creatures, the best of us, we _bruise_ so easily," she had
said with a laugh that was more than half a sob. And for his
mother's sake he had vowed to be gentle to all women who might
cross his path. And how had he kept his vow? Tonight his egoism
had swallowed his oath and he had fled like a coward to be alone
with his misery. A great sob rose in his throat. Craven by name
and craven by nature he thought bitterly and he cursed again the
father who had bequeathed him such an inheritance, but as he did
so he stopped suddenly for a soft clear voice sounded close to his
ear. "No man need be fettered for life by an inherited weakness.
Every man who is worthy of the name can rise above hereditary
deficiencies." He lay tense and his heart gave a great throb and
then he remembered. The voice was inward--it was only another
memory, an echo of the young mother who had died, ten years
before. Overwhelming shame filled him. "Mother, Mother!" he
whispered chokingly, and deep tearing sobs shook his broad
shoulders. The moon had passed beyond the break in the trees
and it was dark now in the little clearing and to the man who lay
stripped of all his illusions the blackness was merciful. He saw
himself as he was clearly--his selfishness, his arrogance, his
pride, and a nausea of self-hatred filled him. The eagerness with
which he had sought to lay on his father the blame of his own
sin now seemed to him despicable. He would always hate the
memory of the man whose neglect had killed his mother, but the
responsibility for this horror rested on himself. He had made his
own hell and the burden of it lay with him only. That he had never
known the manner of his father's life in Japan and that during the
time he had himself been living in Yokohama he had cared to make
no inquiries was no excuse. He alone was to blame.