His will had been the first to suffer, his conscience next.

Then with a rush had gone honour, temperance, and purity; and now finally the flimsy rag, his good name, had been torn from him, and he stood revealed a prodigal--and a hypocrite.
Even yet, however, help might have been forthcoming.
"I say, you fellow," said one of his fellow-students this same day, "I've never spoken to you before, and perhaps shall never do so again; but _don't be a fool_!" "What do you mean ?" said Tom sharply.
"Only this, and I can't help it if you are angry, keep clear of these new friends of yours, and still more, keep clear of the places they visit.

If you've been led in once, rather cut off your right hand than be led in again, that's all!" What spirit of infatuation possessed Tom Drift, that he did not spring for very life at the proffered help, that he did not besiege this friend, however blunt and outspoken, and compel his timely aid?
Alas, for his blindness and folly! Scowling round at the speaker, he muttered an oath, and said, "What on earth concern is it of yours who my friends are and where I go?
Mind your own business." And so, thrusting rudely away the hand that might, by God's grace, have saved him, he swept farther and farther out towards the dark waters.
One final and great hope was still reserved for him, and that was Charlie's visit.

But to Tom that prospect was becoming day by day mere distasteful.

As the days wore on, and Tom sunk deeper and deeper into the snare prepared for him, the thought of a week in the society of one so upright and pure as Charlie became positively odious.