That was more than enough for his mother. She came swiftly forward, and gently took him by the arm to lead him into her room. But Ralston’s sense of honour was not quite satisfied.
“It’s partly my fault, mother. I had been taking other things before, but I was all right until the accident happened.”
Mrs. Ralston smiled almost imperceptibly. She was glad that he should be so honest, even when he was so far gone. She led him through the door into her own room, and made him sit down in a comfortable chair near the window.
“Never mind, Jack,” she said, “I’m just like a man about understanding things. I know you won’t do it again.”
But Ralston knew his own weakness, and made no rash promises then, though a great impulse arose in his misty understanding, bidding him then and there make a desperately solemn vow, and keep it, or do away with himself if he failed. He only bowed his head, and sat down, as his mother bid him. He was ashamed, and he was a man to whom shame was particularly bitter.
Mrs. Ralston got some cold water in a little bowl, and bathed his forehead, touching him as tenderly as she would have touched a sick child. He submitted readily enough, and turned up his brows gratefully to her hand.
“Your head is a little bruised,” she said. “Were you hurt anywhere else? What happened? Can you tell me now, or would you rather wait?”
“Oh, it was nothing much,” answered Ralston, speaking more easily now. “There was a boy, with a perambulator, getting between the cars and carts. I got him out of the way, and tumbled down, because there wasn’t even time to jump. I threw myself after the boy—somehow. The wheel took off the heel of my boot, but I wasn’t hurt. I’m all right now. Thank you, mother dear. There never was anybody like you to understand.”
Mrs. Ralston was very pale again, but John could not see her face.
“Don’t risk such things, Jack,” she said, in a low voice. “They hurt one badly.”