our souls would grow up dwarfed and puny instead of healthful and vigorous.”

“Then the more temptations we have the better?” said Isafrel.

“Not exactly so, dear; but we have no right to shirk the trials, and even the temptations, which may have been given us among the purposes of God's moral disciplinary and educative government. If the world were freed from trials and temptations the probationary purposes of life on earth would be defeated.”

“Then what did the Saviour mean, doctor, when he taught us to pray, ‘Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.’ It seems to me, though I shrink from pretending to expound Scripture to a clergyman of your learning, that Jesus meant to teach us it would be a good thing that every evil that would tempt us should be taken out of the way; and as he tells us to ask God's aid in so removing evil and temptation from us as weak creatures, we would be only mocking Him, and showing Him that we are not sincere in our prayers, if we did not try to work with God in putting those evils and those temptations away. It seems to me, doctor, that your theory would lead us to go into all the temptations we can—the more the better—that we should deliberately seek them out, and enter into the bad houses and most dangerous places—the more and the worse the better—in order that our fidelity to principle might be proved, and our moral principles be strengthened.”

“Not exactly so, Miss Chalmers; that would be tempting God, and placing undue confidence in our own powers of resistance; and ‘thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.’”

“But don't you think it is tempting the Lord our God, and subjecting weak human nature to trials it is unable to bear, to license a traffic that brings close to every home, to every individual, one of the severest trials and temptations to which human bodies and souls can be subjected, and before which both you and I know that thousands of poor weak creatures are falling every day? Oh, Doctor Wilmott, if you only saw some of the cases I have lately seen, in which good men, honourable religious men, have fallen before a power that they absolutely could not resist; and while we pray ‘Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,’ we as a community sanction the placing of this cruel temptation in their hands—deliver them over to this evil. Do you tell me that the God of mercy means us to deliberately subject men to that evil, for moral probationary or educative purposes, which His all-seeing eye sees them to be unable to resist, and from falling before which they bring untold page 33 miseries on countless innocent helpless women and unoffending children?”

“My dear Miss Chalmers, do not let your emotional nature carry you away. I am not defending the placing of temptation in any one's way. This evil has existed in all time, and we do not create it or place it in the way. But the question is of removing it, so to say, by mechanical means, instead of through the moral instrumentalities which God has clearly intended to be the means in guiding and controlling intelligent beings. You cannot make men moral or sober by act of Parliament.”

“Yes, you can, Dr. Wilmott,” said Isafrel, impulsively.

“My dear, do not let your impetuosity carry you away to say things that are entirely opposed to proof. You cannot make people sober by act of Parliament.”

“Yes, you can,” said Isafrel, hotly, “you can by act of Parliament forbid the cursed thing from even touching the shores of New Zealand, and how then will men not be sober? Dr. Wilmott, you can make every man, woman, and child in New Zealand sober. You can free them during all their lives from a slavery that is more cruel, more tearful, more heartbreaking than negro slavery ever was, and you can do it by act of Parliament. If drunkenness is immoral, and if you can in any way suppress drunkenness by removing the only cause of it by legal or mechanical or any means, you can make them moral as well as sober by act of Parliament.”

“Well, my dear,” of course you can do anything by force if you have force sufficient. But there are other considerations that have to be taken into account, and this question has to be considered on a higher plane. We are intelligent and moral creatures, each of us endowed with inherent rights of personal liberty and with civil rights that we are entitled to preserve, and you cannot take away these rights by force.”

“Yes, you can,” said Isafrel, “if they are being wrongly used; every one of them, and we do it every day, Dr. Wilmott. If you have a sewer that is an injury or a menace to your neighbours—it may be your own, and on your own land—but we suppress it in spite of you for the general good. If you have a vinery with phylloxera on its leaves, we cut it down and burn the stumps without asking your permission. If smallpox breaks out in your house, we will suspend your rights of personal liberty and send you and your family down to the quarantine station at Motuihi, and we will burn down your house and everything in it, without consulting you in the matter. If the public safety requires it, we do not care the weight of that feather about your personal or any other rights, whether natural or acquired. Down they go before the public safety, which is the supreme law. And if this traffic, of which I can never think but my heart bleed s, if this thing is found—and mark you, Dr. Wilmott, I admit the page 34 condition—If this thing is found to be an injury to the public safety, and the voice of the public, that is, the voice of the majority of society, says it is bad, then down it must go by all the rights of a free, self-governing people.”

“My dear Miss Chalmers, I am sorry to see you so warm on this subject.”

“I am sorry myself, dear Dr. Wilmott, and I apologise to you sincerely, but my heart is sore at thinking of anyone doubting the right of the people to put down a nuisance or a public danger, in deference to the selfish claims of an individual over his personal rights.”

“But, Miss Chalmers, by your theory, if carried out—if the majority claimed the right, as it has the power, to put down any thing it considers injurious to it, we would be warranted in crushing religious liberty.”

“And quite right, too,” replied Isafrel, “if religious liberty was being abused to the manifest injury of the public good. If the Presbyterians took to the development of anarchical plots, and the ministers were planning in their presbyteries, on conscientious or religious grounds, to burn down the city, or to have bombs exploded under Government House, we would close their churches and have every minister put under restraint. And if the Wesleyans²³ developed Thuggism²⁴, and were making the garrotting of people part of their religious services, as the Thugs did in India, we would hang every Methodist preacher from a lamp post.”

“Oh! no, my dear,” said Dr. Wilmott, smiling, “it would be better to send them out to the gaol, and have them polished off decently and in order on the regular gallows.”

“Dr. Wilmott, this is too grave a thing to make merry about. I am sorry I have allowed my feelings to carry me away. But how can you doubt the right of society—and that in a democratic country means the majority—to protect itself from anything it believes to be a danger.”

“But, my dear Miss Chalmers, would it not be better to do these things by moral suasion?”²⁵

“No, Dr. Wilmott, we don't talk of moral suasion with murderers and thieves. Moral suasion is all in its place when we try to induce a man to live temperately. That is good for him, and good for others. But it has nothing to do with the danger with which society as such is threatened. We morally persuade one another that the drink traffic is dangerous; and then if we are morally persuaded of it, or a majority of us, we ought to kill it. An individual, when he is morally persuaded of temperance, and that drink is an injury to him, kills the drinking habit in himself. When society is morally persuaded that drink is an injury to it, it has the right to kill it in the same way. We morally persuade one another that murder is a danger, page 35 and when we are morally persuaded as a community or a majority, we do not try to morally persuade the murderer, but we kill murder as far as we can by an act of Parliament; and when society, or a majority of it, has come to the same conclusion about drink, that it breaks hearts, ruins lives, and is a danger and a curse to society, we have the same right to kill it, too. We shut out cholera, we shut out small-pox; why can we not by every constitutional and moral right shut out alcohol, too. In some colonies they have shut out opium, except as medicine dispensed by the chemists. And why? Because it was demoralising Europeans as well as Ohinamen. Why does not the same right extend in respect of alcohol? Surely it has produced demoralisation and suffering enough. Opium has been innocence compared with it. Oh, Dr. Wilmott, how can you doubt the right of the community to protect itself from ruin?”

“But I do not, dear Miss Chalmers, deny the power, or the right, if you will have it, of the majority to rule over the minority. In fact there is no use denying it, for they have the power already; but it may be exercised as a tyranny, and for one man to say to another ‘you must not have a glass of spirits,’ is a tyranny; and for one section of the community to say to another it shall not have spirits, is tyranny, as much as that in the days of American slavery.”

“Tyranny! Slavery!” said Isafrel, “Oh, Doctor Wilmott, do you speak of tyranny and slavery in connection with this? Who are the tyrants, who are the slaves? Are the slaves not those who cannot resist the evils that are forced on them, brought to their doors, enslaving sons, husbands, brothers with a slavery more full of tears than that borne by the negroes? And are the slave drivers not the liquor traders and their abetters, who claim the right—or liberty, if you will—to force that thing not on a minority, but on a majority of society? Do you call that liberty? The American who, in slave-holding times, was prevented while in England from ill-treating his slave, on landing in the States, exclaimed ‘Thank God, I am in a free country now, where every man can wallop his own nigger!’ It was free, it is true; but, oh, what an accursed freedom! and when that freedom was taken away from him and the poor black could hold up his hands to Heaven unshackled, was it slavery or was it freedom that was brought in by this abolition of the traffic in slaves? And, Dr. Wilmott, when the freedom is taken from the liquor dealer, his myrmidons and Legrees, to enslave, and debauch, and torture the poor victims of alcohol in New Zealand, will that be tyranny? Will that be the deprivation of rightful powers? Will that be slavery? Or, will it not be an emancipation over which the trumpet of jubilee may sound a blast that will ring through the earth and gladden the hearts of the good and the page 36 free throughout the world, and one at which the angels in heaven looking down from the battlements may strike their harps anew with joy.”

Isafrel had risen from her seat in her earnestness, and was looking down on Dr. Wilmott, who was resting his arms on the table and his face in his hands. “Dr. Wilmott,” she said solemnly, “Is it so that our Church, the church of our fathers and of my pride, is the only one of all that name the name of Christ that is not on the side of humanity and God in this great conflict? Your words have been echoed back from one of our bishops in the South, and like yourself he stands on the side of wrong. Is it so that our enemies are to point to our Church as the only one that will not stand on the side of the poor suffering masses of the people, on the side of emancipation from this slavery? Oh, Dr. Wilmott, listen to the solemn words that were pronounced on those who stood not forth in the day of trial: ‘Curse ye, Meroz²⁶, said the angel of the Lord, curse ye bitterly the inhabitants thereof, because they came not to the help of the Lord, to the help of the Lord against the mighty.’” Isafrel resumed her seat.

“My dear girl,” said Dr. Wilmott, looking up, “I cannot in my heart upbraid you for your enthusiasm on this subject, even though it comes from what I must see to be a very emotional nature. I admit in this case the view you take as to which side the slavery is on. There are, I know, many, too many, who are slaves to drink; but then you must know that the drunkards are really few compared with the multitude of people who drink in moderation, and who feel that it is at once a comfort and a benefit to them. Now, do you think it right, I put it to you, do you think it just that the innocent rights of these people should be trampled on, even by those however sincerely convinced of their own wisdom, who are only forcing their own views on the acceptance of others, who should be equally free with themselves? I, for example, take a little drink—in moderation, thank God—and would you take that right away from me, which is really doing no harm to others?”

“Dear doctor,” said Miss Chalmers, “I see the force of what you say, and there is force in it. But is that drink which you take, and which I know you take in great moderation, for I have heard so, is that drink no injury to others? I do not say a word on the influence that your example may have on others, who may not have that power of self-control which you have. Perhaps that is overstated by temperance advocates. But, doctor, in order to your having that enjoyment, the drink must come into the country, there must be a liquor trade existing, and others in hundreds and thousands must be joined in it, or it could not be supported. It, therefore, must be general, doctor, and being general, its influence must be generally diffused; and you, as page 37 well as I do, know the consequences and the inevitable consequences to thousands. If your bottle of whisky came direct to yourself under seal, and extended in its influence to no one but yourself, I feel sure from what I have heard of your character that no evil would come of it. But if the coming of that bottle necessitates the coming of a thousand other bottles—”

Then Isafrel paused for a little, overcome by her emotion, and the doctor placed his hand kindly on hers.

“Doctor,” she continued, speaking through her tears, “I am going to tell you something that I cannot bear to speak of even to the man that has promised to be my husband. But you are a minister of God, and I feel my heart go out to you in confidence. Doctor, my father is a drunkard. He is as good a man as ever walked. He is a religious man, although you may think it strange of me to think so. As kind a father I hardly think ever existed. Even when he is drunk he is kind to me; and when in his greatest frenzies, for sometimes he is so wild to others, I lay my hand on his arm and look in his eyes and say ‘father,’ he is as quiet as a lamb, and lays his head on my shoulder and says, ‘Poor Isa.’ He loves me as man never loved a daughter more; and, oh, I do love my father. And we often talk together lovingly when he is right; and while I have been caressing his grey hairs, for he is an old man, I have said, ‘Oh, father, why don't you stop it?’ and he has sobbed on my shoulder and said, ‘Isa, I can't.’ And I have said ‘dear father, I believe you. I know you cannot, for I know you love me so much that you would do it for me;’ and I said, ‘I will not worry you, father, by asking you again to stop it; but, oh, father, I will try to save you in another way,’ and dear Doctor Wilmott,” she continued, “it is with the love of that father in my heart that I am trying now to help put away that thing which I know father can't resist. And dear Doctor Wilmott,” she added, “I feel sure that if you thought that by your putting away that bottle yourself you could save father, you would do it.”

“Indeed I would, my dear girl, with my whole heart,” said the doctor in a voice of great tenderness.

“And, doctor,” she went on, “there are hundreds and thousands of other daughters with fathers in that way; not fathers, I am sure that love them as my father loves me, but whose hearts are wrung as mine is; and if other people were as good and as tender as you, and joined in putting this thing away, my father and all those other fathers would be saved: and don't you think, dear Dr. Wilmott, that if people only thought about it, and felt that it is only their own little personal enjoyment that is standing in the way, there are many people who would be willing to give it up for others' sakes, and would be ready to make that little sacrifice if they thought it would save from so much misery?”

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“Indeed I do, my dear child, and if the case was put to them in the way you have put it to me I don't think there is a man in the country, with the spirit of a man in him, to say nothing of the love of God in his heart, but would fling down his pewter pot to the ground and go in to help.”

“You have been so good to me, dear doctor, in listening to all this, and, oh! I can't but think that there must be many men besides you who would help if they only thought, and that's what makes me think we shall win.”

“Go on, dear Miss Chalmers, and God be with you, and it is your spirit of love and gentleness that will do more for your cause than any amount of denunciations.”

“Oh, doctor, you have made me so happy, and I am so glad I came. I do sometimes think as you do, that there is perhaps a little too much violence shown and bad names called. But, oh! it is very trying sometimes, and when one thinks of the cruelties this thing causes one should hardly blame people if they become what is called fanatics. I have sometimes been talking to people about sufferings I have myself witnessed, and when I see the dull, apathetic, stupid way they take it, I sometimes almost wish I was a man that I might swear. Do you ever swear, doctor? they say it gives relief to a man when he is bursting with indignation.”

“Well, not exactly; I can't say that I have been in the practice of doing much of that sort of thing for some time, and I cannot exactly give a precise judgment on the subject. But sometimes ladies can swear.”

“Oh, but that is only inwardly, and that is no good; and sometimes it is so provoking with stupid people who can't or won't see this cruel thing, and make some silly remarks about it in a conventional way. I was one day talking to a lady, and telling her about a pitiful case of a man who had fallen off a dray when he was drunk, and got killed, and about the poor destitute wife and children that I had seen, but who were really better without him; and I had been telling her that all that misery could have been avoided if the women had voted steady ‘No License’ at the last elections, and she made the idiotic remark that ‘woman's proper place was home,’ and that for herself she never mixed up in politics, and that she had not even registered for a vote. Well, I felt that if I was a man, and it wasn't naughty, I would like to have relief in a good swear.”

“Don't, my dear; don't do that; it would not be nice from pretty lips like yours; and besides it really would not do much good.”

“Oh! I don't mean to; but when I think that way I cannot in my heart blame some of the people who are a little violent in their language, when they are talking of these horrors, and the trade and the people that cause them. People call them fanatics, page 39 and worse names than that; and yet what are they doing, or what have they done, that people, I mean good people or even ordinary people, should be angry with them? The fanatics don't want anything for themselves; they have given up all that so many find to be comforts, and they are fighting to do good for other people, not for themselves. And that is more than can be said for the people that call them bad names. They are entirely selfish; they are fighting, some of them, for their big, heavy gains that they can squeeze out of the tears and heart's blood of poor suffering slaves, if the liquor trade is only saved and continued. What right have such people to cast stones? And others are fighting for their own enjoyment—selfish, all selfish just the same, and inhuman, never caring a bit for poor broken hearts. Oh! doctor, how true is it that ‘man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn.’ Oh! doctor, I believe if I was a man I would be a Boanarges²⁷, and speak as strongly as any of them, but being only a woman I can only plead in this weak, pitiful way.”

“And thank God for it that you are a woman, dear Miss Chalmers,” said Dr. Wilmott. “The earthquake and the thunder may prepare the way, but it is the still, small voice after all that comes with the message to the human soul.”

“Oh! doctor, I am so glad I came to see you, and I do like you so much, and I would like to come and see you sometimes.”

“I shall be delighted, indeed, if you do, Miss Chalmers, and—”

“Do you know, I would like to bring my boy, and let him know you.”

“Your boy, Miss Chalmers?”

“Yes. I'm engaged; and he is such a good fellow, and so nice, and I know you will like him.”

“He must indeed be both good and nice,” said Dr. Wilmott, “or he would not have won the heart of Miss Chalmers.”

“Oh! how prettily you talk, doctor. Are you Irish?”

“Well, yes, Miss Chalmers, I do come from that most distressful country.”

“I thought so,” said Isafrel. “Isn't it queer how all Irishmen talk so nicely to you. And they mean it, too, I really believe. People say they are insincere, and it is put on; but I don't believe it. An Irishman has a great, big, soft, sympathetic heart, and when he is talking to you, and you are at all nice, he can't help liking you, and he can't help showing it, and that's why they say he has kissed the blarney stone.”

“What a little flatterer you are, Miss Chalmers,” said Dr. Wilmott.

“Well, you began it, doctor; but I'm in earnest, and isn't that true?’

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“Well, yes, I think there is a good deal in it. I know that I am very sincere in my admiration of you, and I will be greatly delighted if you bring—well, your boy, as you call him. I mean the young gentleman—”

“George is his name,” said Isafrel. “George Houston—Mr. Houston, you may call him.”

“We will be delighted to see you and Mr. Houston whenever you bring him, and I dare say he and I will get to be very good friends. I suppose you have made Mr. Houston as earnest as yourself in this cause.”

“Well, not quite,” said Isafrel. “He is coming on; I am educating him, and he will be a fanatic by-and-bye, and he is an awfully good fellow, George, and I mean to pass my mantle on to his shoulders when I go away.” And the eyes of the Angel Isafrel took that far-away look, of which George had so often complained when he asked her if she was looking away to find another shadow. “And do you know, doctor,” she went on, after a little, “I think I shall get you to help me. You must not be angry at me for saying so, but—”

“My dear girl, I could not be angry with you for anything, and it would be very hard for me to refuse you anything, but I'll think about it.’

“For you know, doctor,” she went on, “there are such a lot of people that talk about this we are hoping for, as a tyranny, and say that it would be reducing the people to slavery if we were to have the drink shut out of the country altogether, and I would so like to have someone like you to get advice from if I get puzzled. For do you know, doctor, to my way of thinking and looking at it, even from their point of view, there is more slavery now, as they call it, inflicted on people that want to drink than if it was shut out altogether from the country? For the law restricts them here and restricts them there, and says you must not have it now, and you must not have it then; and if a man feels thirsty, or whatever that tickling is in the throat that makes one want whisky, and if it is Sunday, he mustn't have it; and if it is after ten at night he mustn't have it, and this hotel has been stopped up here and he can't have it, and that one has been shut up there, and he is tantalised, and worried, and looking for it all the time. Would it not be far better for him once for all, and more for his human liberty, if the thing was shut outside of the coast line altogether, and then he would stop thinking of it after a little, and never feel his liberty a bit curtailed, and he would be as free as a bird, and never hear the law saying that nasty word, ‘Don't?’ Do you know, I have often thought that when I was driving with Tommy—Tommy is my pony—I have a basket carriage of my own, Doctor, and I drive out myself. Well, there is a big, long lane over at the north side near where we live, and it was full of big stones and page 41 boulders. And I had often to pass by it, and poor Tommy, I did pity him sometimes. I had to check him with the reins on this side, and pull him on that side, to keep him off the big boulders, and he always had to feel the bit in his mouth, and I believe his mouth was often very sore, and he used to shake his head with vexation, and I was so sorry for him. So one day I spoke to Harry—Harry is our man—and I asked him to put the big boulders away. And he was two or three days at it, and cleared all the big stones off, and now Tommy goes trotting down the lane, and I don't even hold the reins tight, but let the reins lie loose on his back, and poor Tommy does look so happy, and so free, and he shakes his tail with delight, and does go along at such a rate; and I often thought that that is just how it would be if we had this liquor out of the way, and outside the colony altogether; and the people would run along and never feel this yanking and pulling at them by the law, now on this side and now on that, but would feel as free as the wind in the air and as happy as the day is long. Don't you think so, doctor”?

“Well, my dear,” said the doctor, “you talk so prettily and so picturesquely that I like to listen to you; but just let me think this matter out by myself, and I'll tell you some of these days. But mind you must bring Mr. Houston to see us,” and as Miss Chalmers rose to go, and held out her hand, he took it and went on, “And we will be awfully glad to see you, and I am so pleased to have met you, and God be with you, my child.” And Isafrel, raising his hand to her lips, kissed it tenderly and left.

And as Dr. Wilmott, standing in the open door, looked after her, as she swirled along on her wheels and waved back her handkerchief to him, he thought that a bicycle was the prettiest and most graceful vehicle he had ever seen to carry a lady.

And he went back to the library and closed the door, and sat down in his big arm chair, and put his elbow on the table, and his face resting on his hand, and thought for a long time. He did not say anything, but Dr. Wilmott's pen was never raised again in defence of the liquor traffic.