long as he was alive."

He raised his head and resumed his old position, his voice rising, his
earnest, determined manner dominating his words.

"I ask you now, Phil, what would have become of you if I had left
that stain upon his name and upon yours? Who brought me to myself? She
did! How? By her confidence in me; that gave me my strength. I knew
that night, as well as I know that I am sitting here, that we could
not go on the way we had been going with safety. I knew also that it
all rested with me. For me to unsettle her love for your father
during his lifetime would have been damnable. Only one thing was
left--flight--That I took and that you must take. Turn your eyes,
Phil, and look at her. She saved me from myself; she will save you
from yourself. Do you suppose that anything but purity, goodness, and
truth ever came from out those lips? Do you think she would be
satisfied with anything else in her boy? Be a man, my son! Strangle
this temptation that threatens to stain your soul. No matter what
comes--even if you beg your bread--put this thing under your feet.
Look your God in the face!"

During the long recital Phil's mind had gone back to his childhood's
days in confirmation of the strange story. As Adam talked on, his eyes
flashing, his voice tremulous with the pathos of the story he was
pouring into the young man's astonished ears, one picture after
another rose dimly out of the listener's past: The big lounge in the
garret where his mother held him in her arms; the high window with the
light flooding the floor of the room; the jar of blossoms into which
he had thrust his little face.

He did not move when Adam finished, nor for some minutes did he speak.
At last he said in a voice that showed how deeply he had been stirred:

"It's all true. It all comes back to me now. I must have been too
young to remember you, but I remember the picture. I looked for it
everywhere after she died, but I couldn't find it. Then came the fire
and everything was swept away. Some one must have stolen it while we
were in Baltimore. And you have loved my mother all these years,
Gregg, and never told me?"

He was on his feet now and had his arm around Adam's shoulder.
"Couldn't you trust me, Old Gentleman? Don't you know how close you
are to me? Did you think I wouldn't understand? What you tell me about
your leaving her is no surprise. You wouldn't--you couldn't do
anything else. That's because you are a man and a gentleman.