He had hitherto been known as a good-living young
man--one that respected what was good and pure; but the old, old
story--he fell in with bad company, and almost fell beyond reprieve.
You ask, "Had he a home?" He had, indeed, a home, where all that was
good and pure was daily practised--loving, warm-hearted sisters, and
a fond trusting mother had not the power to drag him back from the
tempting gulf of dissipation and allurement. But we will not say
that their prayers were lost. There was yet a small, still voice,
that would intrude itself upon the young man, and despite his
attempts to silence it forever, would steal upon him in the silent
hour of midnight, and haunt him in the noisy abodes of revelry and
carousal. It even forces itself upon him now as he sits planning a
scheme to outwit his rival. The voice is repeating over and over
again the words "Lawson is a good young man," and they are re-echoed
until Hubert Tracy raises his head and glances around as if to
convince himself of the reality. "A good young man," he murmurs
bitterly; "I was one myself--in the past."
A bitter groan escaped the lips of the speaker as he uttered the
sentence, and his face became stone-like in expression.
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