thers for a few minutes. I
suppose it was the man's name, together with your reference to George,
that upset me."

Mrs. Gladwyne laid her hand on his arm. She was inordinately fond and
proud of the son whom she had spoiled.

"I sometimes think you are too sensitive on that point, Clarence," she
said. "Of course, it was very tragic and we both owe George a great deal,
but you did all that anybody could have done."

The man winced, and it was fortunate that they had now left the light
behind and his mother could not see his face.

"I could have stayed and died with him," he broke out with unaffected
bitterness. "There were times at the beginning when I was sorry I let him
send me away."

Mrs. Gladwyne shook her head reproachfully. She was gracious and quietly
dignified and refined in thought, but for all that she was not one to
appreciate such a sacrifice as he had indicated.

"I'm afraid that was an undue exaggeration of a natural feeling," she
remonstrated. "How could your staying have helped him, when by going in
search of help you increased his only chance of safety? I have always
been glad you were clear-headed enough to realize it, instead of yielding
to mistaken emotional inclinations."

Gladwyne felt hot with shame. His mother had an unshaken confidence in
his honor, which was the less surprising because her perceptions had
never been very keen and she had always shrunk from the contemplation of
unpleasant things. It was an amiable weakness of hers to idealize those
she loved, and by resolutely shutting her eyes on occasions she succeeded
in accomplishing it more or less successfully. Clarence was, of course,
aware of this, and it hurt to remember that in deserting his cousin he
had been prompted chiefly by craven fear. His mother, however, quite
unconscious of what she was doing, further humiliated him.

"Of course," she continued, "if you had found the cache of provisions, it
would have been your duty to return to George at any hazard, and I have
no doubt whatever that you would have gone."

The damp stood beaded on the man's forehead. He realized that even his
lenient and indulgent mother would shrink from him if she knew that he
had abandoned his dying benefactor like a treacherous coward. He said
nothing and they had strolled to the end of the terrace before she spoke
again.

"I think it would be better to go back to the others and drive away these
morbid ideas," she advised. "It's a duty to look