"A scarecrow, a mere fancy, a figment of some fanatic's brain;" and
Ellis Whitford rejected the idea in a voice full of contempt.

But the pallor and solemnity of his mother's face warned him that such
a treatment of her fears could not allay them. Moreover, the hint of
ancestral disgrace had shocked his family pride.

"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,