“A sad and painful truth,” Mrs. Whitford returned, “and one that it will be folly for you to ignore.  You do not stand in the same freedom in which many others stand.  That is your misfortune.  But you can no more disregard the fact than can one born with a hereditary taint of consumption in his blood disregard the loss of health and hope to escape the fatal consequences.  There is for every one of us ‘a sin that doth easily beset,’ a hereditary inclination that must be guarded and denied, or it will grow and strengthen until it becomes a giant to enslave us.  Where your danger lies I have said; and if you would be safe, set bars and bolts to the door of appetite, and suffer not your enemy to cross the threshold, of life.”

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 shall be removed in this.”

He spoke with a fine enthusiasm kindling over his handsome face, and his mother’s heart beat with a pride that for the moment was stronger than fear.

“Ask of me anything except to give up my self-respect and my manliness,” he added.  “Say that you wish me to remain at home, and I will not go to the party.”

“No.  I do not ask that.  I wish you to go.  But—­”

“If I go, I must do as the rest, and you must have faith in me.  Forewarned, forearmed.  I will heed your admonition.”