with that the thought, as Shakespeare says--

"Which makes cowards of us all,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of."

He now resolved, God helping him, he would never drink again, but
he would establish a home in the strange land whither he was
journeying, and live a sober, industrious life. But even as he
made these resolves his craving, burning appetite came tempting
him; and as he strove against it, he shut his teeth and knit his
brow, and involuntarily clenched his hand as if about to struggle
with a mortal foe, and stamped his foot as he hissed through his
clenched teeth, "I will be free." Ah, Richard! don't begin to
boast before you have gained the victory, depend more upon God
than self, you surely need his aid, for here comes a tempter.

"Hallo, Ashton, is that you? What is the matter with you? Why, one
would suppose you had an attack of the blues. At what were you
glaring so fiercely? You look as if you had a live Fenian before
you and was striking for the Old Land with a determination to give
no quarter. How came you here, and whither are you bound?" And the
speaker, with a quizzical smile upon his face, which half
concealed and half revealed an underplay of devilish mockery, put
his hand familiarly upon the shoulder of Ashton, and then grasped
him by the hand and gave it a hearty shake. But if a good judge of
human nature had been by, he would have concluded his manner was
assumed for the occasion--that he was simply acting, and was a
failure at the role he had assumed.