Mrs. Whitford spoke with regaining calmness, but in tones of solemn
admonition.

A long silence followed, broken at length by the young man, who
said, in a choking, depressed voice that betrayed a quaver of
impatience:

"I'm sorry for all this. That your fears are groundless I know, but
you are none the less tormented by them. What am I to do? To spare
you pain I would sacrifice almost anything, but this humiliation is
more than I am strong enough to encounter. If, as you say, there has
been intemperance in our family, it is not a secret locked up in
your bosom. Society knows all about the ancestry of its members, who
and what the fathers and grandfathers were, and we have not escaped
investigation. Don't touch wine, you say. Very well. I go to Mrs.
Birtwell's to-night. Young and old, men and women, all are
partakers, but I stand aloof--I, of all the guests, refuse the
hospitality I have pretended to accept. Can I do this without
attracting attention or occasioning remark? No; and what will be
said? Simply this--that I know my danger and am afraid; that there
is in my blood the hereditary taint of drunkenness, and that I dare
not touch a glass of wine. Mother, I am not strong enough to brave
society on such an issue, and a false one at that. To fear and fly
does not belong to my nature. A coward I despise. If there is danger
in my way and it is right for me to go forward in that way, I will
walk steadily on, and fight if I must. I am not a craven, but a man.
If the taint of which you speak is in my blood, I will extinguish
it. If I am in danger, I will not save myself by flight, but by
conquest. The taint shall not go down to another generation; it