e ugly
flesh wounds, but nothing a little time would not heal. True, he had had a
narrow squeak. He sat with his eyes closed.

"Why?" asked Jane suddenly, breaking the silence.

"What?" said Cleigh, looking up.

"Why these seven years--if you cared? I heard you say something about
being too late. Why?"

"I'm a queer old fool. An idea, when it enters my head, sticks. I can't
shift my plans easily; I have to go through. What you have witnessed these
several days gives you the impression that I have no heart. That isn't
true. But we Cleighs are pigheaded. Until he was sent to Russia he was
never from under the shadow of my hand. My agents kept me informed of all
his moves, his adventures. The mistake was originally mine. I put him in
charge of an old scholar who taught him art, music, languages, but little
or nothing about human beings. I gave him a liberal allowance; but he was
a queer lad, and Broadway never heard of him. Now I hold that youth must
have its fling in some manner or other; after thirty there is no cure for
folly. So when he ran away I let him go; but he never got so far away that
I did not know what he was doing. I liked the way he rejected the cash I
gave him; the way he scorned to trade upon the name. He went clean. Why? I
don't know. Oh, yes, he got hilariously drunk once in a while, but he had
his fling in clean places. I had agents watching him."

"Why did he run away?" asked Jane.

"No man can tell another man; a man has to find it out for himself--the
difference between a good woman and a bad one."

"I play that statement to win," interposed Cunningham without opening his
eyes.

"There was a woman?" said Jane.

"A bad one. Pretty and clever as sin. My fault. I should have sent him to
college where he'd have got at least a glimmer of life. But I kept him
under the tutor until the thing happened. He thought he was in love, when
it was only his first woman. She wanted his money--or, more properly
speaking, mine. I had her investigated and found that she was bad all
through. When I told him boldly what she was he called me a liar. I struck
him across the mouth, and he promptly knocked me down."

"Pretty good punch for a youngster," was Cunningham's comment.

"It was," replied Cleigh, grimly. "He went directly to his room, packed,
and cleared out. In that he acted wisely, for at that moment I would have
cast him out had he come with an apology. But the following day I could
not find him; nor