Her voice was low and harsh.
"Your fault … and all those young girls…."
His mother had judged him; he looked at her with haggard eyes, and spoke in a hollow voice.
"Nothing will ever wipe this guilt from my mind…. I'm branded for life … this thing will go on and on and on every day that I live…."
She glanced at him then, and saw only her son, the child she had carried in her arms, the boy who had romped with her, and she only knew now that he was suffering, that no one on earth could be in greater pain.
"Oh, my poor Joe!" she murmured.
"Yes," he went on, beside himself, "I'm blasted with guilt…."
She cried out:
"If you go on like this, we'll both go out of our minds, Joe! Fight! It's done … it's over…. From now on, make amends…. Joe!"—She rose magnificently then—"Your father lost his arm in the war…. Now give your life to setting things right!"
And she drew him close again. Her words, her love, her belief in him roused him at last.