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diff --git a/old/12083-0.txt b/old/12083-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..38ee027 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12083-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11151 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Eric, by Frederic William Farrar + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Eric + +Author: Frederic William Farrar + +Release Date: April 19, 2004 [EBook #12083] +Last Updated: October 1, 2023 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Charlie Kirschner and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERIC *** + + + + +ERIC + +OR, LITTLE BY LITTLE + +A TALE OF ROSLYN SCHOOL + +By + +FREDERIC W. FARRAR, D.D. + +Author of “The Life of Christ,” “Julian Home,” “St. Winifreds,” etc + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +GEORGE A. TRAVER + + +1902 + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +CHAPTER I--CHILDHOOD +CHAPTER II--A NEW HOME +CHAPTER III--BULLYING +CHAPTER IV--CRIBBING +CHAPTER V--THE SECOND TERM +CHAPTER VI--HOME AFFECTIONS +CHAPTER VII--ERIC A BOARDER +CHAPTER VIII--“TAKING UP” +CHAPTER IX--“DEAD FLIES,” OR “YE SHALL BE AS GODS” +CHAPTER X--DORMITORY LIFE +CHAPTER XI--ERIC IN COVENTRY +CHAPTER XII--THE TRIAL +CHAPTER XIII--THE ADVENTURE AT THE STACK +CHAPTER XIV--THE SILVER CORD BROKEN +CHAPTER XV--HOME AGAIN + + +PART II + +CHAPTER I--ABDIEL +CHAPTER II--WILDNEY +CHAPTER III--THE JOLLY HERRING +CHAPTER IV--MR. ROSE AND BRIGSON +CHAPTER V--RIPPLES +CHAPTER VI--ERIC AND MONTAGU +CHAPTER VII--THE PIGEONS +CHAPTER VIII--SOWING THE WIND +CHAPTER IX--WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG +CHAPTER X--THE LAST TEMPTATION +CHAPTER XI--REAPING THE WHIRLWIND +CHAPTER XII--THE STORMY PETREL +CHAPTER XIII--HOME AT LAST +CHAPTER XIV--CONCLUSION + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +BULLYING +ERIC _Vignette on title-page_ +SMOKING +ON THE ROCK +OUT OF THE WINDOW +ERIC AND VERNON +HIDING +ERIC ESCAPING FROM THE SHIP _Frontispiece_ + + + + +ERIC: OR, LITTLE BY LITTLE + +PART 1 + +CHAPTER I + +CHILDHOOD + + “Ah dear delights, that o’er my soul + On memory’s wing like shadows fly! + Ah flowers that Joy from Eden stole, + While Innocence stood laughing by.”--COLERIDGE. + +“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” cried a young boy, as he capered vigorously +about, and clapped his hands. “Papa and mamma will be home in a week +now, and then we shall stay here a little time, and _then_, and _then_, +I shall go to school.” + +The last words were enunciated with immense importance, as he stopped +his impromptu dance before the chair where his sober cousin Fanny was +patiently working at her crochet; but she did not look so much affected +by the announcement as the boy seemed to demand, so he again exclaimed, +“And then, Miss Fanny, I shall go to school.” + +“Well, Eric,” said Fanny, raising her matter-of-fact quiet face from her +endless work, “I doubt, dear, whether you will talk of it with quite as +much joy a year hence.” + +“O ay, Fanny, that’s just like you to say so; you’re always talking and +prophesying; but never mind, I’m going to school, so hurrah! hurrah! +hurrah!” and he again began his capering,--jumping over the chairs, +trying to vault the tables, singing and dancing with an exuberance of +delight, till, catching a sudden sight of his little spaniel Flo, he +sprang through the open window into the garden, and disappeared behind +the trees of the shrubbery; but Fanny still heard his clear, ringing, +silvery laughter, as he continued his games in the summer air. + +She looked up from her work after he had gone, and sighed. In spite of +the sunshine and balm of the bright weather, a sense of heaviness and +foreboding oppressed her. Everything looked smiling and beautiful, and +there was an almost irresistible contagion in the mirth of her young +cousin, but still she could not help feeling sad. It was not merely that +she would have to part with Eric, “but that bright boy,” thought Fanny, +“what will become of him? I have heard strange things of schools; oh, if +he should be spoilt and ruined, what misery it would be. Those baby +lips, that pure young heart, a year may work sad change in their words +and thoughts!” She sighed again, and her eyes glistened as she raised +them upwards, and breathed a silent prayer. + +She loved the boy dearly, and had taught him from his earliest years. +In most things she found him an apt pupil. Truthful, ingenuous, quick, +he would acquire almost without effort any subject that interested him, +and a word was often enough to bring the impetuous blood to his cheeks, +in a flush, of pride or indignation. He required the gentlest teaching, +and had received it, while his mind seemed cast in such a mould of +stainless honor that he avoided most of the faults to which children are +prone. But he was far from blameless. He was proud to a fault; he well +knew that few of his fellows had gifts like his, either of mind or +person, and his fair face often showed a clear impression of his own +superiority. His passion, too, was imperious, and though it always met +with prompt correction, his cousin had latterly found it difficult to +subdue. She felt, in a word, that he was outgrowing her rule. Beyond a +certain age no boy of spirit can be safely guided by a woman’s +hand alone. + +Eric Williams was now twelve years old. His father was a civilian in +India, and was returning on furlough to England after a long absence. +Eric had been born in India, but had been sent to England by his parents +at an early age, in charge of a lady friend of his mother. The parting, +which had been agony to his father and mother, he was too young to feel; +indeed the moment itself passed by without his being conscious of it. +They took him on board the ship, and, after a time, gave him a hammer +and some nails to play with. These had always been to him a supreme +delight, and while he hammered away, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, denying +themselves, for the child’s sake, even one more tearful embrace, went +ashore in the boat and left him. It was not till the ship sailed that he +was told he would not see them again for a long, long time. Poor child, +his tears and cries were wild when he first understood it; but the +sorrows of four years old are very transient, and before a week was +over, little Eric felt almost reconciled to his position, and had become +the universal pet and plaything of every one on board, from Captain +Broadland down to the cabin boy, with whom he very soon struck up an +acquaintance. Yet twice a day at least, he would shed a tear, as he +lisped his little prayer, kneeling at Mrs. Munro’s knee, and asked God +“to bless his dear dear father and mother, and make him a good boy.” + +When Eric arrived in England, he was intrusted to the care of a widowed +aunt, whose daughter, Fanny, had the main charge of his early teaching. +At first, the wayward little Indian seemed likely to form no accession +to the quiet household, but he soon became its brightest ornament and +pride. Everything was in his favor at the pleasant home of Mrs. Trevor. +He was treated with motherly kindness and tenderness, yet firmly checked +when he went wrong. From the first he had a well-spring of strength, +against temptation, in the long letters which every mail brought from +his parents; and all his childish affections were entwined round the +fancied image of a brother born since he had left India. In his bed-room +there hung a cherub’s head, drawn in pencil by his mother, and this +picture was inextricably identified in his imagination with his “little +brother Vernon.” He loved it dearly, and whenever he went astray, +nothing weighed on his mind so strongly as the thought, that if he were +naughty he would teach little Vernon to be naughty too when he +came home. + +And Nature also--wisest, gentlest, holiest of teachers-was with him in +his childhood. Fairholm Cottage, where his aunt lived, was situated in +the beautiful Vale of Ayrton, and a clear stream ran through the valley +at the bottom of Mrs. Trevor’s orchard. Eric loved this stream, and was +always happy as he roamed by its side, or over the low green hills and +scattered dingles, which lent unusual loveliness to every winding of its +waters. He was allowed to go about a good deal by himself, and it did +him good. He grew up fearless and self-dependent, and never felt the +want of amusement. The garden and orchard supplied him a theatre for +endless games and romps, sometimes with no other companion than his +cousin and his dog, and sometimes with the few children of his own age +whom he knew in the hamlet. Very soon he forgot all about India; it only +hung like a distant golden haze on the horizon of his memory. When asked +if he remembered it, he would say thoughtfully, that in dreams and at +some other times, he saw a little child, with long curly hair, running +about in a little garden, near a great river, in a place where the air +was very bright. But whether the little boy was himself or his brother +Vernon, whom he had never seen, he couldn’t quite tell. + +But above all, it was happy for Eric that his training was religious and +enlightened. With Mrs. Trevor and her daughter, religion was not a +system but a habit--not a theory, but a continued act of life. All was +simple, sweet, and unaffected about their charity and their devotions. +They loved God, and they did all the good they could to those around +them. The floating gossip and ill-nature of the little village never +affected them; it melted away insensibly in the presence of their +cultivated minds; and so friendship with them was a bond of union among +all, and from the vicar to the dairyman every one loved and respected +them, asked their counsel, and sought their sympathy. + +They called themselves by no sectarian name, nor could they have told to +what “party” they belonged. They troubled themselves with no theories of +education, but mingled gentle nurture with “wholesome neglect.” There +was nothing exotic or constrained in the growth of Eric’s character. He +was not one of your angelically good children at all, and knew none of +the phrases of which infant prodigies are supposed to be so fond. He had +not been taught any distinction between “Sunday books” and “week-day” +books, but no book had been put in his way that was not healthy and +genuine in tone. He had not been told that he might use his Noah’s ark +on Sunday, because it was “a Sunday plaything,” while all other toys +were on that day forbidden. Of these things the Trevors thought little; +they only saw that no child could be happy in enforced idleness or +constrained employment; and so Eric grew up to love Sunday quite as well +as any other day in the week, though, unlike your angelic children, he +never professed to like it better. But to be truthful, to be honest, to +be kind, to be brave, these had been taught him, and he never _quite_ +forgot the lesson; nor amid the sorrows of after life did he ever quite +lose the sense--learnt at dear quiet Fairholm--of a present loving God, +of a tender and long-suffering Father. + +As yet he could be hardly said to know what school was. He had been sent +indeed to Mr. Lawley’s grammar-school for the last half-year, and had +learned a few declensions in his Latin grammar. But as Mr. Lawley +allowed his upper class to hear the little boys their lessons, Eric had +managed to get on pretty much as he liked. Only _once_ in the entire +half-year had he said a lesson to the dreadful master himself, and of +course it was a ruinous failure, involving some tremendous pulls of +Eric’s hair, and making him tremble like a leaf. Several things combined +to make Mr. Lawley dreadful to his imagination. Ever since he was quite +little, he remembered hearing the howls which proceeded from the “Latin +school” as he passed by, whilst some luckless youngster was getting +caned; and the reverend pedagogue was notoriously passionate. Then, +again, he spoke so indistinctly with his deep, gruff voice, that Eric +never could and never did syllable a word he said, and this kept him in +a perpetual terror. Once Mr. Lawley had told him to go out, and see what +time it was by the church clock. Only hearing that he was to do +something, too frightened to ask what it was, and feeling sure that even +if he did, he should not understand what the master said, Eric ran out, +went straight to Mr. Lawley’s house, and after having managed by +strenuous jumps to touch the knocker, informed the servant “that Mr. +Lawley wanted his man.” + +“What man?” said the maid-servant, “the young man? or the butler? or is +it the clerk?” + +Here was a puzzler! all Eric knew was that he was in the habit of +sending sometimes for one or the other of these functionaries; but he +was in for it, so with a faltering voice he said “the young man” at +hazard, and went back to the Latin school. + +“Why have you been so long?” roared Mr. Lawley, as he timidly entered. +Fear entirely prevented Eric from hearing what was said, so he answered +at random, “He’s coming, sir.” The master, seeing by his scared look +that something was wrong, waited to see what would turn up. + +Soon after, in walked “the young man,” and coming to the astonished Mr. +Lawley, bowed, scraped, and said, “Master Williams said you sent for +me, sir.” + +“A mistake,” growled the schoolmaster, turning on Eric a look which +nearly petrified him; he quite expected a book at his head, or at best a +great whack of the cane; but Mr. Lawley had naturally a kind heart, +soured as it was, and pitying perhaps the child’s white face, he +contented himself with the effects of his look. + +The simple truth was, that poor Mr. Lawley was a little wrong in the +head. A scholar and a gentleman, early misfortunes and an imprudent +marriage had driven him to the mastership of the little country +grammar-school; and here the perpetual annoyance caused to his refined +mind by the coarseness of clumsy or spiteful boys, had gradually +unhinged his intellect. Often did he tell the boys “that it was an +easier life by far to break stones by the roadside than to teach them;” +and at last his eccentricities became too obvious to be any longer +overlooked. + +The dénouement of his history was a tragic one, and had come a few days +before the time when, our narrative opens. It was a common practice +among the Latin school boys, as I suppose among all boys, to amuse +themselves by putting a heavy book on the top of a door left partially +ajar, and to cry out “Crown him” as the first luckless youngster who +happened to come in received the book thundering on his head. One day, +just as the trap had been adroitly laid, Mr. Lawley walked in +unexpectedly. The moment he entered the school-room, down came an +Ainsworth’s Dictionary on the top of his hat, and the boy, concealed +behind the door, unconscious of who the victim was, enunciated with mock +gravity, “Crown him! three cheers.” + +It took Mr. Lawley a second to raise from his eyebrows the battered hat, +and recover from his confusion; the next instant he was springing after +the boy who had caused the mishap, and who, knowing the effects of the +master’s fury, fled with precipitation. In one minute the offender was +caught, and Mr. Lawley’s heavy hand fell recklessly on his ears and +back, until he screamed with terror. At last by a tremendous writhe, +wrenching himself free, he darted towards the door, and Mr. Lawley, too +exhausted to pursue, snatched his large gold watch out of his fob, and +hurled it at the boy’s retreating figure. The watch flew through the +air;--crash! it had missed its aim, and, striking the wall above the +lintel, fell smashed into a thousand shivers. + +The sound, the violence of the action, the sight of the broken watch, +which was the gift of a cherished friend, instantly woke the master to +his senses. The whole school had seen it; they sate there pale and +breathless with excitement and awe. The poor man could bear it no +longer. He flung himself into his chair, hid his face with his hands, +and burst into hysterical tears. It was the outbreak of feelings long +pent up. In that instant all his life passed before him--its hopes, its +failures, its miseries, its madness. “Yes!” he thought, “I am mad.” + +Raising his head, he cried wildly, “Boys, go, I am mad!” and sank again +into his former position, rocking himself to and fro. One by one the +boys stole out, and he was left alone. The end is soon told. Forced to +leave Ayrton, he had no means of earning his daily bread; and the weight +of this new anxiety hastening the crisis, the handsome proud scholar +became an inmate of the Brerely Lunatic Asylum. A few years afterwards, +Eric heard that he was dead. Poor broken human heart! may he rest +in peace. + +Such was Eric’s first school and schoolmaster. But although he learnt +little there, and gained no experience of the character of others or of +his own, yet there was one point about Ayrton Latin School, which he +never regretted. It was the mixture there of all classes. On those +benches gentlemen’s sons sat side by side with plebeians, and no harm, +but only good, seemed to come from the intercourse. The neighboring +gentry, most of whom had begun their education there, were drawn into +closer and kindlier union with their neighbors and dependents, from the +fact of having been their associates in the days of their boyhood. Many +a time afterwards, when Eric, as he passed down the streets, +interchanged friendly greetings with some young glazier or tradesman +whom he remembered at school, he felt glad that thus early he had learnt +practically to despise the accidental and nominal differences which +separate man from man. + + + +CHAPTER II + +A NEW HOME + + “Life hath its May, and all is joyous then; + The woods are vocal and the flowers breathe odour, + The very breeze hath, mirth in’t.”--OLD PLAY. + +At last the longed-for yet dreaded day approached, and a letter informed +the Trevors that Mr. and Mrs. Williams would arrive at Southampton on +July 5th, and would probably reach Ayrton the evening after. They +particularly requested that no one should come to meet them on their +landing. “We shall reach Southampton,” wrote Mrs. Trevor, “tired, pale, +and travel-stained, and had much rather see you first at dear Fairholm, +where we shall be spared the painful constraint of a meeting in public. +So please expect our arrival at about seven in the evening.” + +Poor Eric! although he had been longing for the time ever since the news +came, yet now he was too agitated to enjoy. Exertion and expectation +made him restless, and he could settle down to nothing all day, every +hour of which hung most heavily on his hands. + +At last the afternoon wore away, and a soft summer evening filled the +sky with its gorgeous calm. Far off they caught the sound of wheels; a +carriage dashed up to the door, and the next moment Eric sprang into his +mother’s arms. + +“O mother, mother!” + +“My own darling, darling boy!” + +And as the pale sweet face of the mother met the bright and rosy +child-face, each of them was wet with a rush of ineffable tears. In +another moment Eric had been folded to his father’s heart, and locked in +the arms of “little brother Vernon.” Who shall describe the emotions of +those few moments? they did not seem like earthly moments; they seemed +to belong not to time, but to eternity. + +The first evening of such a scene is too excited to be happy. The little +party at Fairholm retired early, and Eric was soon fast asleep with his +arm round his newfound brother’s neck. + +Quiet steps entered the little room, and noiselessly the father and +mother sat down by the bedside of their children. Earth could have shown +no scene more perfect in its beauty than that which met their eyes. The +pure moonlight flooded the little room, and showed distinctly the forms +and countenances of the sleepers, whose soft regular breathing was the +only sound that broke the stillness of the July night. The small shining +flower-like faces, with their fair hair--the trustful loving arms folded +round each brother’s neck--the closed lids and parted lips made an +exquisite picture, and one never to be forgotten. Side by side, without +a word, the parents knelt down, and with eyes wet with tears of +joyfulness, poured out their hearts in passionate prayer for their young +and beloved boys. + +Very happily the next month glided away; a new life seemed opened to +Eric in the world of rich affections which had unfolded itself before +him. His parents--above all, his mother--were everything that he had +longed for; and Vernon more than fulfilled to his loving heart the ideal +of his childish fancy. He was never tired of playing with and +patronising his little brother, and their rambles by stream and hill +made those days appear the happiest he had ever spent. Every evening +(for he had not yet laid aside the habits of childhood) he said his +prayers by his mother’s knee, and at the end of one long summer’s day, +when prayers were finished, and full of life and happiness he lay down +to sleep, “O mother,” he said, “I am so happy--I like to say my prayers +when you are here.” + +“Yes, my boy, and God loves to hear them.” + +“Aren’t there some who never say prayers, mother?” + +“Very many, love, I fear.” + +“How unhappy they must be! I shall _always_ love to say my prayers.” + +“Ah, Eric, God grant that you may!” + +And the fond mother hoped he always would. But these words often came +back to Eric’s mind in later and less happy days--days when that gentle +hand could no longer rest lovingly on his head--when those mild blue +eyes were dim with tears, and the fair boy, changed in heart and life, +often flung himself down with an unreproaching conscience to +prayerless sleep. + +It had been settled that in another week Eric was to go to school in +the Isle of Roslyn. Mr. Williams had hired a small house in the town of +Ellan, and intended to stay there for his year of furlough, at the end +of which period Vernon was to be left at Fairholm, and Eric in the house +of the head-master of the school. Eric enjoyed the prospect of all +things, and he hardly fancied that Paradise itself could be happier than +a life at the seaside with his father and mother and Vernon, combined +with the commencement of schoolboy dignity. When the time for the voyage +came, his first glimpse of the sea, and the sensation of sailing over it +with only a few planks between him and the deep waters, struck him +silent with admiring wonder. It was a cloudless day; the line of blue +sky melted into the line of blue wave, and the air was filled with +sunlight. At evening they landed, and the coach took them to Ellan. On +the way Eric saw for the first time the strength of the hills, so that +when they reached the town and took possession of their cottage, he was +dumb with the inrush of new and marvellous impressions. + +Next morning he was awake early, and jumping out of bed, so as not to +disturb the sleeping Vernon, he drew up the window-blind, and gently +opened the window. A very beautiful scene burst on him, one destined to +be long mingled with all his most vivid reminiscences. Not twenty yards +below the garden, in front of the house, lay Ellan Bay, at that moment +rippling with golden laughter in the fresh breeze of sunrise. On either +side of the bay was a bold headland, the one stretching out in a series +of broken crags, the other terminating in a huge mass of rock, called +from its shape the Stack. To the right lay the town, with its grey old +castle, and the mountain stream running through it into the sea; to the +left, high above the beach, rose the crumbling fragment of a picturesque +fort, behind which towered the lofty buildings of Roslyn School. Eric +learnt the whole landscape by heart, and thought himself a most happy +boy to come to such a place. He fancied that he should be never tired of +looking at the sea, and could not take his eyes off the great buoy that +rolled about in the centre of the bay, and flashed in the sunlight at +every move. He turned round full of hope and spirits, and, after +watching for a few moments the beautiful face of his sleeping brother, +he awoke him with a boisterous kiss. + +That day Eric was to have his first interview with Dr. Rowlands. The +school had already re-opened, and one of the boys in his college cap +passed by the window while they were breakfasting. He looked very happy +and engaging, and was humming a tune as he strolled along. Eric started +up and gazed after him with the most intense curiosity. At that moment +the unconscious schoolboy was to him the most interesting person in the +whole world, and he couldn’t realize the fact that, before the day was +over, he would be a Roslyn boy himself. He very much wondered what sort +of a fellow the boy was, and whether he should ever recognise him again, +and make his acquaintance. Yes, Eric, the thread of that boy’s destiny +is twined a good deal with yours; his name is Montagu, as you will know +very soon. + +At nine o’clock Mr. Williams started towards the school with his son. +The walk led them by the sea-side, over the sands, and past the ruin, at +the foot of which the waves broke at high tide. At any other time Eric +would have been overflowing with life and wonder at the murmur of the +ripples, the sight of the ships passing by the rock-bound bay, and the +numberless little shells, with their bright colors and sculptured +shapes, which lay about the beach. But now his mind was too full of a +single sensation, and when, after crossing a green playground, they +stood by the head-master’s door, his heart fluttered, and it required +all his energy to keep down the nervous trembling which shook him. + +Mr. Williams gave his card, and they were shown into Dr. Rowlands’ +study. He was a kind-looking gentlemanly man, and when he turned to +address Eric, after a few minutes’ conversation with his father, the boy +felt instantly reassured by the pleasant sincerity and frank courtesy of +his manner. A short examination showed that Eric’s attainments were very +slight as yet, and he was to be put in the lowest form of all, under the +superintendence of the Rev. Henry Gordon. Dr. Rowlands wrote a short +note in pencil, and giving it to Eric, directed the servant to show him +to Mr. Gordon’s school-room. + +The bell had just done ringing when they had started for the school, so +that Eric knew that all the boys would be by this time assembled at +their work, and that he should have to go alone into the middle of them. +As he walked after the servant through the long corridors and up the +broad stairs, he longed to make friends with him, so as, if possible, to +feel less lonely. But he had only time to get out, “I say, what sort of +a fellow is Mr. Gordon?” + +“Terrible strict, Sir, I hear,” said the man, touching his cap with a +comic expression, which didn’t at all tend to enliven the future pupil. +“That’s the door,” he continued, “and you’ll have to give him the +doctor’s note;” and, pointing to a door at the end of the passage, he +walked off. + +Eric stopped irresolutely. The man had disappeared, and he was by +himself in the great silent building. Afraid of the sound of his own +footsteps, he ran along the passage, and knocked timidly. He heard a +low, a very low murmur in the room, but there was no answer. He knocked +again a little louder; still no notice; then, overdoing it in his +fright, he gave a very loud tap indeed. + +“Come in,” said a voice, which to the new boy sounded awful; but +he opened the door, and entered. As he came in every head was +quickly raised, he heard a whisper of “New fellow,” and the crimson +flooded his face, as he felt himself the cynosure of some forty +intensely-inquisitive pairs of eyes. + +He found himself in a high airy room, with three large windows opening +towards the sea. At one end was the master’s throne, and facing it, all +down the room, were desks and benches, along which the boys were sitting +at work. Every one knows how very confusing it is to enter a strange +room full of strange people, and especially when you enter it from a +darker passage. Eric felt dazzled, and not seeing the regular route to +the master’s desk, went towards it between two of the benches. As these +were at no great distance from each other, he stumbled against several +legs on his way, and felt pretty sure that they were put out on purpose +to trip him, especially by one boy, who, pretending to be much hurt, +drew up his leg, and began rubbing it, ejaculating _sotto voce_, +“awkward little fool.” + +In this very clumsy way he at last reached the desk, and presented his +missive. The master’s eye was on him, but all Eric had time to observe +was, that he looked rather stern, and had in his hand a book which he +seemed to be studying with the deepest interest. He glanced first at the +note, and then looked full at the boy, as though determined to read his +character at a glance. + +“Williams, I suppose?” + +“Yes, Sir,” said Eric, very low, still painfully conscious that all the +boys were looking at him, as well as the master. + +“Very well, Williams, you are placed in the lowest form--the fourth. I +hope you will work well. At present they are learning their Cesar. Go +and sit next to that boy,” pointing towards the lower end of the room; +“he will show you the lesson, and let you look over his book. Barker, +let Williams look over you!” + +Eric went and sat down at the end of a bench by the boy indicated. He +was a rough-looking fellow, with a shock head of black hair, and a very +dogged look. Eric secretly thought that he wasn’t a very nice-looking +specimen of Roslyn school. However, he sate by him, and glanced at the +Cesar which the boy shoved about a quarter of an inch in his direction. +But Barker didn’t seem inclined to make any further advances, and +presently Eric asked in a whisper, + +“What’s the lesson?” + +The boy glanced at him, but took no further notice. + +Eric repeated, “I say, what’s the lesson?” + +Instead of answering, Barker stared at him, and grunted, + +“What’s your name?” + +“Eric--I mean Williams.” + +“Then why don’t you say what you mean?” + +Eric moved his foot impatiently at this ungracious reception; but as he +seemed to have no redress, he pulled the Cesar nearer towards him. + +“Drop that; ’t isn’t yours.” + +Mr. Gordon heard a whisper, and glanced that way. “Silence!” he said, +and Barker pretended to be deep in his work, while Eric, resigning +himself to his fate, looked about him. + +He had plenty to occupy his attention in the faces round him. He +furtively examined Mr. Gordon, as he bent over his high desk, writing, +but couldn’t make our the physiognomy. There had been something reserved +and imperious in the master’s manner, yet he thought he should not +dislike him on the whole. With the countenances of his future +schoolfellows he was not altogether pleased, but there were one or two +which thoroughly attracted him. One boy, whose side face was turned +towards him as he sat on the bench in front, took his fancy +particularly, so, tired of doing nothing, he plucked up courage, and +leaning forward whispered, “Do lend me your Cesar for a few minutes.” +The boy at once handed it to him with a pleasant smile, and as the +lesson was marked, Eric had time to hurry over a few sentences, when Mr. +Gordon’s sonorous voice exclaimed, + +“Fourth form, come up!” + +Some twenty of the boys went up, and stood in a large semicircle round +the desk. Eric of course was placed last, and the lesson commenced. + +“Russell, begin,” said the master; and immediately the boy who had +handed Eric his Caesar, began reading a few sentences, and construed +them very creditably, only losing a place or two. He had a frank open +face, bright intelligent fearless eyes, and a very taking voice and +manner. Eric listened admiringly and felt sure he should like him. + +Barker was put on next. He bungled through the Latin in a grating +irresolute sort of a way, with several false quantities, for each of +which the next boy took him up. Then he began to construe;--a frightful +confusion of nominatives without verbs, accusatives translated as +ablatives, and perfects turned into prepositions ensued, and after a +hopeless flounder, during which Mr. Gordon left him entirely to himself, +Barker came to a full stop; his catastrophe was so ludicrous, that Eric +could not help joining in the general titter Barker scowled. + +“As usual, Barker,” said the master, with a curl of the lip. “Hold out +your hand!” + +Barker did so, looking sullen defiance, and the cane immediately +descended on his open palm. Six similar cuts followed, during which the +form looked on, not without terror; and Barker, squeezing his hands +tight together, went back to his seat. + +“Williams, translate the piece in which Barker has just failed!” + +Eric did as he was bid, and got through it pretty well. He had now quite +recovered his ordinary bearing, and spoke out clearly and without +nervousness. He afterwards won several places by answering questions, +and at the end of the lesson was marked about half-way up the form. The +boys’ numbers were then taken down in the weekly register, and they went +back to their seats. + +On his desk Eric found a torn bit of paper, on which was clumsily +scrawled, “I’ll teach you to grin when I’m turned, you young brute.” + +The paper seemed to fascinate his eyes. He stared at it fixedly, and +augured ominously of Barker’s intentions, since that worthy obviously +alluded to his having smiled in form, and chose to interpret it as an +intentional provocation. He felt that he was in for it, and that Barker +meant to pick a quarrel with him. This puzzled and annoyed him, and he +felt very sad to have found an enemy already. + +While he was looking at the paper, the great school-clock struck twelve; +and the captain of the form getting up, threw open the folding-doors of +the school-room. + +“You may go,” said Mr. Gordon; and leaving his seat disappeared by a +door at the further end of the room. + +Instantly there was a rash for caps, and the boys poured out in a +confused and noisy stream, while at the same moment the other +school-rooms disgorged their inmates. Eric naturally went out among the +last; but just as he was going to take his cap, Barker seized it, and +flung it with a whoop to the end of the passage, where it was trampled +on by a number of the boys as they ran out. + +Eric, gulping down his fury with a great effort, turned to his opponent, +and said coolly, “Is that what you always do to new fellows?” + +“Yes, you bumptious young owl, it is, and that too;” and a tolerably +smart slap on the face followed--leaving a red mark on a cheek already +aflame with, anger and indignation,--“should you like a little more?” + +He was hurt, both mind and body, but was too proud to cry. “What’s that +for?” he said, with flashing eyes. + +“For your conceit in laughing at me when I was caned.” + +Eric stamped. “I did nothing of the kind, and you know it as well as I +do.” + +“What! I’m a liar, am I? O we shall take this kind of thing out of you, +you young cub--take that;” and a heavier blow followed. + +“You brutal cowardly bully,” shouted Eric; and in another moment he +would have sprung upon him. It was lucky for him that he did not, for +Barker was three years older than he, and very powerful. Such an attack +would hare been most unfortunate for him in every way. But at this +instant some boys hearing the quarrel ran up, and Russell among them. + +“Hallo, Barker,” said one, “what’s up?” + +“Why, I’m teaching this new fry to be less bumptious, that’s all.” + +“Shame!” said Russell, as he saw the mark on Eric’s cheek; “what a +fellow you are, Barker. Why couldn’t you leave him alone for his first +day, at any rate?” + +“What’s that to you? I’ll kick you too, if you say much.” + +“Cavè, cavè!” whispered half a dozen voices, and instantly the knot of +boys dispersed in every direction, as Mr. Gordon was seen approaching. +He had caught a glimpse of the scene without understanding it, and +seeing the new boy’s red and angry face, he only said, as he passed by, +“What, Williams! fighting already? Take care.” + +This was the cruellest cut of all. “So,” thought Eric, “a nice +beginning! it seems both boys and masters are against me;” and very +disconsolately he walked to pick up his cap. + +The boys were all dispersed in the play-ground at different games, and +as he went home he was stopped perpetually, and had to answer the usual +questions, “What’s your name? Are you a boarder or a day scholar? What +form are you in?” Eric expected all this, and it therefore did not annoy +him. Under any other circumstances, he would have answered cheerfully +and frankly enough; but now he felt miserable at his morning’s +rencontre, and his answers were short and sheepish, his only desire +being to get away as soon as possible. It was an additional vexation to +feel sure that his manner did not make a favorable impression. + +Before he had got out of the play ground, Russell ran up to him. “I’m +afraid you won’t like this, or think much of us, Williams,” he said. +“But never mind. It’ll only last a day or two, and the fellows are not +so bad as they seem; except that Barker. I’m sorry you’ve come across +him, but it can’t be helped.” + +It was the first kind word he had had since the morning, and after his +troubles kindness melted him. He felt half inclined to cry, and for a +few moments could say nothing in reply to Russell’s soothing words. But +the boy’s friendliness went far to comfort him, and at last, shaking +hands with him, he said-- + +“Do let me speak to you sometimes, while I am a new boy, Russell.” + +“O yes,” said Russell, laughing, “as much as ever you like. And as +Barker hates me pretty much as he seems inclined to hate you, we are in +the same box. Good bye.” + +So Eric left the field, and wandered home, like Calchas in the Iliad, +“Sorrowful by the side of the sounding sea.” Already the purple mantle +had fallen from his ideal of schoolboy life. He got home later than they +expected, and found his parents waiting for him. It was rather +disappointing to them to see his face so melancholy, when they expected +him to be full of animation and pleasure. Mrs. Williams drew her own +conclusions from the red mark on his cheek, as well as the traces of +tears welling to his eyes; but, like a wise mother, she asked nothing, +and left the boy to tell his own story,--which, in time he did, omitting +all the painful part, speaking enthusiastically of Russell, and only +admitting that he had been a little teased. + + + +CHAPTER III + +BULLYING + +“Give to the morn of life its natural blessedness.” Wordsworth. + +Why is it that new boys are almost invariably ill-treated? I have often +fancied that there must be in boyhood a pseudo-instinctive cruelty, a +sort of “wild trick of the ancestral savage,” which, no amount of +civilization can entirely repress. Certain it is, that to most boys the +first term is a trying ordeal. They are being tested and weighed. Their +place in the general estimation is not yet fixed, and the slightest +circumstances are seized upon to settle the category under which the boy +is to be classed. A few apparently trivial accidents of his first few +weeks at school often decide his position in the general regard for the +remainder of his boyhood. And yet these are _not_ accidents; they are +the slight indications which give an unerring proof of the general +tendencies of his character and training. Hence much of the apparent +cruelty with which new boys are treated is not exactly intentional. At +first, of course, as they can have no friends worth speaking of, there +are always plenty of coarse and brutal minds that take a pleasure in +their torment, particularly if they at once recognise any innate +superiority to themselves. Of this class was Barker. He hated Eric at +first sight, simply because his feeble mind could only realise one idea +about him, and that was the new boy’s striking contrast with his own +imperfections. Hence he left no means untried to vent on Eric his low +and mean jealousy. He showed undisguised pleasure when he fell in form, +and signs of disgust when he rose; he fomented every little source of +disapproval or quarrelling which happened to arise against him; he never +looked at him without a frown or a sneer; he waited for him to kick and +annoy him as he came out of, or went into, the school-room. In fact, he +did his very best to make the boy’s life miserable, and the occupation +of hating him seemed in some measure to fill up the vacuity of an +ill-conditioned and degraded mind. + +Hatred is a most mysterious and painful phenomenon to the unhappy person +who is the object of it, and more especially if he have incurred it by +no one assignable reason. To Eric it was peculiarly painful; he was +utterly unprepared for it. In his bright joyous life at Fairholm, in the +little he saw of the boys at the Latin school, he had met with nothing +but kindness and caresses, and the generous nobleness of his character +had seemed to claim them as a natural element. “And now, why,” he asked +impatiently, “should this bull-dog sort of fellow have set his whole aim +to annoy, vex, and hurt me?” Incapable himself of so mean a spirit of +jealousy at superior excellence, he could not make it out; but such, +was the fact, and the very mysteriousness of it made it more +intolerable to bear. + +But it must be admitted that he made matters worse by his own bursts of +passion. His was not the temper to turn the other cheek; but, brave and +spirited as he was, he felt how utterly hopeless would be any attempt on +his part to repel force by force. He would have tried some slight +conciliation, but it was really impossible with such a boy as his enemy. +Barker never gave him even so much as an indifferent look, much less a +civil word. Eric loathed him, and the only good and happy part of the +matter to his own mind was, that conscientiously his only desire was to +get rid of him and be left alone, while he never cherished a particle +of revenge. + +While every day Eric was getting on better in form, and winning himself +a very good position with the other boys, who liked his frankness, his +mirth, his spirit, and cleverness, he felt this feud with Barker like a +dark background to all his enjoyment. He even had to manoeuvre daily how +to escape him, and violent scenes were of constant occurrence between +them. Eric could not, and would not, brook his bullying with silence. +His resentment was loud and stinging, and, Ishmaelite as Barker was, +even _his_ phlegmatic temperament took fire when Eric shouted his fierce +and uncompromising retorts in the hearing of the others. + +Meanwhile Eric was on the best of terms with the rest of the form, and +such of the other boys as he knew, although, at first, his position as a +home-boarder prevented his knowing many. Besides Russell, there were +three whom he liked best, and respected most--Duncan, Montagu, and Owen. +They were very different boys, but all of them had qualities which well +deserved his esteem. Duncan was the most boyish of boys, intensely full +of fun, good-nature, and vigor; with fair abilities, he never got on +well, because he could not be still for two minutes, and even if, in +some fit of sudden ambition, he got up high in the form, he was sure to +be put to the bottom again before the day was over, for trifling or +talking. But out of school he was the soul of every game; whatever _he_ +took up was sure to be done pleasantly, and no party of amusement was +ever planned without endeavoring to secure him as one of the number. + +Montagu’s chief merit was, that he was such a thorough little gentleman; +“such a jolly little fellow” every one said of him. Without being clever +or athletic, he managed to do very fairly both at work and at the games, +and while he was too exclusive to make many _intimate_ friends, +everybody liked walking about or talking with him. Even Barker, +blackguard as he was, seemed to be a little uneasy when confronted with +Montagu’s naturally noble and chivalrous bearing. In nearly all respects +his influence was thoroughly good, and few boys were more +generally popular. + +Owen, again, was a very different boy. His merit was a ceaseless +diligence, in which it was doubtful whether ambition or +conscientiousness had the greatest share. Reserved and thoughtful, +unfitted for or indifferent to most games, he was anything but a +favorite with the rest, and Eric rather respected than liked him. When +he first came, he had been one of the most natural butts for Barker’s +craving ill-nature, and for a time he had been tremendously bullied. But +gradually his mental superiority asserted itself. He took everything +without tears and without passion, and this diminished the pleasure of +annoying him. One day when Barker had given him an unprovoked kick, he +quietly said, + +“Barker, next time you do that, I’ll tell Mr. Gordon.” + +“Sneak! do it if you dare.” And he kicked him again; but the moment +after he was sorry for it, for there was a dark look in Owen’s eyes, as +he turned instantly into the door of the master’s room, and laid a +formal complaint against Barker for bullying. + +Mr. Gordon didn’t like “telling,” and he said so to Owen, without +reserve. An ordinary boy would have broken into a flood of explanations +and palliations, but Owen simply bowed, and said nothing. “He stood +there for justice,” and he had counted the cost. Strong-minded and +clear-headed, he calculated correctly that the momentary dislike of his +schoolfellows, with whom he well knew that he never could be popular, +would be less unbearable than Barker’s villanous insults. The +consequence was that Barker was caned soundly, although, with some +injustice, Mr. Gordon made no attempt to conceal that he did it +unwillingly. + +Of course the fellows were very indignant with Owen for sneaking, as +they called it, and for a week or two he had the keen mortification of +seeing “Owen is a sneak,” written up all about the walls. But he was +too proud or too cold to make any defence till called upon, and bore it +in silence. Barker vowed eternal vengeance, and the very day after, had +seized Owen with the avowed intention of “half murdering him.” But +before he could once strike him, Owen said in the most chill tone, +“Barker, if you touch me, I shall go straight to Dr. Rowlands.” The +bully well knew that Owen never broke his word, but he could not govern +his rage, and first giving Owen a violent shake, he proceeded to thrash +him without limit or remorse. + +Pale, but unmoved, Owen got away, and walked straight to Dr. Rowlands’ +door. The thing was unheard of, and the boys were amazed at his +temerity, for the doctor was to all their imaginations a regular _Deus +ex machinâ._ That afternoon, again Barker was publicly caned, with the +threat that the next offence would be followed by instant and public +expulsion. This punishment he particularly dreaded, because he was +intended for the army, and he well knew that it might ruin his +prospects. The consequence was, that Owen never suffered from him again, +although he daily received a shower of oaths and curses, which he passed +over with silent contempt. + +My dear boy-reader, don’t suppose that I want you to imitate Owen in +this matter. I despise a boy who “tells” as much as you do, and it is a +far better and braver thing to bear bullying with such a mixture of +spirit and good humor, as in time to disarm it. But Owen was a peculiar +boy, and remember he had _no_ redress. He bore for a time, until he felt +that he _must_ have the justice and defence, without which it would +have been impossible for him to continue at Roslyn school. + +But why, you ask, didn’t he tell the monitors? Unfortunately at Roslyn +the monitorial system was not established. Although it was a school of +250 boys, the sixth form, with all their privileges, had no prerogative +of authority. They hadn’t the least right to interfere, because no such +power had been delegated to them, and therefore they felt themselves +merely on a par with the rest, except for such eminence as their +intellectual superiority gave them. The consequence was, that any +interference from them would have been of a simply individual nature, +and was exerted very rarely. It would have done Owen no more good to +tell a sixth-form boy, than to tell any other boy; and as he was not a +favorite, he was not likely to find any champion to fight his battles or +maintain his just rights. + +All this had happened before Eric’s time, and he heard it from his best +friend Russell. His heart clave to that boy. They became friends at once +by a kind of electric sympathy; the first glance of each at the other’s +face prepared the friendship, and every day of acquaintance more firmly +cemented it. Eric could not have had a better friend; not so clever as +himself, not so diligent as Owen, not so athletic as Duncan, or so +fascinating as Montagu, Russell combined the best qualities of them all. +And, above all, he acted invariably from the highest principle; he +presented that noblest of all noble spectacles--one so rare that many +think it impossible--the spectacle of an honorable, pure-hearted, happy +boy, who, as his early years speed by, is ever growing in wisdom, and +stature, and favor with God and man. + +“Did that brute Barker ever bully you as he bullies me?” said Eric, one +day, as he walked on the sea-shore with his friend. + +“Yes,” said Russell; “I slept in his dormitory when I first came, and he +has often made me so wretched that I have flung myself on my knees at +night in pretence of prayer, but really to get a little quiet time to +cry like a child.” + +“And when was it he left off at last?” + +“Why, you know, Upton in the fifth is my cousin, and very fond of me; he +heard of it, though I didn’t say anything about it, and told Barker that +if ever he caught him at it, he would thrash him within an inch of his +life; and that frightened him for one thing. Besides, Duncan, Montagu, +and other friends of mine began to cut him in consequence, so he thought +it best to leave off.” + +“How is it, Russell, that fellows stand by and let him do it?” + +“You see, Williams,” said Russell, “Barker is an enormously strong +fellow, and that makes the younger chaps, whom he fags, look up to him +as a great hero. And there isn’t one in our part of the school who can +thrash him. Besides, people never do interfere, you know--at least not +often. I remember once seeing a street-row in London, at which twenty +people stood by, and let a drunken beast of a husband strike his wife +without ever stirring to defend her.” + +“Well,” sighed Eric, “I hope my day of deliverance will come soon, for +I can’t stand it much longer, and ‘tell’ I won’t, whatever Owen may do.” + +Eric’s deliverance came very soon. It was afternoon; the boys were +playing at different games in the green playground, and he was waiting +for his turn at rounders. At this moment Barker lounged up, and calmly +snatching off Eric’s cap, shied it over Dr. Rowlands’ garden wall. +“There, go and fetch that.” + +“You blackguard!” said Eric, standing irresolutely for a few minutes; +and then with tears in his eyes began to climb the wall. It was not very +high, but boys were peremptorily forbidden to get over it under any +circumstances, and Eric broke the rule not without trepidation. However, +he dropped down on one of Mrs. Rowlands’ flower-beds, and got his cap in +a hurry, and clambered back undiscovered. + +He thought this would have satisfied his tormentor for one day; but +Barker was in a mischievous mood, so he again came up to Eric, and +calling out, “Who’ll have a game at football?” again snatched the cap, +and gave it a kick; Eric tried to recover it, but every time he came up +Barker gave it a fresh kick, and finally kicked it into a puddle. + +Eric stood still, trembling with rage, while his eyes lightened scorn +and indignation. “You hulking, stupid, cowardly bully,”--here Barker +seized him, and every word brought a tremendous blow on the head, but +blind with passion Eric went on--“you despicable bully, I won’t touch +that cap again, you shall pick it up yourself. Duncan, Russell, here! do +help me against this intolerable brute.” + +Several boys ran up, but they were all weaker than Barker, who besides +was now in a towering fury, and kicked Eric unmercifully. + +“Leave him alone,” shouted Duncan, “or by heaven I’ll get you a sound +thrashing from some fellow.” + +“I won’t; mind your own business,” growled Barker, shaking himself free +from Duncan’s hand. + +“Barker, I’ll never speak to you again from this day,” said Montagu, +turning on his heel with a look of withering contempt. + +“What do I care? puppy, you want taking down too,” was the reply, and +some more kicks at Eric followed. + +“Barker, I won’t stand this any longer,” said Russell; and seizing him +by the arm, he dealt him a swinging blow on the face. + +The bully stood in amazement, and dropped Eric, who fell on the turf +nearly fainting, and bleeding at the nose. But now Russell’s turn came, +and in a moment Barker, who was twice his weight, had tripped him up, +when he found himself collared in an iron grasp. + +There had been an unobserved spectator of the whole scene, in the person +of Mr. Williams himself, and it was his strong hand that now griped +Barker’s shoulder. He was greatly respected by the boys, who all knew +his tall handsome figure by sight, and he frequently stood a quiet and +pleased observer of their games. The boys in the playground came +crowding round, and Barker in vain struggled to escape. Mr. Williams +held him firmly, and said in a calm voice, “I have just seen you treat +one of your schoolfellows with the grossest violence. It makes me blush +for you, Roslyn Boys,” he continued, turning to the group that +surrounded him, “that you can stand by unmoved, and see such things +done. You know that you despise any one who tells a master, yet you +allow this bullying to go on, and that, too, without any provocation. +Now, mark; it makes no difference that the boy hurt is my own son; I +would have punished this scoundrel, whoever it had been, and I shall +punish him now.” With these words he lifted the riding-whip which he +happened to be carrying, and gave Barker one of the most satisfactory +castigations he had ever undergone; the boys declared that Dr. Rowlands’ +“swishings” were nothing to it. Mr. Williams saw that the offender was a +tough subject, and determined that he should not soon forget the +punishment he then received. He had never heard from Eric how this boy +had been treating him, but he had heard it from Russell, and now he had +seen one of the worst specimens of it with his own eyes. He therefore +belabored him till his sullen obstinacy gave way to a roar for mercy, +and promises never so to offend again. + +At this crisis he flung the boy from him with a “phew” of disgust, and +said, “I give nothing for your word; but if ever you do bully in this +way again, and I see or hear of it, your present punishment shall be a +trifle to what I shall then administer. At present, thank me for not +informing your master.” So saying, he made Barker pick up the cap, and, +turning away, walked home with Eric leaning on his arm. + +Barker, too, carried himself off with the best grace he could; but it +certainly didn’t mend matters when he heard numbers of fellows, even +little boys, say openly, “I’m so glad; serves you right.” + +From that day Eric was never troubled with personal violence from Barker +or any other boy. But rancor smouldered deep in the mind of the baffled +tyrant, and, as we shall see hereafter, there are subtler means of +making an enemy wretched than striking or kicking him. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CRIBBING + + “Et nos ergo manum ferulæ subduximus.”--Juv. i. 15. + +It must not be thought that Eric’s year as a home boarder was made up of +dark experiences. Roslyn had a very bright as well as a dark side, and +Eric enjoyed it “to the finger-tips.” School-life, like all other life, +is an April day of shower and sunshine. Its joys may be more childish, +its sorrows more trifling than those of after years;--but they are more +keenly felt. + +And yet, although we know it to be a mere delusion, we all idealise and +idolise our childhood. The memory of it makes pleasant purple in the +distance, and as we look back on the sunlight of its blue far-off hills, +we forget how steep we sometimes found them. + +After Barker’s discomfiture, which took place some three weeks after his +arrival, Eric liked the school more and more, and got liked by it more +and more. This might have been easily foreseen, for he was the type of a +thoroughly boyish mind in its more genial and honorable characteristics, +and his round of acquaintances daily increased. Among others, a few of +the sixth, who were also day-scholars, began to notice and walk home +with him. He looked on them as great heroes, and their condescension +much increased his dignity both in his own estimation and that of +his equals. + +Now, too, he began to ask some of his most intimate acquaintances to +spend an evening with him sometimes at home. This was a pleasure much +coveted, for no boy ever saw Mrs. Williams without loving her, and they +felt themselves humanised by the friendly interest of a lady who +reminded every boy of his own mother. Vernon, too, now a lively and +active child of nine, was a great pet among them, so that every one +liked Eric who “knew him at home.” A boy generally shows his best side +at home; the softening shadows of a mother’s tender influence play over +him, and tone down the roughness of boyish character. Duncan, Montagu, +and Owen were special favorites in the home circle, and Mrs. Williams +felt truly glad that her son had singled out friends who seemed, on the +whole, so desirable. But Montagu and Russell were the most frequent +visitors, and the latter became almost like one of the family; he won so +much on all their hearts that Mrs. Williams was not surprised when Eric +confided to her one day that he loved Russell almost as well as be +loved Vernon. + +As Christmas approached, the boys began to take a lively interest in the +half-year’s prizes, and Eric was particularly eager about them. He had +improved wonderfully, and as both his father and mother prevented him +from being idle, even had he been so inclined, he had soon shown that +he was one of the best in the form. Two prizes were given, half-yearly +to each remove; one for “marks” indicating the boy who had generally +been highest throughout the half year, and the other for the test proofs +of proficiency in a special examination. It was commonly thought in the +form that Owen would get the first of these prizes, and Eric the other; +and towards the approach of the examination, he threw his whole energy +into the desire to win. The desire was not selfish. Some ambition was of +course natural; but he longed for the prize chiefly for the delight +which he knew his success would cause at Fairholm, and still more to his +own family. + +During the last week, an untoward circumstance happened, which, while it +increased his popularity, diminished a good deal (as he thought) his +chance of success. The fourth form were learning a Homer lesson, and +Barker, totally unable to do it by his own resources, was trying to +borrow a crib. Eric, much to their mutual disgust, still sat next to him +in school, and would have helped him if he had chosen to ask; but he +never did choose, nor did Eric care to volunteer. The consequence was, +that unless he could borrow a crib, he was invariably turned, and he was +now particularly anxious to get one, because the time was nearly up. + +There was a certain idle, good-natured boy, named Llewellyn, who had +“cribs” to every book they did, and who, with a pernicious _bonhommie,_ +lent them promiscuously to the rest, all of whom were only too glad to +avail themselves of the help, except the few at the top of the form, who +found it a slovenly way of learning the lesson, which was sure to get +them into worse difficulties than an honest attempt to master the +meaning for themselves. Llewellyn sat at the farther end of the form in +front, so Barker scribbled in the fly-leaf of his book, “Please send us +your Homer crib,” and got the book passed on to Llewellyn, who +immediately shoved his crib in Barker’s direction. The only danger of +the transaction being noticed, was when the book was being handed from +one bench to another, and as Eric unluckily had an end seat, he had got +into trouble more than once. + +On this occasion, just as Graham, the last boy on the form in front, +handed Eric the crib, Mr. Gordon happened to look up, and Eric, very +naturally anxious to screen another from trouble, popped the book under +his own Homer. + +“Williams, what are you doing?” + +“Nothing, Sir,” said Eric, looking up innocently. + +“Bring me that book under your Homer.” + +Eric blushed, hesitated--but at last, amid a dead silence, took up the +book. Mr. Gordon looked at it for a moment, let it fall on the ground, +and then, with an unnecessary affectation of disgust, took it up with +the tongs, and dropped it into the fire. There was a titter round +the room. + +“Silence,” thundered the master; “this is no matter for laughing. So, +sir, _this_ is the way you get up to the top of the form?” + +“I wasn’t using it, sir,” said Eric. + +“Not using it! Why, I saw you put it, open, under your Homer.” + +“It isn’t mine, sir.” + +“Then whose is it?” Mr. Gordon looked at the fly leaf, but of course no +name was there; in those days it was dangerous to write one’s name in a +translation. + +Eric was silent. + +“Under the circumstances, Williams, I must punish you,” said Mr. Gordon. +“Of course I am _bound_ to believe you, but the circumstances are very +suspicious. You had no business with such a book at all. Hold out +your hand.” + +As yet, Eric had never been caned. It would have been easy for him in +this case to clear himself without mentioning names, but (very rightly) +he thought it unmanly to clamor about being punished, and he felt +nettled at Mr. Gordon’s merely official belief of his word. He knew that +he had his faults, but certainly want of honor was not among them. +Indeed, there were only three boys out of the twenty in the form, who +did not resort to modes of unfairness far worse than the use of cribs, +and those three were Russell, Owen, and himself; even Duncan, even +Montagu, inured to it by custom, were not ashamed to read their lesson +off a concealed book, or copy a date from a furtive piece of paper. They +would have been ashamed of it before they came to Roslyn school, but the +commonness of the habit had now made them blind or indifferent to its +meanness. It was peculiarly bad in the fourth form, because the master +treated them with implicit confidence, and being scrupulously honorable +himself, was unsuspicious of others. He was therefore extremely +indignant at this apparent discovery of an attempt to overreach him in +a boy so promising and so much of a favorite as Eric Williams. + +“Hold out your hand,” he repeated. + +Eric did so, and the cane tingled sharply across his palm. He could bear +the pain well enough, but he was keenly alive to the disgrace; he, a boy +at the head of his form, to be caned in this way by a man who didn’t +understand him, and unjustly too! He mustered up an indifferent air, +closed his lips tight, and determined to give no further signs. The +defiance of his look made Mr. Gordon angry, and he inflicted in +succession five hard cuts on either hand, each one of which, was more +excruciating than the last. + +“Now, go to your seat.” + +Eric did go to his seat, with all his bad passions roused, and he walked +in a jaunty and defiant kind of way that made the master really grieve +at the disgrace into which he had fallen. But he instantly became a hero +with the form, who unanimously called him a great brick for not telling, +and admired him immensely for bearing up without crying under so severe +a punishment. The punishment _was_ most severe, and for some weeks after +there were dark weals visible across Eric’s palm, which rendered the use +of his hands painful. + +“Poor Williams,” said Duncan, as they went out of school, “how very +plucky of you not to cry.” + + “Vengeance deep brooding o’er the _cane_, + Had locked the source of softer woe; + And burning pride, and high disdain, + Forbade the gentler tear to flow,” + +said Eric, with a smile. + +But he only bore up until he got home, and there, while he was telling +his father the occurrence, he burst into a storm of passionate tears, +mingled with the fiercest invectives against Mr. Gordon for his +injustice. + +“Never mind, Eric,” said his father; “only take care that you never get +a punishment _justly_, and I shall always be as proud of you as I am +now. And don’t cherish this resentment, my boy; it will only do you +harm. Try to forgive and forget.” + +“But, Papa, Mr. Gordon is so hasty. I have indeed been rather a favorite +of his, yet now he shows that he has no confidence in me. It is a great +shame that he shouldn’t believe my word. I don’t mind the pain; but I +shan’t like him any more, and I’m sure, now, I shan’t get the +examination prize.” + +“You don’t mean, Eric, that he will be influenced by partiality in the +matter?” + +“No, Papa, not exactly; at least I dare say he won’t _intend_ to be. But +it is unlucky to be on bad terms with a master, and I know I shan’t +work so well.” + +On the whole, the boy was right in thinking this incident a misfortune. +Although he had nothing particular for which to blame himself, yet the +affair had increased his pride, while it lowered his self-respect; and +he had an indistinct consciousness that the popularity in his form would +do him as much harm as the change of feeling in his master. He grew +careless and dispirited, nor was it till in the very heat of the final +competition, that he felt his energies fully revived. + +Half the form were as eager about the examination as the other half +were indifferent; but none were more eager than Eric. He was much +hindered by Barker’s unceasing attempt to copy his papers +surreptitiously; and very much disgusted at the shameless way in which +many of the boys “cribbed” from books, and from each other, or used torn +leaves concealed in their sleeves, or dates written on their wristbands, +and on their nails. He saw how easily much of this might have been +prevented; but Mr. Gordon was fresh at his work, and had not yet learnt +the practical lesson, that to trust young boys to any great extent, is +really to increase their temptations. He _did_ learn the lesson +afterwards, and then almost entirely suppressed the practice, partly by +increased vigilance, and partly by forbidding _any_ book to be brought +into the room during the time of examination. But meanwhile, much evil +had been done by the habitual abuse of his former confidence. + +I shall not linger over the examination. At its close, the day before +the breaking-up, the list was posted on the door of the great +school-room, and most boys made an impetuous rush to see the result. But +Eric was too nervous to be present at the hour when this was usually +done, and he had asked Russell to bring him the news. + +He was walking up and down the garden, counting the number of steps he +took, counting the number of shrubs along each path, and devising every +sort of means to beguile the time, when he heard hasty steps, and +Russell burst in at the back gate, breathless with haste, and bright +with excitement. + +“Hurrah! old fellow,” he cried, seizing both Eric’s hands; “I never +felt so glad in my life;” and he shook his friend’s arms up and down, +laughing joyously. + +“Well! tell me,” said Eric. + +“First, {Owen/Williams} Aequales,” “you’ve got head remove you see, in +spite of your forebodings, as I always said you would; and I +congratulate you with all my heart.” + +“No?” said Eric, “have I really?--you’re not joking? Oh! hurrah!--I must +rush in and tell them;” and he bounded off. + +In a second he was back at Russell’s side. “What a selfish animal I am! +Where are you placed, Russell?” + +“Oh! magnificent; I’m third;--far higher than I expected.” + +“I’m so glad,” said Eric. “Come in with me and tell them. I’m head +remove, mother,” he shouted, springing into the parlor where his father +and mother sat. + +In the lively joy that this announcement excited, Russell stood by for +the moment unheeded; and when Eric took him by the hand to tell them +that he was third, he hung his head, and a tear was in his eye. + +“Poor boy! I’m afraid you’re disappointed,” said Mrs. Williams kindly, +drawing him to her side. + +“Oh no, no! it’s not _that_,” said Russell, hastily, as he lifted his +swimming eyes towards her face. + +“Are you hurt, Russell?” asked Eric, surprised. + +“Oh! no; don’t ask me; I am only foolish to-day;” and with a burst of +sorrow he flung his arms round Mrs. Williams’ neck. She folded him to +her heart, and kissed him tenderly; and when his sobs would let him +speak, he whispered to her in a low tone, “It is but a year since I +became an orphan.” + +“Dearest child,” she said, “look on me as a mother; I love you very +dearly for your own sake as well as Eric’s.” + +Gradually he grew calmer. They made him stay to dinner and spend the +rest of the day there, and by the evening he had recovered all his usual +sprightliness. Towards sunset he and Eric went for a stroll down the +bay, and talked over the term and the examination. + +They sat down on a green bank just beyond the beach, and watched the +tide come in, while the sea-distance was crimson with the glory of +evening. The beauty and the murmur filled them with a quiet happiness, +not untinged with the melancholy thought of parting the next day. + +At last Eric broke the silence. “Russell, let me always call you Edwin, +and call me Eric.” + +“Very gladly, Eric. Your coming here has made me so happy.” And the two +boys squeezed each other’s hands, and looked into each other’s faces, +and silently promised that they would be loving friends for ever. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE SECOND TERM + + “Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil our vines; for our + vines have tender grapes.”--CANT. ii. 15. + +The second term at school is generally the great test of the strength of +a boy’s principles and resolutions. During the first term the novelty, +the loneliness, the dread of unknown punishments, the respect for +authorities, the desire to measure himself with his companions--all tend +to keep him right and diligent. But many of these incentives are removed +after the first brush of novelty, and many a lad who has given good +promise at first, turns out, after a short probation, idle, or vicious, +or indifferent. + +But there was little comparative danger for Eric, so long as he +continued to be a home boarder, which was for another half-year. On the +contrary, he was anxious to support in his new remove the prestige of +having been head boy; and as he still continued under Mr. Gordon, he +really wished to turn over a new leaf in his conduct towards him, and +recover, if possible, his lost esteem. + +His popularity was a fatal snare. He enjoyed and was very proud of it, +and was half inclined to be angry with Russell for not fully sharing his +feelings; but Russell had a far larger experience of school life than +his new friend, and dreaded with all his heart lest “he should follow a +multitude to do evil.” + +The “cribbing,” which had astonished and pained Eric at first, was more +flagrant than even in the Upper Fourth, and assumed a chronic form. In +all the repetition lessons one of the boys used to write out in a large +hand the passage to be learnt by heart, and dexterously pin it to the +front of Mr. Gordon’s desk. There any boy who chose could read it off +with little danger of detection, and, as before, the only boys who +refused to avail themselves of this trickery were Eric, Russell, +and Owen. + +Eric did _not_ yield to it; never once did he suffer his eyes to glance +at the paper when his turn to repeat came round. But although this was +the case, he never spoke against the practice to the other boys, even +when he lost places by it. Nay more, he would laugh when any one told +him how he had escaped “skewing” (_i.e._ being turned) by reading it +off; and he even went so far as to allow them to suppose that he +wouldn’t himself object to take advantage of the master’s unsuspicious +confidence. + +“I say, Williams,” said Duncan, one morning as they strolled into the +school-yard, “do you know your Rep.?” + +“No,” said Eric, “not very well; I haven’t given more than ten minutes +to it.” + +“Oh, well, never mind it now; come and have a game at racquets? Russel +and Montagu have taken the court.” + +“But I shall skew.” + +“Oh no, you needn’t, you know. I’ll take care to pin it up on the desk +near you.” + +“Well, I don’t much care. At any rate I’ll chance it.” And off the boys +ran to the racquet-court, Eric intending to occupy the last quarter of +an hour before school-time in learning his lesson. Russell and he stood +the other two, and they were very well matched. They had finished two +splendid games, and each side had been victorious in turn, when Duncan, +in the highest spirits, shouted, “Now, Russell, for the conqueror.” + +“Get some one else in my place,” said Russell; “I don’t know my Rep., +and must cut and learn it.” + +“O bother the Rep.,” said Montagu; “somebody’s sure to write it out in +school, and old Gordon’ll never see.” + +“You forget, Montagu, I never condescend to that.” + +“O ay, I forgot. Well, after all, you’re quite right; I only wish I was +as good.” + +“What a capital fellow he is,” continued Montagu, leaning on his racquet +and looking after him, as Russell left the court; “but I say, Williams, +you’re not going too, are you?” + +“I think I must, I don’t know half my lesson.” + +“O no! don’t go; there’s Llewellyn; he’ll take Russell’s place, and we +_must_ have the conquering game.” + +Again Eric yielded; and when the clock struck he ran into school, hot, +vexed with himself, and certain to break down, just as Russell strolled +in, whispering, “I’ve had lots of time to get up the Horace, and know +it pat.” + +Still he clung to the little thistledown of hope that he should have +plenty of time to cram it before the form were called up. But another +temptation awaited him. No sooner was he seated than Graham whispered, +“Williams, it’s your turn to write out the Horace; I did last time, +you know.” + +Poor Eric. He was reaping the fruits of his desire to keep up +popularity, by never denying his complicity in the general cheating. +Everybody seemed to assume now that _he_ at any rate didn’t think much +of it, and he had never claimed his real right up to that time of +asserting his innocence. But this was a step further than he had ever +gone before. He drew back-- + +“My _turn_, what do you mean?” + +“Why, you know as well as I do that we all write it out by turns.” + +“Do you mean to say that Owen or Russell ever wrote it out?” + +“Of course not; you wouldn’t expect the saints to be guilty of such a +thing, would you?” + +“I’d rather not, Graham,” he said, getting very red. + +“Well, that _is_ cowardly,” answered Graham, angrily; “then I suppose I +must do it myself.” + +“Here, I’ll do it,” said Eric suddenly; “shy us the paper.” + +His conscience smote him bitterly. In his silly dread of giving +offence, he was doing what he heartily despised, and he felt most +uncomfortable. + +“There,” he said, pushing the paper from him in a pet; “I’ve written it, +and I’ll have nothing more to do with it.” + +Just as he finished they were called up, and Barker, taking the paper, +succeeded in pinning it as usual on the front of the desk. Eric had +never seen it done so carelessly and clumsily before, and firmly +believed, what was indeed a fact, that Barker had done it badly on +purpose, in the hope that it might be discovered, and so Eric be got +once more into a scrape. He was in an agony of apprehension, and when +put on, was totally unable to say a word of his Rep. But low as he had +fallen, he would not cheat like the rest; he kept his eyes resolutely +turned away from the guilty paper, and even refused to repeat the words +which were prompted in his ear by the boys on each side. Mr. Gordon, +after waiting a moment, said-- + +“Why, Sir, you know nothing about it; you can’t have looked at it. Go to +the bottom and write it out five times.” + +“_Write it out_” thought Eric; “this is retribution, I suppose;” and +covered with shame and vexation, he took his place below the malicious +Barker at the bottom of the form. + +It happened that during the lesson the fire began to smoke, and Mr. +Gordon told Owen to open the window for a moment. No sooner was this +done than the mischievous whiff of sea air which entered the room began +to trifle and coquet with the perdulous half sheet pinned in front of +the desk, causing thereby an unwonted little pattering crepitation. In +alarm, Duncan thoughtlessly pulled out the pin, and immediately the +paper floated gracefully over Russell’s head, as he sat at the top of +the form, and, after one or two gyrations, fluttered down in the centre +of the room. + +“Bring me that piece of paper,” said Mr. Gordon, full of vague +suspicion. + +Several boys moved uneasily, and Eric looked nervously around. + +“Did you hear? fetch me that half sheet of paper.” + +A boy picked it up and handed it to him. He held it for a full minute in +his hands without a word, while vexation, deep disgust, and rising anger +struggled in his countenance. At last, he suddenly turned full on Eric, +whose writing he recognized, and broke out, + +“So, Sir! a second time caught in gross deceit. I should not have +thought it possible. Your face and manners belie you. You have lost my +confidence forever. I _despise_ you.” + +“Indeed, Sir,” said the penitent Eric, “I never meant--” + +“Silence--you are detected, as cheats always will be. I shall report you +to Dr. Rowlands.” + +The next boy was put on, and broke down. The same with the next, and the +next, and the next; Montagu, Graham, Llewellyn, Duncan, Barker, all +hopeless failures; only two boys had said it right--Russell and Owen. + +Mr. Gordon’s face grew blacker and blacker. The deep undisguised pain +which the discovery caused him was swallowed up in unbounded +indignation. “False-hearted, dishonorable boys,” he exclaimed, +“henceforth my treatment of you shall be very different. The whole form, +except Russell and Owen, shall have an extra lesson every half-holiday; +not one of the rest of you will I trust again. I took you for gentlemen. +I was mistaken. Go.” And so saying, he waved them to their seats with +imperious disdain. + +They went, looking sheepish, and ashamed. Eric, deeply vexed, kept +twisting and untwisting a bit of paper, without raising his eyes, and +even Barker thoroughly repented his short-sighted treachery; the rest +were silent and miserable. + +At twelve o’clock two boys lingered in the room to speak to Mr. Gordon; +they were Eric Williams and Edwin Russell, but they were full of very +different feelings. + +Eric stepped to the desk first. Mr. Gordon looked up. + +“You! Williams, I wonder that you have the audacity to speak to me. +Go--I have nothing to say to you!” + +“But, sir, I want to tell you that--” + +“Your guilt is only too clear, Williams. You will hear more of this. Go, +I tell you.” + +Eric’s passion overcame him; he stamped furiously on the ground, and +burst out, “I _will_ speak, sir; you have been unjust to me for a long +time, but I will _not_ be--” + +Mr. Gordon’s cane fell sharply across the boy’s back; he stopped, glared +for a moment; and then saying: + +“Very well, sir! I shall tell Dr. Rowlands that you strike before you +hear me,” he angrily left the room, and slammed the door violently +behind him. + +Before Mr. Gordon had time to recover from his astonishment, Russell +stood by him. + +“Well, my boy,” said the master, softening in a moment, and laying his +hand gently on Russell’s head, “what have you to say? You cannot tell +how I rejoice, amid the deep sorrow that this has caused me, to find +that _you_ at least are uncontaminated. But I _knew_, Edwin, that I +could trust you.” + +“O sir, I come to speak for Eric--for Williams.” Mr. Gordon’s brow +darkened again, and the storm gathered, as he interrupted vehemently, +“Not a word, Russell; not a word. This is the _second_ time that he has +wilfully deceived me; and this time he has involved others too in his +base deceit.” + +“Indeed, sir, you wrong him. I can’t think how he came to write the +paper, but I _know_ that he did not and would not use it. Didn’t you see +yourself, sir, how he turned his head quite another way when he +broke down.” + +“It is very kind of you, Edwin, to defend him,” said Mr. Gordon coldly, +“but at present, at any rate, I must not hear you. Leave me; I feel very +sad, and must have time to think over this disgraceful affair.” + +Russell went away disconsolate, and met his friend striding up and down, +the passage, waiting for Dr. Rowlands to come out of the library. + +“O Eric,” he said, “how came you to write that paper?” + +“Why, Russell, I did feel very much ashamed, and I would have explained +it, and said so; but that Gordon spites me so. It is such a shame; I +don’t feel now as if I cared one bit.” + +“I am sorry you don’t get on with him; but remember you have given him +in this case good cause to suspect. You never crib, Eric, I know, but I +can’t help being sorry that you wrote the paper.” + +“But then Graham asked me to do it, and called me cowardly because I +refused at first.” + +“Ah, Eric,” said Russell, “they will ask you to do worse things if you +yield so easily. I wouldn’t say anything to Dr. Rowlands about it, if I +were you.” + +Eric took the advice, and, full of mortification, went home. He gave his +father a true and manly account of the whole occurrence, and that +afternoon Mr. Williams wrote a note of apology and explanation to Mr. +Gordon. Next time the form went up, Mr. Gordon said, in his most +freezing tones, “Williams, at present I shall take no further notice of +your offence beyond including you in the extra lesson every +half-holiday.” + +From that day forward Eric felt that he was marked and suspected, and +the feeling worked on him with the worst effects. He grew more careless +in work, and more trifling and indifferent in manner. Several boys now +beat him whom he had easily surpassed before, and his energies were for +a time entirely directed to keeping that supremacy in the games which he +had won by his activity and strength. + +It was a Sunday afternoon, towards the end of the summer term, and the +boys were sauntering about in the green playground, or lying on the +banks reading and chatting. Eric was with a little knot of his chief +friends, enjoying the sea breeze as they sat on the grass. At last the +bell of the school chapel began to ring, and they went in to the +afternoon service. Eric usually sat with Duncan and Llewellyn, +immediately behind the benches allotted to chance visitors. The bench in +front of them happened on this afternoon to be occupied by some rather +odd people, viz., an old man with long white hair, and two ladies +remarkably stout, who were dressed with much juvenility, although past +middle age. Their appearance immediately attracted notice, and no sooner +had they taken their seats than Duncan and Llewellyn began to titter. +The ladies’ bonnets, which were of white, trimmed with long green leaves +and flowers, just peered over the top of the boys’ pew, and excited much +amusement. But Eric had not yet learnt to disregard the solemnity of the +place, and the sacred act in which they were engaged. He tried to look +away, and attend to the service, and for a time he partially succeeded, +although, seated as he was between the two triflers, who were +perpetually telegraphing to each other their jokes, he found it a +difficult task, and secretly he began to be much tickled. + +At last the sermon commenced, and Llewellyn, who had imprisoned a +grasshopper in a paper cage, suddenly let it hop out. The first hop took +it to the top of the pew; the second perched it on the shoulder of the +stoutest lady. Duncan and Llewellyn tittered louder, and even Eric could +not resist a smile. But when the lady, feeling some irritation on her +shoulder, raised her hand, and the grasshopper took a frightened leap +into the centre of the green foliage which enwreathed her bonnet, none +of the three could stand it, and they burst into fits of laughter, which +they tried in vain to conceal by bending down their heads and cramming +their handkerchiefs into their mouths. Eric, having once given way, +enjoyed the joke uncontrollably, and the lady made matters worse by her +uneasy attempts to dislodge the unknown intruder, and discover the cause +of the tittering, which she could not help hearing. At last all three +began to laugh so violently that several heads were turned in their +direction, and Dr. Rowlands’ stern eye caught sight of their levity. He +stopped short in his sermon, and for one instant transfixed them with +his indignant glance. Quiet was instantly restored, and alarm reduced +them to the most perfect order, although the grasshopper still sat +imperturbable among the artificial flowers. Meanwhile the stout lady had +discovered that for some unknown reason she had been causing +considerable amusement, and, attributing it to intentional ridicule, +looked round, justly hurt. Eric, with real shame, observed the deep +vexation of her manner, and bitterly repented his share in the +transaction. + +Next morning Dr. Rowlands, in full academicals, sailed into the +fourth-form room. His entrance was the signal for every boy to rise, and +after a word or two to Mr. Gordon, he motioned them to be seated. Eric’s +heart sank within him. + +“Williams, Duncan, and Llewellyn, stand out!” said the Doctor. The boys, +with downcast eyes and burning cheeks, stood before him. + +“I was sorry to notice,” said he, “your shameful conduct in chapel +yesterday afternoon. As far as I could observe, you were making +yourselves merry in that sacred place with the personal defects of +others. The lessons you receive here must be futile indeed, if they do +not teach you the duty of reverence to God, and courtesy to man. It +gives me special pain, Williams, to have observed that you, too, a boy +high in your remove, were guilty of this most culpable levity. You will +all come to me at twelve o’clock in the library.” + +At twelve o’clock they each received a flogging. The pain inflicted was +not great, and Duncan and Llewellyn, who had got into similar trouble +before, cared very little for it, and went out laughing to tell the +number of swishes they had received, to a little crowd of boys who were +lingering outside the library door. But not so Eric. It was his _first_ +flogging, and he felt it deeply. To his proud spirit the disgrace was +intolerable. At that moment he hated Dr. Rowlands, he hated Mr. Gordon, +he hated his schoolfellows, he hated everybody. He had been flogged; the +thought haunted him; he, Eric Williams, had been forced to receive this +most degrading corporal punishment. He pushed fiercely through the knot +of boys, and strode as quick as he could along the playground, angry and +impenitent. + +At the gate Russell met him. Eric felt the meeting inopportune; he was +ashamed to meet his friend, ashamed to speak to him, envious of him, and +jealous of his better reputation. He wanted to pass him by without +notice, but Russell would not suffer this. He came up to him and took +his arm affectionately. The slightest allusion to his late disgrace +would have made Eric flame out into passion; but Russell was too kind to +allude to it then. He talked as if nothing had happened, and tried to +turn his friend’s thoughts to more pleasant subjects. Eric appreciated +his kindness, but he was still sullen and fretful, and it was not until +they parted that his better feelings won the day. But when Russell said +to him “Good bye, Eric,” it was too much for him, and seizing Edwin’s +hand, he wrung it hard, and tears rushed to his eyes. + +“Dear, good Edwin! how I wish I was like you. If all my friends were +like you, I should never get into these troubles.” + +“Nay, Eric,” said Russell, “you may be far better than I. You have far +batter gifts, if you will only do yourself justice.” + +They parted by Mr. Williams’ door, and Russell walked home sad and +thoughtful; but Eric, barely answering his brother’s greeting, rushed up +to his room, and, flinging himself on his bed, sobbed like a child at +the remembrance of his disgrace. They were not refreshing tears; he felt +something hard at his heart, and, as he prayed neither for help nor +forgiveness, it was pride and rebellion, not penitence, that made him +miserable. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +HOME AFFECTIONS + + “Keep the spell of home affection. + Still alive in every heart; + May its power, with mild direction, + Draw our love from self apart, + Till thy children + Feel that thou their Father art.” + + SCHOOL HYMN. + +“I have caught such a lot of pretty sea anemones, Eric,” said little +Vernon Williams, as his brother strolled in after morning school; “I +wish you would come and look at them.” + +“O, I can’t come now, Verny; I am going out to play cricket with some +fellows directly.” + +“But it won’t take you a minute; do come.” + +“What a little bore you are. Where are the things?” + +“O, never mind, Eric, if you don’t want to look at them,” said Vernon, +hurt at his brother’s rough manner. + +“First you ask me to look, and then say ‘never mind,’” said Eric +impatiently; “here, show me them.” + +The little boy brought a large saucer, round which the crimson +sea-flowers were waving their long tentacula in the salt water. + +“Oh, ay; very pretty indeed. But I must be off to cricket.” + +Vernon looked up at his brother sadly. + +“You aren’t so kind to me, Eric, as you used to be.” + +“What nonsense! and all because I don’t admire those nasty red-jelly +things, which one may see on the shore by thousands any day. What a +little goose you are, Vernon!” + +Vernon made no reply, but was putting away his sea-anemones with a sigh, +when in came Russell to fetch Eric to the cricket. + +“Well, Verny,” he said, “have you been getting those pretty +sea-anemones? come here and show me them. Ah, I declare you’ve got one +of those famous white plumosa fellows among them. What a lucky little +chap you are!” + +Vernon was delighted. + +“Mind you take care of them,” said Russell. “Where did you find them?” + +“I have been down the shore getting them.” + +“And have you had a pleasant morning?” + +“Yes, Russell, thank you. Only it is rather dull being always by myself, +and Eric never comes with me now.” + +“Naughty Eric,” said Russell, playfully. “Never mind, Verny; you and I +will cut him, and go by ourselves.” + +Eric had stood by during the conversation, and the contrast of Russel’s +unselfish kindness with his own harsh want of sympathy, struck him. He +threw his arms round his brother’s neck, and said, “We will both go with +you, Verny, next half holiday.” + +“O, thank you, Eric,” said his brother; and the two schoolboys ran out. +But when the next half holiday came, warm and bright, with the promise +of a good match that afternoon, Eric repented his promise, and left +Russell to amuse his little brother, while he went off, as usual, to the +playground. + +There was one silent witness of scenes like these, who laid them up +deeply in her heart. Mrs. Williams was not unobservant of the gradual +but steady falling off in Eric’s character, and the first thing she +noticed was the blunting of his home affections. When they first came to +Roslyn, the boy used constantly to join his father and mother in their +walks; but now he went seldom or never; and even if he did go, he seemed +ashamed, while with them, to meet any of his schoolfellows. The spirit +of false independence was awake and growing in her darling son. The +bright afternoons they had spent together on the sunny shore, or seeking +for sea-flowers among the lonely rocks of the neighboring +headlands,--the walks at evening and sunset among the hills, and the +sweet counsel they had together, when the boy’s character opened like a +flower in the light and warmth of his mother’s love,--the long twilights +when he would sit on a stool with his young head resting on her knees, +and her loving hand among his fair hair,--all these things were becoming +to Mrs. Williams memories, and nothing more. + +It was the trial of her life, and very sad to bear; the more so because +they were soon to be parted, certainly for years, perhaps for ever. The +time was drawing nearer and nearer; it was now June, and Mr. Williams’ +term of furlough ended in two months. The holidays at Roslyn were the +months of July and August, and towards their close Mr. and Mrs. Williams +intended to leave Vernon at Fairholm, and start for India--sending back +Eric by himself as a boarder in Dr. Rowlands’ house. + +After morning school, on fine days, the boys used to run straight down +to the shore and bathe. A bright and joyous scene it was. They stripped +off their clothes on the shingle that adjoined the beach, and then +running along the sands, would swim out far into the bay till their +heads looked like small dots glancing in the sunshine. This year Eric +had learned to swim, and he enjoyed the bathing more than any +other pleasure. + +One day after they had dressed, Russell and he began to amuse themselves +on the sea-shore. The little translucent pools left on the sands by the +ebbing tide always swarm with life, and the two boys found great fun in +hunting audacious little crabs, or catching the shrimps that shuffled +about in the shallow water. At last Eric picked up a piece of wood which +he found lying on the beach, and said, “What do you say to coming +crabfishing, Edwin? this bit of stick will do capitally to thrust +between the rocks in the holes where they lie?” + +Russell agreed, and they started to the rocks of the Ness to seek a +likely place for their purpose. The Ness was a mile off, but in the +excitement of their pleasure they were oblivious of time. + +The Williams’, for the boys’ convenience, usually dined at one, but on +this day they waited half an hour for Eric. Since, however, he didn’t +appear, they dined without him, supposing that he was accidentally +detained, and expecting him to come in every minute. But two o’clock +came, and no Eric; half-past two, and no Eric; three, but still no Eric. +Mrs. Williams became seriously alarmed, and even her husband +grew uneasy. + +Vernon was watching for his brother at the window, and seeing Duncan +pass by, ran down to ask him, “If he knew where Eric was?” + +“No,” said Duncan; “last time I saw him was on the shore. We bathed +together, and I remember his clothes were lying by mine when I dressed. +But I hav’n’t seen him since. If you like we’ll go and look for him. I +daresay he’s on the beach somewhere.” + +But they found no traces of him there; and when they returned with this +intelligence, his mother got so agitated that it required all her +husband’s firm gentleness to support her sinking spirits. There was +enough to cause anxiety, for Vernon repeatedly ran out to ask the boys +who were passing if they had seen his brother, and the answer always +was, that they had left him bathing in the sea. + +Meanwhile our young friends, having caught several crabs, suddenly +noticed by the sun that it was getting late. + +“Good gracious, Edwin,” said Eric, pulling out his watch, “it’s +half-past three; what have we been thinking of? How frightened they’ll +be at home;” and running back as fast as they could, they reached the +house at five o’clock, and rushed into the room. + +“Eric, Eric,” said Mrs. Williams faintly, “where have you been? has +anything happened to you, my child?” + +“No, mother, nothing. I’ve only been crabfishing with Russell, and we +forgot the time.” + +“Thoughtless boy,” said his father, “your mother has been in an agony +about you.” + +Eric saw her pale face and tearful eyes, and flung himself in her arms, +and mother and son wept in a long embrace. “Only two months,” whispered +Mrs. Williams, “and we shall leave you, dear boy, perhaps forever. O do +not forget your love for us in the midst of new companions.” + +The end of term arrived; this time Eric came out eighth only instead of +first, and, therefore, on the prize day, was obliged to sit among the +crowd of undistinguished boys. He saw that his parents were +disappointed, and his own ambition was grievously mortified. But he had +full confidence in his own powers, and made the strongest resolutions to +work hard the next half-year, when he had got out of “that +Gordon’s” clutches. + +The Williams’ spent the holidays at Fairholm, and now, indeed, in the +prospect of losing them, Eric’s feelings to his parents came out in all +their strength. Most happily the days glided by, and the father and +mother used them wisely. All their gentle influence, all their deep +affection, were employed in leaving on the boy’s heart lasting +impressions of godliness and truth. He learnt to feel that their love +would encircle him for ever with its heavenly tenderness, and their pure +prayers rise for him night and day to the throne of God. + +The day of parting came, and most bitter and heartrending it was. In the +wildness of their passionate sorrow, Eric and Vernon seemed to hear the +sound of everlasting farewells. It is God’s mercy that ordains how +seldom young hearts have to endure such misery. + +At length it was over. The last sound of wheels had died away; and +during those hours the hearts of parents and children felt the +bitterness of death. Mrs. Trevor and Fanny, themselves filled with +grief, still used all their unselfish endeavors to comfort their dear +boys. Vernon, weary of crying, soon sank to sleep; but not so Eric. He +sat on a low stool, his face buried in his hands, breaking the stillness +every now and then with his convulsive sobs. + +“O Aunty,” he cried, “do you think I shall ever see them again? I have +been so wicked, and so little grateful for all their love. O, I wish I +had thought at Roslyn how soon I was to lose them.” + +“Yes, dearest,” said Mrs. Trevor, “I have no doubt we shall all meet +again soon. Your father is only going for five years, you know, and that +will not seem very long. And then they will be writing continually to +us, and we to them. Think, Eric, how gladdened their hearts will be to +hear that you and Vernon are good boys, and getting on well.” + +“O, I _will_ be a better boy, I _will_ indeed,” said Eric; “I mean to do +great things, and they shall have nothing but good reports of me.” + +“God helping you, dear,” said his aunt, pushing back his hair from his +forehead, and kissing it softly; “without his help, Eric, we are all +weak indeed.” + +She sighed. But how far deeper her sigh would have been had she known +the future. Merciful is the darkness that shrouds it from human eyes! + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ERIC A BOARDER + + “We were, fair queen, + Two lads that thought there was no more behind, + But such a day to-morrow as to-day, + And to be boy eternal.”--WINTER’S TALE, i. 2. + +The holidays were over. Vernon was to have a tutor at Fairholm, and Eric +was to return alone, and be received into Dr. Rowlands’ house. + +As he went on board the steam-packet, he saw numbers of the well-known +faces on deck, and merry voices greeted him. + +“Hallo, Williams! here you are at last,” said Duncan, seizing his hand. +“How have you enjoyed the holidays? It’s so jolly to see you again.” + +“So you’re coming as a boarder,” said Montagu, “and to our noble house, +too. Mind you stick up for it, old fellow. Come along, and let’s watch +whether the boats are bringing any more fellows; we shall be starting in +a few minutes.” + +“Ha! there’s Russell,” said Eric, springing to the gangway, and warmly +shaking his friend’s hand as he came on board. + +“Have your father and mother gone, Eric?” said Russell, after a few +minutes’ talk. + +“Yes,” said Eric, turning away his head, and hastily brushing his eyes. +“They are on their way back to India.” + +“I’m so sorry,” said Russell; “I don’t think anyone has ever been so +kind to me as they were.” + +“And they loved you, Edwin, dearly, and told me, almost the last thing, +that they hoped we should always be friends. Stop! they gave me +something for you.” Eric opened his carpet-bag, and took out a little +box carefully wrapped up, which he gave to Russell. It contained a +pretty silver watch, and inside the case was engraved--“Edwin Russell, +from the mother of his friend Eric.” + +The boy’s eyes glistened with joyful surprise. “How good they are,” he +said; “I shall write and thank Mrs. Williams directly we get to Roslyn.” + +They had a fine bright voyage, and arrived that night. Eric, as a new +comer, was ushered at once into Dr. Rowlands’ drawing-room, where the +head master was sitting with his wife and children. His greeting was +dignified, but not unkindly; and, on saying “good night,” he gave Eric a +few plain words of affectionate advice. + +At that moment Eric hardly cared for advice. He was full of life and +spirits, brave, bright, impetuous, tingling with hope, in the flush and +flower of boyhood. He bounded down the stairs, and in another minute +entered the large room where all Dr. Rowlands’ boarders assembled, and +where most of them lived, except the few privileged sixth form, and +other boys who had “studies.” A cheer greeted his entrance into the +room. By this time most of the Rowlandites knew him, and were proud to +have him among their number. They knew that he was clever enough to get +them credit in the school, and, what was better still, that he would be +a capital accession of strength to the cricket and football. Except +Barker, there was not one who had not a personal liking for him, and on +this occasion even Barker was gracious. + +The room in which Eric found himself was large and high. At one end was +a huge fire-place, and there was generally a throng of boys round the +great iron fender, where, in cold weather, a little boy could seldom +get. The large windows opened on the green playground; and iron bars +prevented any exit through them. This large room, called “the boarders’ +room,” was the joint habitation of Eric and some thirty other boys; and +at one side ran a range of shelves and drawers, where they kept their +books and private property. There the younger Rowlandites breakfasted, +dined, had tea, and, for the most part, lived. Here, too, they had to +get through all such work as was not performed under direct supervision. +How many and what varied scenes had not that room beheld! had those dumb +walls any feeling, what worlds of life and experience they would have +acquired! If against each boy’s name, as it was rudely cut on the oak +panels, could have been also cut the fate that had befallen him, the +good that he had there learnt, the evil that he had there suffered--what +_noble_ histories would the records unfold of honor and success, of +baffled temptations and hard-won triumphs; what _awful_ histories of +hopes blighted and habits learned, of wasted talents and ruined lives! + +The routine of school-life was on this wise:--At half-past seven the +boys came down to prayers, which were immediately followed by breakfast. +At nine they went into school, where they continued, with little +interruption, till twelve. At one they dined, and, except on +half-holidays, went into school again from two till five. The lock-up +bell rang at dusk; at six o’clock they had tea--which was a repetition +of breakfast, with leave to add to it whatever else they liked--and +immediately after sat down to “preparation,” which lasted from seven +till nine. During this time one of the masters was always in the room, +who allowed them to read amusing books, or employ themselves in any +other quiet way they liked, as soon as ever they had learnt their +lessons for the following day. At nine Dr. Rowlands came in and read +prayers, after which the boys were dismissed to bed. + +The arrangement of the dormitories was peculiar. They were a suite of +rooms, exactly the same size, each opening into the other; six on each +side of a lavatory, which occupied the space between them, so that, when +all the doors were open, you could see from one end of the whole range +to the other. The only advantage of this arrangement was, that one +master walking up and down could keep all the boys in order while they +were getting into bed. About a quarter of an hour was allowed for this +process, and then the master went along the rooms putting out the +lights. A few of the “study-boys” were allowed to sit up till ten, and +their bedrooms were elsewhere. The consequence was, that in these +dormitories the boys felt perfectly secure from any interruption. There +were only two ways by which a master could get at them; one up the great +staircase, and through the lavatory; the other by a door at the extreme +end of the range, which led into Dr. Rowlands’ house, but was generally +kept locked. + +In each dormitory slept four or five boys, distributed by their order in +the school list, so that, in all the dormitories, there were nearly +sixty; and of these a goodly number were, on Eric’s arrival, collected +in the boarders’ room, the rest being in their studies, or in the +classrooms which some were allowed to use in order to prevent too great +a crowd in the room below. + +At nine o’clock the prayer-bell rang. Immediately all the boarders took +their seats for prayers, each with an open Bible before him; and when +the school servants had also come in, Dr. Rowlands read a chapter, and +offered up an extempore prayer. While reading, he generally interspersed +a few pointed remarks or graphic explanations, and Eric learnt much in +this simple way. The prayer, though short, was always well suited to the +occasion, and calculated to carry with it the attention of the +worshippers. + +Prayers over, the boys noisily dispersed to their bed rooms, and Eric +found himself placed in a room immediately to the right of the lavatory, +occupied by Duncan, Graham, Llewellyn, and two other boys named Bull and +Attlay, all in the same form with himself They were all tired with their +voyage, and the excitement of coming back to school, so that they did +not talk much that night, and before long Eric was fast asleep, +dreaming, dreaming, dreaming that he should have a very happy life at +Roslyn school, and seeing himself win no end of distinctions, and make +no end of new friends. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +“TAKING UP” + + + “We are not worst at once; the course of evil + Begins so slowly, and from such slight source, + An infant’s hand might stop the breach with clay; + But let the stream grow wider, and Philosophy-- + Ay, and Religion too--may strive in vain + To stem the headlong current!”--ANON. + +With intense delight Eric heard it announced next morning, when the new +school-list was read, that he had got his remove into the “Shell,” as +the form was called which intervened between the fourth and the fifth. +Russell, Owen, and Montagu also got their removes with him, but his +other friends were left for the present in the form below. + +Mr. Rose, hiss new master, was in every respect a great contrast with +Mr. Gordon. He was not so brilliant in his acquirements, nor so vigorous +in his teaching, and therefore clever boys did not catch fire from him +so much as from the fourth-form master. But he was a far truer and +deeper Christian; and, with no less scrupulous a sense of honor, and +detestation of every form of moral obliquity, he never yielded to those +storms of passionate indignation which Mr. Gordon found it impossible to +control. Disappointed in early life, subjected to the deepest and most +painful trials, Mr. Rose’s fine character had come out like gold from +the flame. He now lived in and for the boys alone, and his whole life +was one long self-devotion to their service and interests. The boys felt +this, and even the worst of them, in their worst moments, loved and +honored Mr. Rose. But he was not seeking for gratitude, which he neither +expected nor required; he asked no affection in return for his +self-denials; he worked with a pure spirit of human and self-sacrificing +love, happy beyond all payment if ever he were instrumental in saving +one of his charge from evil, or turning one wanderer from the error +of his ways. + +He was an unmarried man, and therefore took no boarders himself, but +lived in the school-buildings, and had the care of the boys in Dr. +Rowlands’ house. + +Such was the master under whom Eric was now placed, and the boy was +sadly afraid that an evil report would have reached his ears, and given +him already an unfavorable impression. But he was soon happily +undeceived. Mr. Rose at once addressed him with much kindness, and he +felt that, however bad he had been before, he would now have an +opportunity to turn over a new leaf, and begin again a career of hope. +He worked admirably at first, and even beat, for the first week or two, +his old competitors, Owen and Russell. + +From the beginning, Mr. Rose took a deep interest in him. Few could look +at the boy’s bright blue eyes and noble face without doing so, and the +more when they knew that his father and mother were thousands of miles +away, leaving him alone in the midst of so many dangers. Often the +master asked him, and Russell, and Owen, and Montagu, to supper with him +in the library, which gave them the privilege of sitting up later than +usual, and enjoying a more quiet and pleasant evening than was possible +in the noisy rooms. Boys and master were soon quite at home with each +other, and in this way Mr. Rose had an opportunity of instilling many a +useful warning without the formality of regular discipline or +stereotyped instruction. + +Eric found the life of the “boarders’ room” far rougher than he had +expected. Work was out of the question there, except during the hours of +preparation, and the long dark winter evenings were often dull enough. +Sometimes, indeed, they would all join in some regular indoor boys’ game +like “baste the bear,” or “high-cockolorum;” or they would have amusing +“ghost-hunts,” as they called them, after some dressed-up boy among the +dark corridors and staircases. This was good enough fun, but at other +times they got tired of games, and could not get them up, and then +numbers of boys felt the idle time hang heavy on their hands. When this +was the case, some of the worse sort, as might have been expected, would +fill up their leisure with bullying or mischief. + +For some time they had a form of diversion which disgusted and annoyed +Eric exceedingly. On each of the long iron-bound deal tables were placed +two or three tallow candles in tin candlesticks, and this was the only +light the boys had. Of course, these candles often, wanted snuffing, and +as snuffers were sure to be thrown about and broken as soon as they +were brought into the room, the only resource was to snuff them with the +fingers, at which all the boys became great adepts from necessity. One +evening Barker, having snuffed the candle, suddenly and slyly put the +smouldering wick unnoticed on the head of a little quiet inoffensive +fellow named Wright, who happened to be sitting next to him. It went on +smouldering for some time without Wright’s perceiving it, and at last +Barker, highly delighted, exclaimed-- + +“I see a chimney,” and laughed. + +Four or five boys looked up, and very soon every one in the room had +noticed the trick except little Wright himself, who unconsciously wrote +on at the letter he was sending home. + +Eric did not like this; but not wishing to come across Barker again, +said nothing, and affected not to have observed. But Russell said +quietly, “There’s something on your head, Wright,” and the little boy +putting up his hand, hastily brushed off the horrid wick. + +“What a shame!” he said, as it fell on his letter, and made a smudge. + +“Who told you to interfere?” said Barker, turning fiercely to Russell. +Russell, as usual, took not the slightest notice of him, and Barker, +after a little more bluster, repeated the trick on another boy. This +time Russell thought that every one might be on the look out for +himself, and so went on with his work. But when Barker again chanted +maliciously-- + +“I see a chimney,” every boy who happened to be reading or writing, +uneasily felt to discover this time he was himself the victim or no; and +so things continued for half an hour. + +Ridiculous and disgusting as this folly was, it became, when constantly +repeated, very annoying. A boy could not sit down to any quiet work +without constant danger of having some one creep up behind him and put +the offensive fragment of smoking snuff on his head; and neither Barker +nor any of his little gang of imitators seemed disposed to give up their +low mischief. + +One night, when the usual exclamation was made, Eric felt sure, from +seeing several boys looking at him, that this time some one had been +treating him in the same way. He indignantly shook his head, and sure +enough the bit of wick dropped off. Eric was furious, and springing up, +he shouted-- + +“By Jove! I _won’t_ stand this any longer.” + +“You’ll have to sit it then,” said Barker. + +“O, it was _you_ who did it, was it? Then take that;” and, seizing one +of the tin candlesticks, Eric hurled it at Barker’s head. Barker dodged, +but the edge of it cut open his eyebrow as it whizzed by, and the blood +flowed fast. + +“I’ll kill you for that,” said Barker, leaping at Eric, and seizing him +by the hair. + +“You’ll get killed yourself then, you brute,” said Upton, Russell’s +cousin, a fifth-form boy, who had just come into the room--and he boxed +his ears as a premonitory admonition. “But, I say, young un,” continued +he to Eric, “this kind of thing won’t do, you snow. You’ll get into +rows if you shy candlesticks at fellows’ heads at that rate.” + +“He has been making the room intolerable for the last month by his +filthy tricks,” said Eric hotly; “some one must stop him, and I will +somehow, if no one else does.” + +“It wasn’t I who put the thing on your head, you passionate young fool,” +growled Barker. + +“Who was it then? How was I to know? You began it.” + +“You shut up, Barker,” said Upton; “I’ve heard of your ways before, and +when I catch you at your tricks, I’ll teach you a lesson. Come up to my +study, Williams, if you like.” + +Upton was a fine sturdy fellow of eighteen, immensely popular in the +school for his prowess and good looks. He hated bullying, and often +interfered to protect little boys, who accordingly idolised him, and did +anything he told them very willingly. He meant to do no harm, but he did +great harm. He was full of misdirected impulses, and had a great notion +of being manly, which he thought consisted in a fearless disregard of +all school rules, and the performance of the wildest tricks. For this +reason he was never very intimate with his cousin Russell, whom he liked +very much, but who was too scrupulous and independent to please him. +Eric, on the other hand, was just the boy to take his fancy, and to +admire him in return; his life, strength, and pluck, made him a ready +pupil in all schemes of mischief, and Upton, who had often noticed him, +would have been the first to shudder had he known how far his example +went to undermine all Eric’s lingering good resolutions, and ruin for +ever the boy of whom he was so fond. + +From this time Eric was much in Upton’s study, and constantly by his +side in the playground. In spite of their disparity in age and position +in the school, they became sworn friends, though, their friendship was +broken every now and then by little quarrels, which united them all the +more closely after they had not spoken to each other perhaps for a week. + +“Your cousin Upton has ‘taken up’ Williams,” said Montagu to Russell one +afternoon, as he saw the two strolling together on the beach, with +Eric’s arm in Upton’s. + +“Yes, I am sorry for it.” + +“So am I. We shan’t see so much of him now.” + +“O, that’s not my only reason,” answered Russell, who had a rare habit +of always going straight to the point. + +“You mean you don’t like the ‘taking-up’ system.” + +“No, Montagu; I used once to have fine theories about it. I used to +fancy that a big fellow would do no end of good to one lower in the +school, and that the two would stand to each other in the relation of +knight to squire. You know what the young knights were taught, Monty--to +keep their bodies under, and bring them into subjection; to love God, +and speak the truth always. That sounds very grand and noble to me. But +when a big fellow takes up a little one _you_ know pretty well that +_those_ are not the kind of lessons he teaches.” + +“No, Russell; you’re quite right. It’s bad for a fellow in every way. +First of all, it keeps him in an unnatural sort of dependence; then ten +to one it makes him conceited, and prevents his character from really +coming out well. And besides, the young chap generally gets paid out in +kicks and abuse from the jealousy and contempt of the rest; and if his +protector happens to leave, or anything of that kind, woe betide him!” + +“No fear for Eric in that line, though,” said Russell; “he can hold his +own pretty well against any one. And after all, he is a most jolly +fellow. I don’t think even Upton will spoil him; it’s chiefly the soft +self-indulgent fellows, who are all straw and no iron, who get spoilt by +being ‘taken up.’” + +Russell was partly right. Eric learnt a great deal of harm from Upton, +and the misapplied hero-worship led to bad results. But he was too manly +a little fellow, and had too much self-respect, to sink into the +effeminate condition which usually grows on the young delectables who +have the misfortune to be “taken up.” + +Nor did he in the least drop his old friends, except Owen. A coolness +grew up between the latter and Eric, not unmingled with a little mutual +contempt. Eric sneered at Owen as a fellow who did nothing but grind all +day long, and had no geniality in him; while Owen pitied the love of +popularity which so often led Eric into delinquencies, which he himself +despised. Owen had, indeed, but few friends in the school; the only boy +who knew him well enough to respect and like him thoroughly was Russell, +who found in him the only one who took the same high, ground with +himself. But Russell loved the good in every one, and was loved by all +in return, and Eric he loved most of all, while he often mourned over +his increasing failures. + +One day as the two were walking together in the green playground, Mr. +Gordon passed by; and as the boys touched their caps, he nodded and +smiled pleasantly at Russell, but hardly noticed, and did not return +Eric’s salute. He had begun to dislike the latter more and more, and had +given him up altogether as one of the reprobates. + +“What a surly devil that is,” said Eric, when he had passed; “did you +see how he purposely cut me?” + +“A surly ...? Oh Eric, that’s the first time I ever heard you swear.” + +Eric blushed. He hadn’t meant the word to slip out in Russell’s hearing, +though similar expressions were common enough in his talk with other +boys. But he didn’t like to be reproved, even by Russell, and in the +ready spirit of self-defence, he answered-- + +“Pooh, Edwin, you don’t call that swearing, do you? You’re so strict, so +religious, you know. I love you for it, but then, there are none like +you. Nobody thinks anything of swearing here.” + +Russell was silent. + +“Besides, what can be the harm of it? it means nothing. I was thinking +the other night, and I concluded that you and Owen are the only two +fellows here who don’t swear.” + +Russell still said nothing. + +“And, after all, I didn’t swear; I only called that fellow a surly +devil.” + +“O, hush! Eric, hush!” said Russell sadly. “You wouldn’t have said so +half-a-year ago.” + +Eric knew what he meant. The image of his father and mother rose before +him, as they sate far away in their lonely Indian home, thinking of him, +praying for him, centring all their hopes in him. In him!--and he knew +how many things he was daily doing and saying, which would cut them to +the heart. He knew that all his moral consciousness was fast vanishing, +and leaving him a bad and reckless boy. + +In a moment, all this passed through his mind. He remembered how shocked +he had been at swearing at first; and even when it became too familiar +to shock him, how he determined never to fall into the habit himself. +Then he remembered how gradually it had become quite a graceful sound in +his ears; a sound of entire freedom and independence of moral restraint; +an open casting off, as it were, of all authority, so that he had begun +to admire it, particularly in Duncan, and above all, in his new hero, +Upton; and he recollected how, at last, an oath had one day slipped out +suddenly in his own words, and how strange it sounded to him, and how +Upton smiled to hear it, though conscience had reproached him bitterly; +but now that he had done it once, it became less dreadful, and gradually +grew common enough, till even conscience hardly reminded him that he was +doing wrong. + +He thought of all this, and hung his head. Pride struggled with him for +a moment, but at length he answered, “O Edwin, I fear I am getting +utterly bad; I wish I were more like you,” he added, in a low sad tone. + +“Dear Eric, I have no right to say it, full of faults as I am myself; +but you will be so much happier, if you try not to yield to all the bad +things round us. Remember, I know more of school than you.” + +The two boys strolled on silently. That night Eric knelt at his bedside, +and prayed as he had not done for many a long day. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +“DEAD FLIES,” OR “YE SHALL BE AS GODS” + +“In the twilight, in the evening, in the black and dark night.” PROV. +vii. 9. + +At Roslyn, even in summer, the hour for going to bed was half-past nine. +It was hardly likely that so many boys, overflowing with turbulent life, +should lie down quietly, and get to sleep. They never dreamt of doing +so. Very soon after the masters were gone, the sconces were often +relighted, sometimes in separate dormitories, sometimes in all of them, +and the boys amused themselves by reading novels or making a row. They +would play various games about the bedrooms, vaulting or jumping over +the beds, running races in sheets, getting through the windows upon the +roofs, to frighten the study-boys with sham ghosts, or playing the +thousand other pranks which suggested themselves to the fertile +imagination of fifteen. But the favorite amusement was a bolstering +match. One room would challenge another, and, stripping the covers off +their bolsters, would meet in mortal fray. A bolster well wielded, +especially when dexterously applied to the legs, is a very efficient +instrument to bring a boy to the ground; but it doesn’t hurt very much, +even when the blows fall on the head. Hence these matches were excellent +trials of strength and temper, and were generally accompanied with +shouts of laughter, never ending until one side was driven back to its +own room. Many a long and tough struggle had Eric enjoyed, and his +prowess was so universally acknowledged, that his dormitory, No. 7, was +a match for any other, and far stronger in this warfare than most of the +rest. At bolstering, Duncan was a perfect champion; his strength and +activity were marvellous, and his mirth uproarious. Eric and Graham +backed him up brilliantly; while Llewellyn and Attlay, with sturdy +vigor, supported the skirmishers. Bull, the sixth boy in No. 7, was the +only _fainéant_ among them, though he did occasionally help to keep off +the smaller fry. + +Happy would it have been for all of them if Bull had never been placed +in No. 7; happier still if he had never come to Roslyn school. Backward +in work, overflowing with vanity at his supposed good looks, of mean +disposition and feeble intellect, he was the very worst specimen of a +boy that Eric had ever seen. Not even Barker so deeply excited Eric’s +repulsion and contempt. And yet, since the affair of Upton, Barker and +Eric were declared enemies, and, much to the satisfaction of the latter, +never spoke to each other; but with Bull--much as he inwardly loathed +him--he was professedly and apparently on good terms. His silly love of +universal popularity made him accept and tolerate the society even of +this worthless boy. + +Any two boys talking to each other about Bull would probably profess to +like him “well enough,” but if they were honest, they would generally +end by allowing their contempt. + +“We’ve got a nice set in No. 7, haven’t we?” said Duncan to Eric one +day. + +“Capital. Old Llewellyn’s a stunner, and I like Attlay and Graham.” + +“Don’t you like Bull then?” + +“O yes; pretty well.” + +The two boys looked each other in the face, then, like the confidential +augurs, burst out laughing. + +“You know you detest him,” said Duncan. + +“No, I don’t. He never did me any harm that I know of.” + +“Him!--well, _I_ detest him.” + +“Well!” answered Eric, “on coming to think of it, so do I. And yet he is +popular enough in the school. I wonder how that is.” + +“He’s not _really_ popular. I’ve often noticed that fellows pretty +generally despise him, yet somehow don’t like to say so.” + +“Why do you dislike him, Duncan?” + +“I don’t know. Why do you?” + +“I don’t know either.” + +Neither Eric nor Duncan meant this answer to be false, and yet if they +had taken the trouble to consider, they would have found out in their +secret souls the reasons of their dislike. + +Bull had been to school before, and of this school he often bragged as +the acmé of desirability and wickedness. He was always telling boys what +they did at “his old school,” and he quite inflamed the minds of such as +fell under his influence by marvellous tales of the wild and wilful +things which he and his former school-fellows had done. Many and many a +scheme of sin and mischief, at Roslyn was suggested, planned, and +carried out on the model of Bull’s reminiscences of his previous life. + +He had tasted more largely of the tree of the knowledge of evil than any +other boy, and strange to say, this was the secret why the general odium +was never expressed. He claimed his guilty experience so often as a +ground of superiority, that at last the claim was silently allowed. He +spoke from the platform of more advanced iniquity, and the others +listened first curiously, then eagerly to his words. + +“Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” Such was the temptation +which assailed the other boys in dormitory No. 7; and Eric among the +number. Bull was the tempter. Secretly, gradually, he dropped into their +too willing ears the poison of his polluting acquirements. + +In brief, Bull was cursed with a degraded and corrupting mind. + +I hurry over a part of my subject inconceivably painful; I hurry over +it, but if I am to perform my self-imposed duty of giving a true picture +of what school life _sometimes_ is, I must not pass it by altogether. + +The first time that Eric heard indecent words in dormitory No. 7, he was +shocked beyond bound or measure. Dark though it was, he felt himself +blushing scarlet to the roots of his hair, and then growing pale again, +while a hot dew was left upon his forehead. Bull was the speaker; but +this time there was a silence, and the subject instantly dropped. The +others felt that “a new boy” was in the room; they did not know how he +would take it; they were unconsciously abashed. + +Besides, though they had themselves joined in such conversation before, +they did not love it, and on the contrary, felt ashamed of yielding +to it. + +Now, Eric, now or never! Life and death, ruin and salvation, corruption +and purity, are perhaps in the balance together, and the scale of your +destiny may hang on a single word of yours. Speak out, boy! Tell these +fellows that unseemly words wound your conscience; tell them that they +are ruinous, sinful, damnable; speak out and save yourself and the rest. +Virtue is strong and beautiful, Eric, and vice is downcast in her awful +presence. Lose your purity of heart, Eric, and you have lost a jewel +which the whole world, if it were “one entire and perfect chrysolite,” +cannot replace. + +Good spirits guard that young boy, and give him grace in this his hour +of trial! Open his eyes that he may see the fiery horses and the fiery +chariots of the angels who would defend him, and the dark array of +spiritual foes who throng around his bed. Point a pitying finger to the +yawning abyss of shame, ruin, and despair that even now perhaps is being +cleft under his feet. Show him the garlands of the present and the past, +withering at the touch of the Erinnys in the future. In pity, in pity +show him the canker which he is introducing into the sap of the tree of +life, which shall cause its root to be hereafter as bitterness, and its +blossom to go up as dust. + +But the sense of sin was on Eric’s mind. How _could_ he speak? was not +his own language sometimes profane? How--how could he profess to reprove +another boy on the ground of morality, when he himself said did things +less ruinous perhaps, but equally forbidden? + +For half an hour, in an agony of struggle with himself, Eric lay silent. +Since Bull’s last words nobody had spoken. They were going to sleep. It +was too late to speak now, Eric thought. The moment passed by for ever; +Eric had listened without objection to foul words, and the irreparable +harm was done. + +How easy it would have been to speak! With the temptation, God had +provided also a way to escape. Next time it came, it was far harder to +resist, and it soon became, to men, impossible. + +Ah Eric, Eric! how little we know the moments which decide the destinies +of life. We live on as usual. The day is a common day, the hour a common +hour. We never thought twice about the change of intention, which by one +of the accidents--(accidents!)--of life determined for good or for evil, +for happiness or misery, the color of our remaining years. The stroke of +the pen was done in a moment which led unconsciously to our ruin; the +word was uttered quite heedlessly, on which turned for ever the decision +of our weal or woe. + +Eric lay silent. The darkness was not broken by the flashing of an +angel’s wing, the stillness was not syllabled by the sound of an angel’s +voice; but to his dying day Eric never forgot the moments which passed, +until, weary and self-reproachful, he fell asleep. + +Next morning he awoke, restless and feverish. He at once remembered what +had passed. Bull’s words haunted him; he could not forget them; they +burnt within him like the flame of a moral fever. He was moody and +petulant, and for a time could hardly conceal his aversion to Bull. Ah +Eric! moodiness and petulance cannot save you, but prayerfulness would; +one word, Eric, at the throne of grace--one prayer before you go down +among the boys, that God in his mercy would wash away, in the blood of +his dear Son, your crimson stains, and keep your conscience and +memory clean. + +The boy knelt down for a few minutes, and repeated to himself a few +formal words. Had he stayed longer on his knees, he might have given way +to a burst of penitence and supplication--but he heard Bull’s footstep, +and getting up, he ran down stairs to breakfast; so Eric did not pray. + +Conversations did not generally drop so suddenly in dormitory No. 7. On +the contrary, they generally flashed along in the liveliest way, till +some one said “Good night;” and then the boys turned off to sleep. Eric +knew this, and instantly conjectured that it was only a sort of respect +for him, and ignorance of the manner in which he would consider it, that +prevented Duncan and the rest from taking any further notice of Bull’s +remark. It was therefore no good disburdening his mind to any of them; +but he determined to speak about the matter to Russell in their +next walk. + +They usually walked together on Sunday. Dr. Rowlands had discontinued +the odious and ridiculous custom of the younger boys taking their +exercise under a master’s inspection. Boys are not generally fond of +constitutionals, so that on the half-holidays they almost entirely +confined their open-air exercise to the regular games, and many of them +hardly left the play-ground boundaries once a week. But on Sundays they +often went walks, each with his favorite friend or companion. When Eric +first came as a boarder, he invariably went with Russell on Sunday, and +many a pleasant stroll they had taken together, sometimes accompanied by +Duncan, Montagu, or Owen. The latter, however, had dropped even this +intercourse with Eric, who for the last few weeks had more often gone +with his new friend Upton. + +“Come a walk, boy,” said Upton, as they left the dining-room. + +“O excuse me to-day, Upton,” said Eric, “I’m going with your cousin.” + +“Oh _very_ well,” said Upton, in high dudgeon, and, hoping to make Eric +jealous, he went a walk with Graham, whom he had “taken up” before he +knew Williams. + +Russell was rather surprised when Eric came to him and said, “Come a +stroll to Fort Island, Edwin--will you?” + +“O yes,” said Russell cheerfully; “why, we haven’t seen each other for +some time lately! I was beginning to fancy that you meant to drop +me, Eric.” + +He spoke with a smile, and in a rallying tone, but Eric hung his head, +for the charge was true. Proud of his popularity among all the school, +and especially at his friendship with so leading a fellow as Upton, Eric +had _not_ seen much of his friend since their last conversation about +swearing. Indeed, conscious of failure, he felt sometimes uneasy in +Russell’s company. + +He faltered, and answered humbly, “I hope you will never drop _me_, +Edwin, however bad I get? But I particularly want to speak to +you to-day.” + +In an instant Russell had twined his arm in Eric’s, as they turned +towards Fort Island; and Eric, with an effort, was just going to begin, +when they heard Montagu’s voice calling after them-- + +“I say, you fellows, where are you off to! may I come with you?” + +“O yes, Monty, do,” said Russell, “It will be quite like old times; now +that my cousin Horace has got hold of Eric, we have to sing ‘When shall +we three meet again?’” + +Russell only spoke in fun; but, unintentionally, his words jarred in +Eric’s heart. He was silent, and answered in monosyllables, so the walk +was provokingly dull. At last they reached Fort Island, and sat down by +the ruined chapel looking on the sea. + +“Why what’s the row with you, old boy,” said Montagu, playfully shaking +Eric by the shoulder, “you’re as silent as Zimmerman on Solitude, and as +doleful as Harvey on the Tombs. I expect you’ve been going through a +select course of Blair’s Grave, Young’s Night Thoughts, and Drelincourt +on Death.” + +To his surprise Eric’s head was still bent, and, at last, he heard a +deep suppressed sigh. + +“My dear child, what is the matter with you?” said Russell, +affectionately taking his hand, “surely you’re not offended at my +nonsense?” + +Eric had not liked to speak while Montagu was by, but now he gulped down +his rising emotion, and briefly told them of Bull’s vile words the night +before. They listened in silence. + +“I knew it must come, Eric,” said Russell at last, “and I am so sorry +you didn’t speak at the time.” + +“Do the fellows ever talk in that way in either of your dormitories?” +asked Eric. + +“No,” said Russell. + +“Very little,” said Montagu. + +A pause followed, during which all three plucked the grass and looked +away. + +“Let me tell you,” said Russell solemnly; “my father (he is dead now you +know, Eric), when I was sent to school, warned me of this kind of thing. +I had been brought up in utter ignorance of such coarse knowledge as is +forced upon one here, and with my reminiscences of home, I could not +bear even that much of it which was impossible to avoid. But the very +first time such talk was begun in my dormitory I spoke out. What I said +I don’t know, but I felt as if I was trampling on a slimy poisonous +adder, and, at any rate, I showed such pain and distress that the +fellows dropped it at the time. Since then I have absolutely refused to +stay in the room if ever such talk is begun. So it never is now, and I +do think the fellows are very glad of it themselves.” + +“Well,” said Montagu, “I don’t profess to look on it from the religious +ground, you know, but I thought it blackguardly, and in bad taste, and +said so. The fellow who began it, threatened to kick me for a conceited +little fool, but he didn’t; and they hardly ever venture on that +ground now.” + +“It is more than blackguardly--it is deadly,” answered Russell; “my +father said it was the most fatal curse which could ever become rife in +a public school.” + +“Why do masters never give us any help or advice on these matters?” +asked Eric thoughtfully. + +“In sermons they do. Don’t you remember Rowlands’ sermon not two weeks +ago on Kibroth-Hattaavah? But I for one think them quite right not to +speak to us privately on such subjects, unless we invite confidence. +Besides, they cannot know that any boys talk in this way. After all, it +is only a very few of the worst who ever do.” + +They got up and walked home, but from day to day Eric put off performing +the duty which Russell had advised, viz.--a private request to Bull to +abstain from his offensive communications, and an endeavor to enlist +Duncan into his wishes. + +One evening they were telling each other stories in No. 7. Bull’s turn +came, and in his story the vile element again appeared. For a while Eric +said nothing, but as the strain grew worse, he made a faint +remonstrance. + +“Shut up there, Williams,” said Attlay, “and don’t spoil the story.” + +“Very well. It’s your own fault, and I shall shut my ears.” + +He did for a time, but a general laugh awoke him. He pretended to be +asleep, but he listened. Iniquity of this kind was utterly new to him; +his curiosity was awakened; he no longer feigned indifference, and the +poison flowed deep into his veins. Before that evening was over, Eric +Williams was “a god, knowing good from evil.” + +O young boys, if your eyes ever read these pages, pause and beware. The +knowledge of evil is ruin, and the continuance in it hell. That little +matter--that beginning of evil,--it will be like the snowflake detached +by the breath of air from the mountain-top, which, as it rushes down, +gains size, and strength, and impetus, till it has swollen to the mighty +and irresistible avalanche that overwhelms garden, and field, and +village, in a chaos of undistinguishable death. + +Kibroth-Hattaavah! Many and many a young Englishman has perished there! +Many and many a happy English boy, the jewel of his mother’s +heart,--brave, and beautiful, and strong,--lies buried there. Very pale +their shadows rise before us--the shadows of our young brothers who have +sinned and suffered. From the sea and the sod, from foreign graves and +English churchyards, they start up and throng around us in the paleness +of their fall. May every schoolboy who reads this page be warned by the +waving of their wasted hands, from that burning marle of passion, where +they found nothing but shame and ruin, polluted affections, and an +early grave. + + + +CHAPTER X + +DORMITORY LIFE + + [Greek: Aspasiae trillistos hepaeluths nux herebennae.] + HOM. + +For a few days after the Sunday walk narrated in the last chapter, Upton +and Eric cut each other dead. Upton was angry at Eric’s declining the +honor of his company, and Eric was piqued at Upton’s unreasonableness. +In the “taking up” system, such quarrels were of frequent occurrence, +and as the existence of a misunderstanding was generally indicated in +this very public way, the variations of good will between such friends +generally excited no little notice and amusement among the other boys. +But both Upton and Eric were too sensible to carry their differences so +far as others similarly circumstanced; each thoroughly enjoyed the +other’s company, and they generally seized an early opportunity for +effecting a reconciliation, which united them more firmly than ever. + +As soon as Eric had got over his little pique, he made the first +advances, by writing a note to Upton, which he slipped under his study +door, and which ran as follows:-- + +“Dear Horace--Don’t let us quarrel about nothing. Silly fellow, why +should you be angry with me because for once I wanted to go a walk with +Russell, who, by the bye, is twice as good a fellow as you? I shall +expect you to make it up directly after prayers.--Yours, if you are not +silly, E.W.” + +The consequence was, that as they came out from prayers, Upton seized +Eric’s hand, and slapped him on the back, after which they had a good +laugh over their own foolish fracas, and ran up stairs chattering +merrily. + +“There’s to be an awful lark in the dormitories tonight,” said Eric; +“the doctor’s gone to a dinner-party, and we’re going to have no end +of fun.” + +“Are you? Well, if it gets amusing, come to my study and tell me, I’ll +come and look on.” + +“Very well; depend upon it, I’ll come.” And they parted at the foot of +the study stairs. + +It was Mr. Rose’s night of duty. He walked slowly up and down the range +of Dormitories until every boy seemed ready to get into bed, and then he +put out all the candles. So long as he was present, the boys observed +the utmost quiet and decorum. All continued quite orderly until he had +passed away through the lavatory, and one of the boys following him as a +scout, had seen the last glimmer of his candle disappear round the +corner at the foot of the great staircase, and heard the library door +close behind him. + +After that, particularly as Dr. Rowlands was absent, the boys knew that +they were safe from disturbance, and the occupants of No. 7 were the +first to stir. + +“Now for some fun,” said Duncan, starting up, and by way of initiative +pitching his pillow at Eric’s head. + +“I’ll pay you out for that when I’m ready,” said Eric, laughing; “but +give us a match, first.” + +Duncan produced some vestas, and no sooner had they lighted their +candle, than several of the dormitory doors began to be thrown open, and +one after another all requested a light, which Duncan and Eric conveyed +to them in a sort of emulous lampadephoria, so that a length all the +twelve dormitories had their sconces lit, and the boys began all sorts +of amusement, some in their night-shirts and others with their trousers +slipped on. Leap-frog was the prevalent game for a time, but at last +Graham suggested theatricals, and they were agreed on. + +“But we’re making a regular knock-me-down shindy,” said Llewellyn; +“somebody must keep cavè.” + +“O, old Rose is safe enough at his Hebrew in the library; no fear of +disturbing him if we were dancing hippopotami,” answered Graham. + +But it was generally considered safest to put some one at the top of the +stairs, in case of an unexpected diversion in that direction, and little +Wright consented to go first. He had only to leave the lavatory door +open; and stand at the top of the staircase, and he then commanded for a +great distance the only avenue in which danger was expected. If any +master’s candle appeared n the hall, the boys had full three minutes’ +warning, and a single loudly-whispered “cave” would cause some one in +each dormitory instantly to “douse the glim,” and shut the door; so that +by the time of the adversary’s arrival, they would all be (of course) +fast asleep in bed, some of them snoring in an alarming manner. Whatever +noise the master might have heard, it would be impossible to fix it on +any of the sleepers. + +So at the top of the stairs stood little Wright, shoeless, and shivering +in his night-gown, but keenly entering into the fun, and not +unconscious of the dignity of his position. Meanwhile the rest were +getting up a scenic representation of Bombastes Furioso, arranging a +stage, piling a lot of beds together for a theatre, and dressing up the +actors in the most fantastic apparel. + +The impromptu Bombastes excited universal applause, and just at the end +Wright ran in through the lavatory. + +“I say,” said the little fellow, “it’s jolly cold standing at the top of +the stairs. Won’t some one relieve guard?” + +“O, I will,” answered Eric, good-naturedly; “it’s a shame that one +fellow should have all the bother and none of the fun;” and he ran to +take Wright’s post. + +After watching a minute or two, he felt sure that there was no danger, +and therefore ran up to Upton’s study for a change. + +“Well, what’s up?” said the study-boy, approvingly, as he glanced at +Eric’s laughing eyes. + +“O, we’ve been having leap-frog, and then Bombastes Furioso. But I’m +keeping ‘cavè’ now; only it’s so cold that I thought I’d run up to +your study.” + +“Little traitor; we’ll shoot you for a deserting sentinel.” + +“O no;” said Eric, “it’s all serene; Rowley’s out, and dear old Rose’d +never dream of supposing us elsewhere than in the arms of Morpheus. +Besides the fellows are making less row now.” + +“Well! look here! let’s go and look on, and I’ll tell you a dodge; put +one of the tin washing-basins against the iron door of the lavatory, and +then if any one comes he’ll make clang enough to wake dead; and while +he’s amusing himself with this, there’ll be lots of time to ‘extinguish +the superfluous abundance of the nocturnal illuminators.’ Eh?” + +“Capital!” said Eric, “come along.” + +They went down and arranged the signal very artistically, leaving the +iron door ajar a little, and then neatly poising the large tin basin on +its edge, so as to lean against it. Having extremely enjoyed this part +of the proceeding, they went to look at the theatricals again, the boys +being highly delighted at Upton’s appearance among them. + +They at once made Eric take a part in some very distant reminiscences of +Macbeth, and corked his cheeks with whiskers and mustachios to make him +resemble Banquo, his costume being completed by a girdle round his +nightshirt, consisting of a very fine crimson silk handkerchief, richly +broidered with gold, which had been brought to him from India, and which +at first, in the innocence of his heart, he used to wear on Sundays, +until he acquired the sobriquet of “the Dragon.” Duncan made a +superb Macbeth. + +They were doing the dagger-scene, which was put on the stage in a most +novel manner. A sheet had been pinned from the top of the room, on one +side of which stood a boy with a broken dinner knife, the handle end of +which he was pushing through a hole in the middle of the sheet at the +shadow of Duncan on the other side. + +Duncan himself, in an attitude of intensely affected melodrama, was +spouting-- + + “Is this a dagger which I see before me? + The handle towards me now? come, let me clutch thee;” + +And he snatched convulsively at the handle of the protruded knife; but +as soon as he nearly touched it, this end was immediately withdrawn, and +the blade end substituted, which made the comic Macbeth instantly draw +back again, and recommence his apostrophe. This scene had tickled the +audience immensely, and Duncan, amid shouts of laughter, was just +drawing the somewhat unwarrantable conclusion that it was + + “A dagger of the mind, a false creation,” + +when a sudden grating, followed by a reverbrated clang, produced a dead +silence. + +“Cavè,” shouted Eric, and took a flying leap into his bed. Instantly +there was a bolt in different directions; the sheet was torn down, the +candles dashed out, the beds shoved aside, and the dormitories at once +plunged in profound silence, only broken by the heavy breathing of +sleepers, when in strode--not Mr. Rose or any of the under +masters--but--Dr. Rowlands himself! + +He stood for a moment to survey the scene. All the dormitory doors were +wide open; the sheet which had formed the stage curtain lay torn on the +floor of No. 7; the beds in all the adjoining rooms were in the +strangest positions; and half-extinguished wicks still smouldered in +several of the sconces. Every boy was in bed, but the extraordinary way +in which the bed clothes were huddled about told an unmistakeable tale. + +He glanced quickly round, but the moment he had passed into No. 8, he +heard a run, and, turning, just caught sight of Upton’s figure vanishing +into the darkness of the lavatory, towards the study stairs. + +He said not a word, but stalked hastily through all dormitories, again +stopping at No. 7 on his return. + +He heard nothing but the deep snores of Duncan, and instantly fixed on +him as a chief culprit. + +“Duncan!” + +No reply; but calm stertorous music from Duncan’s bed. + +“Duncan!” he said, still louder and more sternly, “you sleep soundly, +sir, too soundly; get up directly,” and he laid his hand on the +boy’s arm. + +“Get away, you old donkey,” said Duncan sleepily; “’t, aint time to get +up yet. First bell hasn’t rung.” + +“Come, sir, this shamming will only increase your punishment;” but the +imperturbable Duncan stretched himself lazily, gave a great yawn, and +then awoke with such an admirably feigned start at seeing Dr. Rowlands, +that Eric, who had been peeping at the scene from over his bed-clothes, +burst into an irresistible explosion of laughter. + +Dr. Rowlands swung round on his heel--“What! Williams! get out of bed, +sir, this instant.” + +Eric, forgetful of his disguise, sheepishly obeyed; but when he stood on +the floor, he looked so odd in his crimson girdle and corked cheeks, +with Dr. Rowlands surveying him in intense astonishment, that the scene +became overpoweringly ludicrous to Duncan, who now in his turn was +convulsed with a storm of laughter, faintly echoed in stifled titterings +from other beds. + +“_Very_ good,” said Dr. Rowlands, now thoroughly angry, “you will hear +of this to-morrow;” and he walked away with a heavy step, stopping at +the lavatory door to restore the tin basin to its proper place, and then +mounting to the studies. + +Standing in the passage into which the studies opened, he knocked at +one of the doors, and told a boy to summon all their occupants at once +to the library. + +Meanwhile, the dormitory-boys were aghast, and as soon as they heard the +doctor’s retreating footsteps, began flocking in the dark to No. 7, not +daring to relight their candles. + +“Good gracious!” said Attlay, “only to think of Rowley appearing! How +could he have twigged?” + +“He must have seen our lights in the window as he came home,” said Eric. + +“I say, what a row that tin-basin dodge of yours made! What a rage the +Doctor will be in to-morrow?” + +“Won’t you just catch it!” said Barker to Duncan, but intending the +remark for Eric. + +“Just like your mean chaff,” retorted Duncan. “But I say, Williams,” he +continued, laughing, “you _did_ look so funny in the whiskers.” + +At this juncture they heard all the study-boys running down stairs to +the library, and, lost in conjecture, retired to their different rooms. + +“What do you think he’ll do to us?” asked Eric. + +“I don’t know,” said Duncan uneasily; “flog us, for one thing, that’s +certain. I’m so sorry about that basin, Eric; but it’s no good fretting. +We’ve had our cake, and now we must pay for it, that’s all.” + +Eric’s cogitations began to be unpleasant, when the door opened, and +somebody stole noiselessly in. + +“Who’s there?” + +“Upton. I’ve come to have a chat. The Doctor’s like a turkey-cock in +sight of a red handkerchief. Never saw him in such a rage.” + +“Why, what’s he been saying?” asked Eric, as Upton came and took a seat +on his bed. + +“Oh! he’s been rowing us like six o’clock,” said Upton, “about ‘moral +responsibility,’ ‘abetting the follies of children,’ ‘forgetting our +position in the school,’ and I don’t know what all; and he ended by +asking who’d been in the dormitories. Of course I confessed the soft +impeachment, whereon he snorted ‘Ha! I suspected so. Very well, Sir, you +don’t know how to use a study; you shall be deprived of it till the end +of term.’” + +“Did he really, Horace?” said Eric. “And it’s all my doing that you’ve +got into the scrape. Do forgive me.” + +“Bosh! My dear fellow,” said Upton, “it’s twice as much my fault as +yours; and, after all, it was only a bit of fun. It’s rather a bore +losing the study, certainly; but never mind, we shall see all the more +of each other. Good night; I must be off.” + +Next morning, prayers were no sooner over than Dr. Rowlands said to the +boys, “Stop! I have a word to say to you.” + +“I find that there was the utmost disorder in the dormitories yesterday +evening. All the candles were relighted at forbidden hours, and the +noise made was so great that it was heard through the whole building. I +am grieved that I cannot leave you, even for a few hours, without your +taking such advantage of my absence; and that the upper boys, so far +from using their influence to prevent these infractions of discipline, +seem inclined rather to join in them themselves. On this occasion I have +punished Upton, by depriving him of a privilege which he has abused; and +as I myself detected Duncan and Williams, they will be flogged in the +library at twelve. But I now come to the worst part of the proceeding. +Somebody had been reckless enough to try and prevent surprise by the +dangerous expedient of putting a tin basin against the iron door. The +consequence was, that I was severely hurt, and _might_ have been +seriously injured in entering the lavatory. I must know the name of the +delinquent.” + +Upton and Eric immediately stood up. Dr. Rowlands looked surprised, and +there was an expression of grieved interest in Mr. Rose’s face. + +“Very well,” said the Doctor, “I shall speak to you both privately.” + +Twelve o’clock came, and Duncan and Eric received a severe caning. +Corporal punishment, however necessary and desirable for some +dispositions, always produced on Eric the worst effects. He burned, not +with remorse or regret, but with shame and violent indignation, and +listened, with a glare in his eye, to Dr. Rowlands’ warnings. When the +flogging was over, he almost rushed out of the room, to choke in +solitude his sense of humiliation, nor would he suffer any one for an +instant to allude to his disgrace. Dr. Rowlands had hinted that Upton +was doing him no good; but he passionately resented the suggestion, and +determined, with obstinate perversity, to cling more than ever to the +boy whom he had helped to involve in the same trouble with himself. + +Any attempt on the part of masters to interfere in the friendships of +boys is usually unsuccessful. The boy who has been warned against his +new acquaintance not seldom repeats to him the fact that Mr. So-and-so +doesn’t like seeing them together, and after that they fancy themselves +bound in honor to show that they are not afraid of continuing their +connection. It was not strange, therefore, that Eric and Upton were +thrown more than ever into each other’s society, and consequently, that +Eric, while he improved daily in strength, activity, and prowess, +neglected more and more his school duties and honorable ambitions. + +Mr. Rose sadly remarked the failure of promise in his character and +abilities, and did all that could be done, by gentle firmness and +unwavering kindness, to recal his pupil to a sense of duty. One night he +sent for him to supper, and invited no one else. During the evening he +drew out Eric’s exercise, and compared it with, those of Russell and +Owen, who were now getting easily ahead of him in marks. Eric’s was +careless, hurried, and untidy; the other two were neat, spirited, and +painstaking, and had, therefore, been marked much higher. + +“Your exercises _used_ to be far better--I may say incomparably better,” +said Mr. Rose; “what is the cause of this falling off?” + +Eric was silent. + +Mr. Rose laid his hand gently on his head. “I fear, my boy, you have not +been improving lately. You have got into many scrapes, and are letting +boys beat you in form who are far your inferiors in ability. That is a +very bad _sign_, Eric; in itself it is a discouraging fact, but I fear +it indicates worse evils. You are wasting the golden hours, my boy, that +can never return. I only hope and trust that no other change for the +worse is going on in your character.” + +And so he talked on till the boy’s sorrow was undisguised. “Come,” he +said gently, “let us kneel down together before we part.” + +Boy and master knelt down humbly side by side, and, from a full heart, +the young man poured out his fervent petitions for the child beside him. +Eric’s heart seemed to catch a glow from his words, and he loved him as +a brother. He rose from his knees full of the strongest resolutions, and +earnestly promised amendment for the future. + +But poor Eric did not yet know his own infirmity. For a time, indeed, +there was a marked improvement; but daily life flowed on with its usual +allurements, and when the hours of temptation came, his good intentions +melted away, so that, in a few more weeks, the prayer, and the vows that +followed it, had been obliterated from his memory without leaving any +traces in his life. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ERIC IN COVENTRY + + “And either greet him not + Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more + Than if not looked on.”--TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, iii. 3. + +Upton, expatriated from his study, was allowed to use one of the smaller +class-rooms which were occupied during play-hours by those boys who were +too high in the school for “the boarders’ room,” and who were waiting to +succeed to the studies as they fell vacant. There were three or four +others with him in this class-room, and although it was less pleasant +than his old quarters, it was yet far more comfortable than the +Pandemonium of the shell and fourth-form boys. + +As a general rule, no boys were allowed to sit in any of the class-rooms +except their legitimate occupants. The rule, however, was very generally +overlooked, and hence Eric, always glad of an opportunity to escape from +the company of Barker and his associates, became a constant frequenter +of his friend’s new abode. Here they used to make themselves very +comfortable. Joining the rest, they would drink coffee or chocolate, and +amuse themselves over the fire with Punch, or some warlike novel in a +green or yellow cover. One of them very often read aloud to the rest: +and Eric, being both a good reader and a merry, intelligent listener, +soon became quite a favorite among the other boys. + +Mr. Rose had often seen him sitting there, and left him unmolested; but +if ever Mr. Gordon happened to come in and notice him, he invariably +turned him out, and after the first offence or two, had several times +set him an imposition. This treatment gave fresh intensity to his now +deeply-seated disgust at his late master, and his expressions of +indignation at “Gordon’s spite” were loud and frequent. + +One day Mr. Gordon had accidentally come in, and found no one there but +Upton and Eric; they were standing very harmlessly by the window, with +Upton’s arm resting kindly on Eric’s shoulder as they watched with +admiration the net-work of rippled sunbeams that flashed over the sea. +Upton had just been telling Eric the splendid phrase [Greek: anêrithmon +gelasma pontiôn], which he had stumbled upon in an Aeschylus lesson that +morning, and they were trying which would hit on the best rendering of +it. Eric stuck up for the literal sublimity of “the innumerable laughter +of the sea,” while Upton was trying to win him over to “the +many-twinkling smile of ocean.” They were enjoying the discussion, and +each stoutly maintaining his own rendering, when Mr. Gordon entered. + +On this occasion he was particularly angry; he had an especial dislike +of seeing the two boys together, because he fancied that the younger had +grown more than usually conceited and neglectful, since he had been +under the fifth-form patronage; and he saw in Eric’s presence there, a +new case of wilful disobedience. + +“Williams, here _again!_” he exclaimed sharply. “Why, sir, you seem to +suppose that you may defy rules with impunity! How often have I told you +that no one is allowed to sit here, except the regular occupants?” + +His voice startled the two boys from their pleasant discussion. + +“No other master takes any notice of it, sir,” said Upton. + +“I have nothing to do with other masters, Williams, you will bring me +the fourth Georgic, written out by Saturday morning, for your repeated +disobedience. Upton, I have a great mind to punish you also, for +tempting him to come here.” + +This was a mistake on Mr. Gordon’s part, of which Upton took immediate +advantage. + +“I have no power to prevent it, sir, if he wishes it. Besides,” he +continued, with annoying blandness of tone, “it would be inhospitable; +and I am too glad of his company.” + +Eric smiled, and Mr. Gordon frowned. “Williams, leave the room +instantly.” + +The boy obeyed slowly and doggedly. “Mr. Rose never interferes with me, +when he sees me here,” he said as he retreated. + +“Then I shall request Mr. Rose to do so in future; your conceit and +impertinence are getting intolerable.” + +Eric only answered with a fiery glance; the next minute Upton joined him +on the stairs, and Mr. Gordon heard them laughing a little +ostentatiously, as they ran out into the playground together. He went +away full of strong contempt, and from that moment began to look on the +friends as two of the worst boys in the school. + +This incident had happened on Thursday, which was a half-holiday, and +instead of being able to join in any of the games, Eric had to spend +that weary afternoon in writing away at the fourth Georgic; Upton +staying in a part of the time to help him a little, by dictating the +lines to him--an occupation not unfrequently interrupted by storms of +furious denunciation against Mr. Gordon’s injustice and tyranny; Eric +vowing “that he would pay him out somehow yet.” + +The imposition was not finished that evening, and it again consumed some +of the next day’s leisure, part of it being written between schools in +the forbidden class-room. Still it was not quite finished on Friday +afternoon at six, when school ended, and Eric stayed a few minutes +behind the rest to scribble off the last ten lines; which done, he +banged down the lid of his desk, not locking it, and ran out. + +The next morning an incident happened which involved considerable +consequences to some of the actors in my story. + +Mr. Rose and several other masters had not a room to themselves, like +Mr. Gordon, but heard their forms in the great hall. At one end of this +hall was a board used for the various school notices, to which there +were always affixed two or three pieces of paper containing +announcements about examinations and other matters of general interest. + +On Saturday morning (when Eric was to give up his Georgic), the boys, as +they dropped into the hall for morning school, observed a new notice on +the board, and, thronging round to see what it was, read these words, +written on a half-sheet of paper, attached by wafers to the board-- + +“GORDON IS A SURLY DEVIL.” + +As may be supposed, so completely novel an announcement took them all +very much by surprise, and they wondered who had been so audacious as to +play this trick. But their wonder was cut short by the entrance of the +masters, and they all took their seats, without any one tearing down the +dangerous paper. + +After a few minutes the eye of the second master, Mr. Ready, fell on the +paper, and, going up, he read it, stood for a moment transfixed with +astonishment, and then called Mr. Rose. + +Pointing to the inscription, he said: “I think we had better leave that +there, Rose, exactly as it is, till Dr. Rowlands has seen it. Would you +mind asking him to step in here?” + +Just at this juncture Eric came in, having been delayed by Mr. Gordon +while he rigidly inspected the imposition. As he took his seat, Montagu, +who was next him, whispered-- + +“I say, have you seen the notice-board?” + +“No. Why?” + +“Why, some fellow has been writing up an opinion of Gordon not very +favorable.” + +“And serve him right, too, brute!” said Eric, smarting with the memory +of his imposition. + +“Well, there’ll be no end of a row; you’ll see.” + +During this conversation, Dr. Rowlands came in with Mr. Rose. He read +the paper, frowned, pondered a moment, and then said to Mr. Rose--“Would +you kindly summon the lower school into the hall? As it would be painful +to Mr. Gordon to be present, you had better explain to him how +matters stand.” + +“Halloa! here’s a rumpus!” whispered Montagu; “he never has the lower +school down for nothing.” + +A noise was heard on the stairs, and in flocked the lower school. When +they had ranged themselves on the vacant forms, there was a dead silence +and hush of expectation. + +“I have summoned you all together,” said the Doctor, “on a most serious +occasion. This morning, on coming into the school-room, the masters +found that the notice-board had been abused for the purpose of writing +up an insult to one of our number, which is at once coarse and wicked. +As only a few of you have seen it, it becomes my deeply painful duty to +inform you of its purport; the words are these--‘Gordon is a surly +devil.’”--A _very_ slight titter followed this statement, which was +instantly succeeded by a sort of thrilling excitement; but Eric, when he +heard the words, started perceptibly, and colored as he caught Montagu’s +eye fixed on him. + +Dr. Rowlands continued--“I suppose this dastardly impertinence has been +perpetrated by some boy out of a spirit of revenge. I am perfectly +amazed at the unparalleled audacity and meanness of the attempt, and it +may be very difficult to discover the author of it. But, depend upon it, +discover him _we will_, at whatever cost. Whoever the offender may be, +and he must be listening to me at this moment, let him be assured that +he shall _not_ be unpunished. His guilty secret shall be torn from him. +His punishment can only be mitigated by his instantly yielding +himself up.” + +No one stirred, but during the latter part of this address Eric was so +uneasy, and his cheek burned with such hot crimson, that several eyes +were upon him, and the suspicions of more than one boy were awakened. + +“Very well,” said the head master, “the guilty boy is not inclined to +confess. Mark, then; if his name has not been given up to me by to-day +week, every indulgence to the school will be forfeited, the next whole +holiday stopped, and the coming cricket-match prohibited.” + +“The handwriting may be some clue,” suggested Mr. Ready. “Would you have +any objection to my examining the note-books of the Shell?” + +“None at all. The Shell-boys are to show their books to Mr. Ready +immediately.” + +The head-boy of the Shell collected the books, and took them to the +desk; the three masters glanced casually at about a dozen, and suddenly +stopped at one. Eric’s heart beat loud, as his saw Mr. Rose point +towards him. + +“We have discovered a handwriting which remarkably resembles that on the +board. I give the offender one more chance of substituting confession +for detection.” + +No one stirred; but Montagu felt that his friend was trembling +violently. + +“Eric Williams, stand out in the room.” + +Blushing scarlet, and deeply agitated, the boy obeyed + +“The writing on the notice is exactly like yours. Do you know anything +of this shameful proceeding?” + +“Nothing, sir,” he murmured in a low tone. + +“Nothing whatever?” + +“Nothing whatever, sir.” + +Dr. Rowlands’ look searched him through and through, and seemed to burn +into his heart. He did not meet it, but hung his head. The Doctor felt +certain from his manner that he was guilty. He chained him to the spot +with his glance for a minute or two, and then said slowly, and with a +deep sigh-- + +“Very well; I _hope_ you have spoken the truth; but whether you have or +no, we shall soon discover. The school, and especially the upper boys, +will remember what I have said. I shall now tear down the insulting +notice, and put it into your hands, Avonley, as head of the school, that +you may make further inquiries.” He left the room, and the boys resumed +their usual avocation till twelve o’clock. But poor Eric could hardly +get through his ordinary pursuits; he felt sick and giddy, until +everybody noticed his strange embarrassed manner, and random answers. + +No sooner had twelve o’clock struck, than the whole school broke up into +knots of buzzing and eager talkers. + +“I wonder who did it,” said a dozen voices at once. + +“The writing was undoubtedly Williams’,” suggested some. + +“And did you notice how red and pale he got when the Doctor spoke to +him, and how he hung his head?” + +“Yes; and one knows how he hates Gordon.” + +“Ay; by the bye, Gordon set him a Georgic only on Thursday, and he has +been swearing at him ever since.” + +“I noticed that he stayed in after all the rest last night,” said +Barker. + +“Did he? By Jove, that looks bad.” + +“Has any one charged him with it?” asked Duncan. + +“Yes,” answered one of the group: “but he’s as proud about it as +Lucifer, and is furious if you mention it to him. He says we ought to +know him better than to think him capable of such a thing.” + +“And quite right, too,” said Duncan. “If he did it, he’s done something +totally unlike what one would have believed possible of him.” + +The various items of evidence were put together, and certainly they +seemed to prove a strong case against Eric. In addition to the +probabilities already mentioned, it was found that the ink used was of a +violet color, and a peculiar kind, which Eric was known to patronise; +and not only so, but the wafers with which the paper had been attached +to the board were yellow, and exactly of the same size with some which +Eric was said to possess. How the latter facts had been discovered, +nobody exactly knew, but they began to be very generally whispered +throughout the school. + +In short, the almost universal conviction among the boys proclaimed that +he was guilty, and many urged him to confess it at once, and save the +school from the threatened punishment. But he listened to such +suggestions with the most passionate indignation. + +“What!” he said, angrily, “tell a wilful lie to blacken my own innocent +character? Never!” + +The consequence was, they all began to shun him. Eric was put into +Coventry. Very few boys in the school still clung to him, and maintained +his innocence in spite of appearances, but they were the boys whom he +had most loved and valued, and they were most vigorous in his defence. +They were Russell, Montagu, Duncan, Owen, and little Wright. + +On the evening of the Saturday, Upton had sought out Eric, and said in a +very serious tone, “This is a bad business, Williams. I cannot forget +how you have been abusing Gordon lately, and though I won’t believe you +guilty, yet you ought to explain.” + +“What? even _you_, then suspect me?” said Eric, bursting into proud +tears. “Very well. I shan’t condescend to _deny_ it. I won’t speak to +you again till you have repented of mistrusting me;” and he resolutely +rejected all further overtures on Upton’s part. + +He was alone in his misery. Some one, he perceived, had plotted to +destroy his character, and he saw too clearly how many causes of +suspicion told against him. But it was very bitter to think that the +whole school could so readily suppose that he would do a thing which +from his soul he abhorred. “No,” he thought, “bad I may be, but I +_could_ not have done such a base and cowardly trick.” + +Never in his life had he been so wretched. He wandered alone to the +rocks, and watched the waves dashing against them with the rising tide. +The tumult of the weather seemed to relieve and console the tumult of +his heart. He drank in strength and defiance from the roar of the +waters, and climbed to their very edge along the rocks, where every +fresh, rush of the waves enveloped him in white swirls of angry loam. +The look of the green, rough, hungry sea, harmonised with his feelings, +and he sat down and stared into it, to find relief from the torment of +his thoughts. + +At last, with a deep sigh, he turned away to go back, and meet the crowd +of suspicious and unkindly companions, and brood alone over his sorrow +in the midst of them. He had not gone many steps, when he caught sight +of Russell in the distance. His first impulse was to run away and +escape; but Russell determined to stop him, and when he came up, said, +“Dear Eric, I have sought you out on purpose to tell you that _I_ don’t +suspect you, and have never done so for a moment. I know you too well, +my boy, and be sure that _I_ will always stick to you, even if the whole +school cut you.” + +“Oh, Edwin, I am _so_ wretched. I needn’t tell you that I am quite +innocent of this. What have I done to be so suspected? Why, even your +cousin Upton won’t believe me.” + +“But he does, Eric,” said Russell; “he told me so just now, and several +others said the same thing.” + +A transient gleam passed over Eric’s face. + +“O, I do so long for home again,” he said. “Except you, I have no +friend.” + +“Don’t say so, Eric. This cloud will soon blow over. Depend upon it, as +the Doctor said, we shall discover the offender yet, and the fellows +will soon make you reparation for their false suspicions. And you _have_ +one friend, Eric,” he continued, pointing reverently upwards. + +Eric was overcome; he sat down on the grass and hid his face till the +tears flowed through his closed fingers. Russell sat silent and pitying +beside him, and let Eric’s head rest upon his shoulder. + +When they got home, Eric found three notes in his drawer. One was from +Mr. Gordon, and ran thus:-- + +“I have little doubt, Williams, that you have done this act. Believe me, +I feel no anger, only pity for you. Come to me and confess, and I +promise, by every means in my power, to befriend and save you.” + +This note he read, and then, stamping on the floor, tore it up furiously +into twenty pieces, which he scattered about the room. + +Another was from Mr. Rose; + +“Dear Eric--I _cannot, will_ not, believe you guilty, although +appearances look very black. You have many faults, but I feel sure that +I cannot be mistaken in supposing you too noble-minded for a revenge so +petty and so mean. Come to me, dear boy, if I can help you in any way. I +_trust you_, Eric, and will use every endeavor to right you in the +general estimation. You are innocent; pray to God for help under this +cruel trial, and be sure that your character will yet be +cleared.--Affectionately yours, WALTER ROSE.” + +“_P.S._--I can easily understand that just now you will like quiet; come +and sit with me in the library as much as you like.” + +He read this note two or three times with grateful emotion, and at that +moment would have died for Mr. Rose. The third note was from Owen, as +follows:-- + +“Dear Williams--We have been cool to each other lately; naturally, +perhaps. But yet I think that it will be some consolation to you to be +told, even by a rival, that I, for one, feel certain of your innocence. +If you want company, I shall be delighted now to walk with you.--Yours +truly, D. OWEN.” + +This note, too, brought much comfort to the poor boy’s lonely and +passionate heart. He put it into his pocket, and determined at once to +accept Mr. Rose’s kind offer of allowing him to sit for the present in +the library. + +There were several boys in the room while he was reading his notes, but +none of them spoke to him, and he was too proud to notice them, or +interrupt the constrained silence. As he went out he met Duncan and +Montagu, who at once addressed him in the hearing of the rest. + +“Ha! Williams,” said Duncan, “we have been looking everywhere for you, +dear fellow. Cheer up, you shall be cleared yet. I, for one, and Monty +for another, will maintain your innocence before the whole school.” + +Montagu _said_ nothing, but Eric understood full well the trustful +kindness of his soft pressure of the hand. His heart was too full to +speak, and he went on towards the library. + +“I wonder at your speaking to that fellow,” said Bull, as the two new +comers joined the group at the fire-place. + +“You will be yourself ashamed of having ever suspected him before long,” +said Montagu warmly; “ay, the whole lot of you; and you are very unkind +to condemn him before you are certain.” + +“I wish you joy of your _friend_, Duncan,” sneered Barker. + +“Friend?” said Duncan, firing up; “yes! he is my friend, and I’m not +ashamed of him. It would be well for the school if _all_ the fellows +were as honorable as Williams.” + +Barker took the hint, and although he was too brazen to blush, thought +it better to say no more. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE TRIAL + +“A plot, a plot, a plot, to ruin all.” TENNYSON, _The Princess_. + +On the Monday evening, the head boy reported to Dr. Rowlands that the +perpetrator of the offence had not been discovered, but that one boy was +very generally suspected, and on grounds that seemed plausible. “I +admit,” he added, “that from the little I know of him he seems to me a +very unlikely sort of boy to do it.” + +“I think,” suggested the Doctor, “that the best way would be for you to +have a regular trial on the subject, and hear the evidence. Do you think +that you can be trusted to carry on the investigation publicly, with +good order and fairness?” + +“I think so, sir,” said Avonley. + +“Very well. Put up a notice, asking all the school to meet by themselves +in the boarders’ room tomorrow afternoon at three, and see what you can +do among you.” + +Avonley did as the Doctor suggested. At first, when the boys assembled, +they seemed inclined to treat the matter as a joke, and were rather +disorderly; but Avonley briefly begged them, if they determined to have +a trial, to see that it was conducted sensibly; and by general consent +he was himself voted into the desk as president. He then got up +and said-- + +“There must be no sham or nonsense about this affair. Let all the boys +take their seats quietly down the room.” + +They did so, and Avonley asked, “Is Williams here?” + +Looking round, they discovered he was not. Russell instantly went to the +library to fetch him, and told him what was going on. He took Eric’s arm +kindly as they entered, to show the whole school that he was not ashamed +of him, and Eric deeply felt the delicacy of his goodwill. + +“Are you willing to be tried, Williams,” asked Avonley, “on the charge +of having written the insulting paper about Mr. Gordon? Of course we +know very little how these kind of things ought to be conducted, but we +will see that everything done is open and above ground, and try to +manage it properly.” + +“There is nothing I should like better,” said Eric. + +He had quite recovered his firm, manly bearing. A quiet conversation +with his dearly loved friend and master had assured him in the +confidence of innocence, and though the color on his cheek had through +excitement sunk into two bright red spots, he looked wonderfully noble +and winning as he stood before the boys in the centre of the room. His +appearance caused a little reaction in his favor, and a murmur of +applause followed his answer. + +“Good,” said Avonley; “who will prosecute on the part of the school?” + +There was a pause. Nobody seemed to covet the office. + +“Very well; if no one is willing to prosecute, the charge drops.” + +“I will do it,” said Gibson, a Rowlandite, one of the study boys at the +top of the fifth form. He was a clever fellow, and Eric liked the little +he had seen of him. + +“Have you any objection, Williams, to the jury being composed of the +sixth form? or are there any names among them which you wish to +challenge?” + +“No,” said Eric, glancing round with confidence. + +“Well, now, who will defend the accused?” + +Another pause, and Upton got up. + +“No,” said Eric, at once. “You were inclined to distrust me, Upton, and +I will only be defended by somebody who never doubted my innocence.” + +Another pause followed, and then, blushing crimson, Russell got up. “I +am only a Shell-boy,” he said, “but if Eric doesn’t mind trusting his +cause to me, I will defend him, since no other fifth-form fellow stirs.” + +“Thank you, Russell, _I wanted_ you to offer, I could wish no better +defender.” + +“Will Owen, Duncan, and Montagu help me, if they can?” asked Russell. + +“Very willingly,” they all three said, and went to take their seats by +him. They conversed eagerly for a few minutes, and then declared +themselves ready. + +“All I have got to do,” said Gibson, rising, “is to bring before the +school the grounds for suspecting Williams, and all the evidence which +makes it probable that he is the offender. Now, first of all, the thing +must have been done between Friday evening and Saturday morning; and +since the school-room door is generally locked soon after school, it was +probably done in the short interval between six and a quarter past. I +shall now examine some witnesses.” + +The first boy called upon was Pietrie, who deposed, that on Friday +evening, when he left the room, having been detained a few minutes, the +only boy remaining in it was Williams. + +Carter, the school-servant, was then sent for, and deposed, that he had +met Master Williams hastily running out of the room, when he went at a +quarter past six to lock the door. + +Examined by Gibson.--“Was any boy in the room when you did lock the +door?” + +“No one.” + +“Did you meet any one else in the passage?” + +“No.” + +Cross-examined by Russell.--“Do boys ever get into the room after the +door is locked?” + +“Yes.” + +“By what means?” + +“Through the side windows.” + +“That will do.” + +Russell here whispered something to Duncan, who at once left the room, +and on returning, after a few minutes’ absence, gave Russell a +significant nod. + +Barker was next brought forward, and questioned by Gibson. + +“Do you know that Williams is in the habit of using a particular kind of +ink?” + +“Yes; it is of a violet color, and has a peculiar smell.” + +“Could you recognise anything written with it?” + +“Yes.” + +Gibson here handed to Barker the paper which had caused so much trouble. + +“Is that the kind of ink?” + +“Yes.” + +“Do you know the handwriting on that paper?” + +“Yes; it is Williams’ hand.” + +“How can you tell?” + +“He makes his r’s in a curious way.” + +“Turn the paper over. Have you ever seen those kind of wafers before?” + +“Yes; Williams has a box of them in his desk.” + +“Has any other boy, that you are aware of, wafers like those?” + +“No.” + +Cross-examined by Duncan.--“_How_ do you know that Williams has wafers +like those?” + +“I have seen him use them.” + +“For what purpose?” + +“To fasten letters.” + +“I can’t help remarking that you seem very well acquainted with what he +does. Several of those who know him best, and have seen him oftenest, +never heard of these wafers. May I ask,” he said, “if any one else in +the school will witness to having seen Williams use these wafers?” + +No one spoke, and Barker, whose malice seemed to have been changed into +uneasiness, sat down. + +Upton was the next witness. Gibson began--“You have seen a good deal of +Williams?” + +“Yes,” said Upton smiling. + +“Have you ever heard him express any opinion of Mr. Gordon?” + +“Often.” + +“Of what kind?” + +“Dislike and contempt,” said Upton, amidst general laughter. + +“Have you ever heard him say anything which implied a desire to injure +him?” + +“The other day Mr. Gordon gave him a Georgic as an imposition, and I +heard Williams say that he would like to pay him out.” + +This last fact was new to the school, and excited a great sensation. + +“When did he say this?” + +“On Friday afternoon.” + +Upton had given his evidence with great reluctance, although, being +simply desirous that the truth should come out, he concealed nothing +that he knew. He brightened up a little when Russell rose to +cross-examine him. + +“Have you ever known Williams to do any mean act?” + +“Never.” + +“Do you consider him a boy _likely_ to have been guilty on this +occasion?” + +“Distinctly the reverse. I am convinced of his innocence.” + +The answer was given with vehement emphasis, and Eric felt greatly +relieved by it. + +One or two other boys were then called on as witnesses to the great +agitation which Eric had shown during the investigation in the +school-room, and then Gibson, who was a sensible, self-contained fellow, +said, “I have now done my part. I have shown that the accused had a +grudge against Mr. Gordon at the time of the occurrence, and had +threatened to be revenged on him; that he was the last boy in the room +during the time when the offence must have been committed; that the +handwriting is known to resemble his, and that the ink and wafers +employed were such as he, and he only, was known to possess. In addition +to all this, his behavior, when the matter was first publicly noticed, +was exactly such as coincides with the supposition of his guilt. I think +you will all agree in considering these grounds of suspicion very +strong; and leaving them to carry their full weight with you, I close +the case for the prosecution.” + +The school listened to Gibson’s quiet formality with a kind of grim and +gloomy satisfaction, and when he had concluded, there were probably few +but Eric’s own immediate friends who were not fully convinced of his +guilt, however sorry they might be to admit so unfavorable an opinion of +a companion whom they all admired. + +After a minute or two, Russell rose for the defence, and asked, “Has +Williams any objection to his desk being brought, and any of its +contents put in as evidence?” + +“Not the least; there is the key, and you will find it in my place in +school.” + +The desk was brought, but it was found to be already unlocked, and +Russell looked at some of the note-paper which it contained. He then +began--“In spite of the evidence adduced, I think I can show that +Williams is not guilty. It is quite true that he dislikes Mr. Gordon, +and would not object to any open way of showing it; it is quite true +that he used the expressions attributed to him, and that the ink and +wafers are such as may be found in his desk, and that the handwriting is +not unlike his. But is it probable that a boy intending to post up an +insult such as this, would do so in a manner, and at a time so likely to +involve him in immediate detection, and certain punishment? At any rate, +he would surely disguise his usual handwriting. Now, I ask any one to +look at this paper, and tell me whether it is not clear, on the +contrary, that these letters were traced slowly and with care, as would +be the case with an elaborate attempt to imitate?” Russell here handed +the paper to the jury, who again narrowly examined it. + +“Now the evidence of Pietrie and Carter is of no use, because Carter +himself admitted that boys often enter the room by the window; a fact to +which we shall have to allude again. + +“We admit the evidence about the ink and wafers. But it is rather +strange that Barker should know about the wafers, since neither I, nor +any other friend of Williams, often as we have sat by him when writing +letters, have ever observed that he possessed any like them.” + +Several boys began to look at Barker, who was sitting very ill at ease +on the corner of a form, in vain trying to appear unconcerned. + +“There is another fact which no one yet knows, but which I must mention. +It will explain Williams’ agitation when Dr. Rowlands read out the words +on that paper; and, confident of his innocence, I am indifferent to its +appearing to tell against him. I myself once heard Williams use the very +words written on that paper, and not only heard them, but expostulated +with him strongly for the use of them. I need hardly say how very +unlikely it is, that remembering this, he should thus publicly draw my +suspicions on him, if he meant to insult Mr. Gordon, undiscovered. But, +besides myself, there was another boy who accidentally overheard that +expression. That boy was Barker. + +“I have to bring forward a new piece of evidence which at least ought to +go for something. Looking at this half-sheet of note-paper, I see that +the printer’s name on the stamp in the corner is ‘Graves, York.’ Now, I +have just found that there is no paper at all like this in Williams’ +desk; all the note-paper it contains is marked ‘Blakes, Ayrton.’ + +“I might bring many witnesses to prove how very unlike Williams’ general +character a trick of this kind would be. But I am not going to do this. +We think we know the real offender. We have had one trial, and now +demand another. It is our painful duty to prove Williams’ innocence by +proving another’s guilt. That other is a known enemy of mine, and of +Montagu’s, and of Owen’s. We therefore leave the charge of stating the +case against him to Duncan, with whom he has never quarrelled.” + +Russell sat down amid general applause; he had performed his task with a +wonderful modesty and self-possession, which filled every one with +admiration, and Eric warmly pressed his hand. + +The interest of the school was intensely excited, and Duncan, after a +minute’s pause, starting up, said--“Williams has allowed his desk to be +brought in and examined. Will Barker do the same?” + +The real culprit now saw at once that his plot to ruin Eric was +recoiling on himself. He got up, swore and blustered at Russell, Duncan, +and Williams, and at first flatly refused to allow his desk to be +brought. He was, however, forced to yield, and when opened, it was +immediately seen that the note-paper it contained was identical with +that on which the words had been written. At this he affected to be +perfectly unconcerned, and merely protested against what he called the +meanness of trying to fix the charge on him. + +“And what have you been doing the whole of the last day or two,” asked +Gibson, quietly, “but endeavoring to fix the charge on another?” + +“We have stronger evidence against you,” said Duncan, confronting him +with an undaunted look, before which his insolence quailed. “Russell, +will you call Graham?” + +Graham was called, and put on his honor. + +“You were in the sick-room on Friday evening?” + +“Yes.” + +“Did you see any one get into the school-room through the side window?” + +“I may as well tell you all about it. I was sitting doing nothing in the +sick-room, when I suddenly saw Barker clamber in to the school-room by +the window, which he left open. I was looking on simply from curiosity, +and saw him search Williams’ desk, from which he took out something, I +could not make out what. He then went to his own place, and wrote for +about ten minutes, after which I observed him go up and stand by the +notice board. When he had done this he got out by the window again, +and ran off.” + +“Didn’t this strike you as extraordinary?” + +“No; I thought nothing more about it, till some one told me in the +sick-room about this row. I then mentioned privately what I had seen, +and it wasn’t till I saw Duncan, half an hour ago, that I thought it +worth while to make it generally known.” + +Duncan turned an enquiring eye to Barker (who sat black and silent), and +then pulled some bits of torn paper from his pocket, put them together, +and called Owen to stand up. Showing him the fragments of paper, he +asked, “Have you ever seen these before?” + +“Yes. On Saturday, when the boys left the schoolroom, I stayed behind to +think a little over what had occurred, feeling convinced that Williams +was _not_ guilty, spite of appearances. I was standing by the empty +fire-place, when these bits of paper caught my eye. I picked them up, +and, after a great deal of trouble, fitted them together. They are +covered apparently with failures in an attempt at forgery, viz., first, +‘Gordon is a sur--’ and then a stop, as though the writer were +dissatisfied, and several of the words written over again for practice, +and then a number of r’s made in the way that Williams makes them.” + +“There you may stop,” said Barker, stamping fiercely; “I did it all.” + +A perfect yell of scorn and execration followed this announcement. + +“What! _you_ did it, and caused all this misery, you ineffable +blackguard!” shouted Upton, grasping him with one hand, while he struck +him with the other. + +“Stop!” said Avonley; “just see that he doesn’t escape, while we decide +on his punishment.” + +It was very soon decided by the sixth form that he should run the +gauntlet of the school. The boys instantly took out their handkerchiefs, +and knotted them tight. They then made a double line down each side of +the corridor, and turned Barker loose. He stood stock-still at one end, +while the fellows nearest him thrashed him unmercifully with the heavy +knots. At last the pain was getting severe, and he moved on, finally +beginning to run. Five times he was forced up and down the line, and +five times did every boy in the line give him a blow, which, if it did +not hurt much, at least spoke of no slight anger and contempt. He was +dogged and unmoved to the last, and then Avonley hauled him into the +presence of Dr. Rowlands. He was put in a secure room by himself, and +the next morning was first flogged and then publicly expelled. +Thenceforth he disappears from the history of Roslyn school. + +I need hardly say that neither Eric nor his friends took any part in +this retributive act. They sat together in the boarders’ room till it +was over, engaged in exciting discussion of the recent event. Most +warmly did Eric thank them for their trustfulness. “Thank you,” he said, +“with all my heart, for proving my innocence; but thank you, even more a +great deal, for first believing it.” + +Upton was the first to join them, and since he had but wavered for a +moment, he was soon warmly reconciled with Eric. They had hardly shaken +hands when the rest came flocking in. “We have all been unjust,” said +Avonley; “let’s make up for it as well as we can. Three cheers for Eric +Williams!” + +They gave, not three, but a dozen, till they were tired; and meanwhile, +every one was pressing round him, telling him how sorry they were for +the false suspicion, and doing all they could to show their regret for +his recent troubles. His genial, boyish heart readily forgave them, and +his eyes were long wet with tears of joy. The delicious sensation of +returning esteem made him almost think it worth while to have under gone +his trial. + +Most happily did he spend the remainder of that afternoon, and it was no +small relief to all the Rowlandites in the evening to find themselves +finally rid of Barker, whose fate no one pitied, and whose name no one +mentioned without disgust. He had done more than any other boy to +introduce meanness, quarrelling, and vice, and the very atmosphere of +the rooms seemed healthier in his absence. One boy only forgave him, one +boy only prayed for him, one boy only endeavored to see him for one last +kind word. That boy was Edwin Russell. + +After prayers, Mr. Gordon, who had been at Dr. Rowlands’ to dinner, +apologised to Eric amply and frankly for his note, and did and said all +that could be done by an honorable man to repair the injury of an unjust +doubt. Eric felt his generous humility, and from thenceforth, though +they were never friends, he and Mr. Gordon ceased to be enemies. + +That night Mr. Rose crowned his happiness by asking him and his +defenders to supper in the library. A most bright and joyous evening +they passed, for they were in the highest spirits; and when the master +bade them “good night,” he kindly detained Eric, and said to him, “Keep +an innocent heart, my boy, and you need never fear trouble. Only think +if you had been guilty, and were now in Barker’s place!” + +“O, I _couldn’t_ be guilty, sir,” said Eric, gaily. + +“Not of such a fault, perhaps. But,” he added solemnly, “there are many +kinds of temptation, Eric many kinds. And they are easy to fall into. +You will find it no light battle to resist them.” + +“Believe me, sir, I will try,” he answered with humility. + +“Jehovah-Nissi!” said Mr. Rose. “Let the Lord be your banner, Eric, and +you will win the victory. God bless you.” + +And as the boy’s graceful figure disappeared through the door, Mr. Rose +drew his arm-chair to the fire, and sat and meditated long. He was +imagining for Eric a sunny future--a future of splendid usefulness, of +reciprocated love, of brilliant fame. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE ADVENTURE AT THE STACK + + “Ten cables from where green meadows + And quiet homes could be seen, + No greater space + From peril to peace, + But the savage sea between!”--EDWIN ARNOLD. + +The Easter holidays at Roslyn lasted about ten days, and as most of the +boys came from a distance, they usually spent them at school. Many of +the usual rules were suspended during this time, and the boys were +supplied every day with pocket-money; consequently the Easter holidays +passed very pleasantly, and there was plenty of fun. + +It was the great time for excursions all over the island, and the boys +would often be out the whole day long among the hills, or about the +coast. Eric enjoyed the time particularly, and was in great request +among all the boys. He was now more gay and popular than ever, and felt +as if nothing were wanting to his happiness. But this brilliant +prosperity was not good for him, and he felt continually that he cared +far less for the reproaches of conscience than he had done in the hours +of his trial; sought far less for help from God than he had done when he +was lonely and neglected. + +He always knew that his great safeguard was the affection of Russell. +For Edwin’s sake, and for shame at the thought of Edwin’s disapproval, +he abstained from many things into which he would otherwise have +insensibly glided in conformation to the general looseness of the school +morality. But Russell’s influence worked on him powerfully, and tended +to counteract a multitude of temptations. + +Among other dangerous lessons, Upton had taught Eric to smoke; and he +was now one of those who often spent a part of his holidays in lurking +about with pipes in their mouths at places where they were unlikely to +be disturbed, instead of joining in some hearty and healthy game. When +he began to “learn” smoking, he found it anything but pleasant; but a +little practice had made him an adept, and he found a certain amount of +enjoyable excitement in finding out cozy places by the river, where he +and Upton might go and lounge for an hour to enjoy the forbidden luxury. + +In reality he, like most boys, detested the habit; but it seemed a fine +thing to do, and to some, at any rate, it was a refuge from vacuity. +Besides, they had a confused notion that there was something “manly” in +it, and it derived an additional zest from the stringency of the rules +adopted to put it down. So a number of the boys smoked, and some few of +them to such excess as to get them into great mischief, and form a habit +which they could never afterwards abandon. + +One morning of the Easter holidays, Eric, Montagu, and Russell started +for an excursion down the coast to Rilby Head. As they passed through +Ellan, Eric was deputed to go and buy Easter eggs and other provisions, +as they did not mean to be back for dinner. In about ten minutes he +caught up the other two, just as they were getting out of the town. + +“What an age you’ve been buying a few Easter eggs,” said Russell, +laughing; “have you been waiting till the hens laid?” + +“No; they are not the _only_ things I’ve got.” + +“Well, but you might have got all the grub at the same shop.” + +“Ay; but I’ve procured a more refined article. Guess what it is?” + +The two boys didn’t guess, and Eric said, to enlighten them, “Will you +have a whiff, Monty?” + +“A whiff! Oh! I see you’ve been wasting your tin on cigars--_alias_, +rolled cabbage-leaves. Oh fumose puer!” + +“Well, will you have one?” + +“If you like,” said Montagu, wavering; “but I don’t much care to smoke.” + +“Well, _I_ shall, at any rate,” said Eric, keeping off the wind with his +cap, as he lighted a cigar, and began to puff. + +They strolled on in silence; the smoking didn’t promote conversation, +and Russell thought he had never seen his friend look so ridiculous, and +entirely unlike himself, as he did while strutting along with the weed +in his mouth. The fact was, Eric didn’t guess how much he was hurting +Edwin’s feelings, and he was smoking more to “make things look like the +holidays,” by a little bravado, than anything else. But suddenly he +caught the expression of Russell’s face, and instantly said-- + +“O, I forgot, Edwin; I know you don’t like smoking;” and he instantly +flung the cigar over the hedge, being really rather glad to get rid of +it. With the cigar, he seemed to have flung away the affected manner he +displayed just before, and the spirits of all three rose at once. + +“It isn’t that I don’t _like_ smoking only, Eric, but I think it +wrong--for _us_ I mean.” + +“O, my dear fellow! surely there can’t be any harm in it. Why everybody +smokes.” + +“It may be all very well for men, although I’m not so sure of that. But, +at any rate, it’s wrong and ridiculous in boys. You know yourself what +harm it does in every way.” + +“O, it’s a mere school rule against it. How can it be wrong? Why, I even +know clergymen who smoke.” + +Montagu laughed. “Well, clergymen ain’t immaculate,” said he; “but I +never met a man yet who didn’t tell you that he was _sorry_ he’d +acquired the habit.” + +“I’m sure you won’t thank that rascally cousin of mine for having taught +you,” said Russell; “but seriously, isn’t it a very moping way of +spending the afternoon, to go and lie down behind some hay-stack, or in +some frowsy tumble-down barn, as you smokers do, instead of playing +racquets or football?” + +“O, it’s pleasant enough sometimes,” said Eric, speaking rather against +his own convictions. + +“As for me, I’ve nearly left it off,” said Montagu, “and I think Rose +convinced me that it was a mistake. Not that he knows that I ever did +smoke; I should be precious sorry if he did, for I know how he despises +it in boys. Were you in school the other day when he caught Pietrie and +Brooking?” + +“No.” + +“Well, when Brooking went up to have his exercise corrected, Rose smelt +that he had been smoking, and charged him with it. Brooking stoutly +denied it, but after he had told the most robust lies, Rose made him +empty his pockets, and there, sure enough, were a pipe and a cigar-case +half full! You _should_ have heard how Rose thundered and lightened at +him for his lying, and then sent him to the Doctor. I never saw him so +terrific before.” + +“You don’t mean to say you were convinced it was wrong because Brooking +was caught, and told lies--do you? _Non sequitur_.” + +“Stop--not so fast.” Very soon after Rose twigged Pietrie, who at once +confessed, and was caned. I happened to be in the library when Rose sent +for him, and Pietrie said mildly that “he didn’t see the harm of it.” +Rose smiled in his kind way, and said, “Don’t see the _harm_ of it! Do +you see any good in it?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Well, isn’t it forbidden?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And doesn’t it waste your money?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And tempt you to break rules, and tell lies to screen yourself?” + +“Yes, sir,” said Pietrie, putting his tail between his legs. + +“And don’t your parents disapprove it? And doesn’t it throw you among +some of the worst boys, and get you into great troubles? Silly child,” +he said, pulling Pietrie’s ear (as he sometimes does, you know), “don’t +talk nonsense; and remember next time you’re caught I shall have you +punished.” So off went Pietrie, [Greek: achreian idon] as our friend +Homer says. And your humble servant was convinced.” + +“Well, well,” said Eric laughing, “I suppose you’re right. At any rate, +I give in. Two to one ain’t fair; [Greek: ards duo o Aerachlaes], since +you’re in a quoting humor.” + +Talking in this way they got to Rilby Head, where they found plenty to +amuse them. It was a splendid headland, rising bluff four hundred feet +out of the sea, and presenting magnificent reaches of rock scenery on +all sides. The boys lay on the turf at the summit, and flung innocuous +stones at the sea-gulls as they sailed far below them over the water, +and every now and then pounced at some stray fish that came to the +surface; or they watched the stately barks as they sailed by on the +horizon, wondering at their cargo and destination; or chaffed the +fishermen, whose boats heaved on the waves at the foot of the +promontory. When they were rested, they visited a copper-mine by the +side of the head, and filled their pockets with bits of bright quartz or +red shining spar, which they found in plenty among the rocks. + +In the afternoon they strolled towards home, determining to stop a +little at the Stack on their way. The Stack formed one of the +extremities of Ellan Bay, and was a huge mass of isolated schist, +accessible at low water, but entirely surrounded at high tide. It was a +very favorite resort of Eric’s, as the coast all about it was bold and +romantic; and he often went there with Russell on a Sunday evening to +watch the long line of golden radiance slanting to them over the water +from the setting sun--a sight which they often agreed to consider one +of the most peaceful and mysteriously beautiful in nature. + +They reached the Stack, and began to climb to its summit. The sun was +just preparing to set, and the west was gorgeous with red and gold. + +“We shan’t see the line on the waters this evening,” said Eric; “there’s +too much of a breeze. But look, what a glorious sunset!” + +“Yes; it’ll be stormy tomorrow,” answered Russell, “but come along, +let’s get to the top; the wind’s rising, and the waves will be +rather grand.” + +“Ay, we’ll sit and watch them; and let’s finish our grub; I’ve got +several eggs left, and I want to get them out of my pocket.” + +They devoured the eggs, and then stood enjoying the sight of the waves, +which sometimes climbed up the rock almost to their feet, and then fell +back, hissing and discomfited. Suddenly they remembered that it was +getting late, and that they ought to get home for tea at seven. + +“Hallo!” said Russell, looking at his watch, “it’s half-past six. We +must cut back as hard as we can. By the bye, I hope the tide hasn’t been +coming in all this time.” + +“Good God!” said Montagu, with a violent start, “I’m afraid it has, +though! What asses we have been, with our waves and sunsets. Let’s set +off as hard as we can pelt.” + +Immediately they scrambled, by the aid of hands and knees, down the +Stack, and made their way for the belt of rock which joined it to the +mainland; but, to their horror, they at once saw that the tide had come +in, and that a narrow gulf of sea already divided them from the shore. + +“There’s only one way for it,” said Eric; “if we’re plucky we can jump +that; but we musn’t wait till it gets worse. A good jump will take us +_nearly_ to the other side--far enough, at any rate, to let us flounder +across somehow.” + +As fast as they could they hurried along down to the place where the +momentarily increasing zone of water seemed as yet to be narrowest; and +where the rocks on the other side were lower than those on which they +stood. Their situation was by no means pleasant. The wind had been +rising more and more, and the waves dashed into this little channel with +such violence, that to swim it would have been a most hazardous +experiment, particularly as they could not dive in from the ledge on +which they stood, from their ignorance of the depth of water. + +Eric’s courage supported the other two. “There’s no good _thinking_ +about it,” said he, “jump we _must_; the sooner the better. We can but +be a little hurt at the worst. Here, I’ll set the example.” + +He drew back a step or two, and sprang out with all his force. He was a +practised and agile jumper, and, to their great relief, he alighted near +the water’s edge, on the other side, where, after slipping once or twice +on the wet and seaweed-covered rocks, he effected a safe landing, with +no worse harm than a wetting up to the knees. + +“Now then, you too,” he shouted; “no time to lose.” + +“Will you jump first, Monty?” said Russell; “both of you are better +jumpers than I, and to tell the truth I’m rather afraid.” + +“Then I won’t leave you,” said Montagu; “we’ll both stay here.” + +“And perhaps be drowned or starved for our pains No, Monty, _you_ can +clear it, I’ve no doubt.” + +“Couldn’t we try to swim it together, Edwin?” + +“Madness! look there.” And as he spoke, a huge furious wave swept down +the whole length of the gulf by which they stood, roaring and surging +along till the whole water seethed, and tearing the seaweeds from their +roots in the rock. + +“Now’s your time,” shouted Eric again. “What _are_ you waiting for? For +God’s sake, jump before another wave comes.” + +“Monty, you _must_ jump now,” said Russell, “if only to help me when I +try.” + +Montagu went back as far as he could, which was only a few steps, and +leapt wildly forward. He lighted into deep water, nearly up to his neck, +and at first tried in vain to secure a footing on the sharp slippery +schist; but he stumbled forwards vigorously, and in half a minute, Eric +leaning out as far as he could, caught his hand, and just pulled him to +the other side in time to escape another rush of tumultuous and +angry foam. + +“Now, Edwin,” they both shouted, “it’ll be too late in another minute. +Jump for your life.” + +Russell stood on the rock pale and irresolute. Once or twice he prepared +to spring, and stopped from fear at the critical instant. In truth, the +leap was now most formidable; to clear it was hopeless; and the fury of +the rock-tormented waves rendered the prospect of a swim on the other +side terrible to contemplate. Once in the grasp of one of those billows, +even a strong man must have been carried out of the narrow channel, and +hurled against the towering sweep of rocks which lay beyond it. + +“Oh Edwin, Edwin--dear Edwin--_do_ jump,” cried Eric with passionate +excitement. “We will rush in for you.” + +Russell now seemed to have determined on running the risk; he stepped +back, ran to the edge, missed his footing, and with a sharp cry of pain, +fell heavily forward into the water. For an instant, Eric and Montagu +stood breathless,--but the next instant, they saw Russell’s head emerge, +and then another wave foaming madly by, made them run backwards for +their lives, and hid him from their view. When it had passed, they saw +him clinging with both hands, in the desperate instinct of +self-preservation, to a projecting bit of rock, by the aid of which he +gradually drew himself out of the water, and grasping at crevices or +bits of seaweed, slowly and painfully reached the ledge on which they +had stood before they took the leap. He presented a pitiable spectacle; +his face, pale as death, was dabbled with blood; his head drooped on his +breast; his clothes were torn, and streamed with the salt water; his cap +was gone, and the wet hair, which he seemed too exhausted to push aside, +hung over his forehead and eyes. He was evidently dizzy, and in pain; +and they noticed that he only seemed to use one foot. + +While he was regaining the ledge, neither of the boys spoke, lest their +voices should startle him, and make him fall; but now, they both cried +out, “Are you hurt, Edwin?” + +He did not answer, but supported his pale face on one hand, while he put +the other to his head, from which the blood was flowing fast. + +“O Edwin, for the love of God, try once more,” said Montagu; “you will +die if you spend the night on that rock.” + +They could not catch the reply, and called again. The wind and waves +were both rising fast, and it was only by listening intently, that they +caught the faint words, “I can’t, my leg is hurt.” Besides, they both +saw that a jump was no longer possible; the channel was more than double +the width which it had been when Eric leaped, and from the rapid ascent +of rocks on both sides, it was now far out of depth. + +“O God, what can we do,” said Montagu, bursting into tears. “We can +never save him; and all but the very top of the Stack is covered at +high tide.” + +Eric had not lost his presence of mind. “Cheer up, Edwin,” he shouted; +“I _will_ get back to you somehow. If I fail, crawl up to the +top again.” + +Again the wind carried away the reply, and Russell had sunk back on the +rock. + +“Monty,” said Eric, “just watch for a minute or two. When I have got +across, run to Ellan as hard as you can tear, and tell them that we are +cut off by the tide on the Stack. They’ll bring round the life-boat. +It’s our only chance.” + +“What are you going to do?” asked Montagu, terrified. “Why, Eric, it’s +death to attempt swimming that. Heavens!” And he drew Eric back hastily, +as another vast swell of water came rolling along, shaking its white +curled mane, like a sea-monster bent on destruction. + +“Monty, it’s no use,” said Eric hastily, tearing off his jacket and +waistcoat; “I’m not going to let Russell die on that ledge of rock. I +shall try to reach him, whatever happens to me. Here; I want to keep +these things dry. Be on the look out; if I get across, fling them over +to me if you can, and then do as I told you.” + +He turned round; the wave had just spent its fury, and knowing that his +only chance was to swim over before another came, he plunged in, and +struck out like a man. He was a strong and expert swimmer, and as yet +the channel was not more than a dozen yards across. He dashed over with +the speed and strength of despair, and had just time to clutch the rocks +on the other side before the next mighty swirl of the tide swept up in +its white and tormented course. In another minute he was on the ledge by +Russell’s side. + +He took him tenderly in his arms, and called to Montagu for the dry +clothes. Montagu tied them skilfully with his neck-handkerchief round a +fragment of rock, adding his own jacket to the bundle, and then flung it +over. Eric wrapped up his friend in the clothes, and once more shouted +to Montagu to go on his errand. For a short time the boy lingered, +reluctant to leave them, and then started off at the run. Looking back +after a few minutes, he caught, through the gathering dusk, his last +glimpse of the friends in their perilous situation. Eric was seated +supporting Russell across his knees; when he saw Montagu turn he waved +his cap over his head as a signal of encouragement, and then began to +carry Edwin higher up the rock for safety. It soon grew too dark to +distinguish them, and Montagu at full speed flew to Ellan, which was a +mile off. When he got to the harbor he told some sailors of the danger +in which his friends were, and then ran on to the school. It was now +eight o’clock, and quite dark. Tea was over, and lock-up time long past, +when he stood excited, breathless, and without his jacket, at Dr. +Rowlands’ door. + +“Good gracious! Master Montagu,” said the servant; “what’s the matter; +have you been robbed?” + +He pushed the girl aside, and ran straight to Dr. Rowlands’ study. “O +sir!” he exclaimed, bursting in, “Williams and Russell are on the Stack, +cut off by the tide.” + +Dr. Rowlands started up hastily. “What! on this stormy night? Have you +raised the alarm?” + +“I told the life-boat people, sir, and then ran on.” + +“I will set off myself at once,” said the Doctor, seizing his hat. “But, +my poor boy, how pale and ill you look, and you are wet through too. You +had better change your clothes at once, or go to bed.” + +“O no, sir,” said Montagu, pleadingly; “do take me with you.” + +“Very well; but you must change first, or you may suffer in consequence. +Make haste, and directly you are dressed, a cup of tea shall be ready +for you down here, and we will start.” + +Montagu was off in an instant, and only stopped on his way to tell +Duncan and the others of the danger which threatened their companions. +The absence of the three boys from tea and lock-up had already excited +general surmise, and Montagu’s appearance, jacketless and wet, at the +door of the boarders’ room, at once attracted a group round him. He +rapidly told them how things stood, and, hastening off, left them nearly +as much agitated as himself. In a very short time he presented himself +again before Dr. Rowlands, and when he had swallowed with difficulty the +cup of tea, they sallied out. + +It was pitch dark, and only one or two stars were seen at intervals +struggling through the ragged masses of cloud. The wind howled in fitful +gusts, and as their road led by the sea-side, Montagu shuddered to hear +how rough and turbulent the sea was, even on the sands. He stumbled once +or twice, and then the Doctor kindly drew his trembling arm through his +own, and made him describe the whole occurrence, while the servant went +on in front with the lantern. When Montagu told how Williams had braved +the danger of reaching his friend at the risk of his life, Dr. Rowlands’ +admiration was unbounded. “Noble boy,” he exclaimed, with enthusiasm; “I +shall find it hard to believe any evil of him after this.” + +They reached Ellan, and went to the boat-house. + +“Have you put out the life-boat?” said Dr. Rowlands anxiously. + +“Ill luck, sir,” said one of the sailors, touching his cap; “the +life-boat went to a wreck at Port Vash two days ago, and she hasn’t been +brought round again yet.” + +“Indeed! but I do trust you have sent out another boat to try and save +those poor boys.” + +“We’ve been trying, sir, and a boat has just managed to start; but in a +sea like that it’s very dangerous, and it’s so dark and gusty that I +doubt it’s no use, so I expect they’ll put back.” + +The Doctor sighed deeply. “Don’t alarm any other people,” he said; “it +will merely raise a crowd to no purpose. Here, George,” he continued to +the servant, “give me the lantern; I will go with this boy to the Stack; +you follow us with ropes, and order a carriage from the King’s Head. +Take care to bring anything with you that seems likely to be useful.” + +Montagu and Dr. Rowlands again started, and with difficulty made their +way through the storm to the shore opposite the Stack. Here they raised +the lantern and shouted; but the wind was now screaming with such +violence that they were not sure that they heard any answering shout. +Their eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could just make out the huge +black outline of the Stack rising from the yeast of boiling waves, and +enveloped every moment in blinding sheets of spray. On the top of it +Montagu half thought that he saw something, but he was not sure. + +“Thank God, there is yet hope,” said the Doctor, with difficulty making +his young companion catch his words amid the uproar of the elements; “if +they can but keep warm in their wet clothes, we may perhaps rescue them +before morning.” + +Again he shouted to cheer them with his strong voice, and Montagu joined +his clear ringing tones to the shout. This time they fancied that in one +of the pauses of the wind they heard a faint cheer returned, was sound +more welcome, and as they paced up and down they shouted at intervals, +and held up the lantern, to show the boys that friends and help +were near. + +Eric heard them. When Montagu left, he had carried Russell to the +highest point of the rock, and there, with gentle hands and soothing +words, made him as comfortable as he could. He wrapped him in every +piece of dry clothing he could find, and held him in his arms, heedless +of the blood which covered him. Very faintly Russell thanked him, and +pressed his hand; but he moaned in pain continually, and at last +fainted away. + +Meanwhile the wind rose higher, and the tide gained on the rocks, and +the sacred darkness came down. At first Eric could think of nothing but +storm and sea. Cold, and cruel, and remorseless, the sea beat up, +drenching them to the skin continually with, its clammy spray; and the +storm shrieked round them pitilessly, and flung about the wet hair on +Eric’s bare head, and forced him to plant himself firmly, lest the rage +of the gusts should hurl them from their narrow resting-place. The +darkness made everything more fearful, for his eyes could distinguish +nothing but the gulfs of black water glistening here and there with +hissing foam, and he shuddered as his ears caught the unearthly noises +that came to him in the mingled scream of weltering tempest and plangent +wave. It was fearful to be isolated on the black rent rock, and see the +waves gaining on them higher, higher, higher, every moment and he was in +ceaseless terror lest they should be swept away by the violence of the +breakers. “At least,” thought he, as he looked down and saw that the +ledge on which they had been standing had long been covered with deep +and agitated waves, “at least I have saved Edwin’s life.” And he bravely +made up his mind to keep up heart and hope, and weather the comfortless +night with Russell in his arms. + +And then his thoughts turned to Russell, who was still unconscious; and +stooping down he kissed fondly the pale white forehead of his friend. He +felt _then_, how deeply he loved him, how much he owed him; and no +mother could have nursed a child more tenderly than he did the fainting +boy. Russell’s head rested on his breast, and the soft hair, tangled +with welling blood, stained his clothes. Eric feared that he would die, +his fainting-fit continued so long, and from the helpless way in which +one of his legs trailed on the ground he felt sure that he had received +some dangerous hurt. + +At last Russell stirred and groaned. “Where am I?” he said, and half +opened his eyes; he started up frightened, and fell-back heavily. He saw +only the darkness; felt only the fierce wind and salt mist; heard only +the relentless yell of the blast. Memory had no time to wake, and he +screamed and fainted once more. + +Poor Eric knew not what to do but to shelter him to the best of his +power, and when he showed any signs of consciousness again, he bent over +him, and said, “Don’t you remember, Edwin? We’re quite safe. I’m with +you, and Monty’s gone for help.” + +“Oh! I daren’t jump,” sobbed Russell; “oh mother, I shall be drowned. +Save me! save me! I’m so glad they’re safe, mother; but my leg hurts +so.” And he moaned again. He was delirious. + +“How cold it is, and wet too! where’s Eric? are we bathing? run along, +we shall be late. But stop, you’re smoking. Dear Eric, don’t smoke. +Poor fellow, I’m afraid he’s getting spoilt, and learning bad ways. Oh +save him.” And as he wandered on, he repeated a prayer for Eric, which +evidently had been often on his lips. + +Eric was touched to the heart’s core, and in one rapid lightning-like +glance, his memory revealed to him the faultful past, in all its +sorrowfulness. And _he_, too, prayed wildly for help both for soul and +body. Alone on the crag, with the sea tumbling and plashing round them, +growing and gaining so much on their place of refuge, that his terror +began to summon up the image of certain death; alone, wet, hungry, and +exhausted, with the wounded and delirious boy, whose life depended on +his courage, he prayed as he had never prayed before, and seemed to grow +calmer by his prayer, and to feel God nearer him than ever he had done +in the green cricket-field, or the safe dormitories of Roslyn school. + +A shout startled him. Lights on the water heaved up and down, now +disappearing, and now lifted high, and at intervals there came the sound +of voices. Thank God! help was near; they were coming in a boat to +save them. + +But the lights grew more distant; he saw then disappearing towards the +harbor. Yes! it was of no use; no boat could live in the surf at the +foot of the Stack cliffs, and the sailors had given it up in despair. +His heart sank again, all the more for the glimpse of hope, and his +strength began to give way. Russell’s delirium continued, and he grew +too frightened even to pray. + +A light from the land. The sound of shouts--yes, he could be sure of +it; it was Dr. Rowlands’ voice and Montagu’s. He got convinced of this, +and summoned all his strength to shout in return. The light kept moving +up and down on the shore, not a hundred yards off. His fear vanished; +they were no longer alone. The first moment that the tide suffered any +one to reach them they would be rescued. His mind grew calm again, and +he determined to hold up for Russell’s sake until help should come; and +every now and then, to make it feel less lonely, he answered the shouts +which came from the friendly voices in the fitful pauses of the storm. + +But Dr. Rowlands and Montagu paced up and down, and the master soothed +the boy’s fears, and talked to him so kindly, so gently, that Montagu +began to wonder if this really could be the awful head-master, whose +warm strong hand he was grasping, and who was comforting him as a father +might. What a depth of genuine human kindness that stern exterior +concealed! And every now and then, when the storm blew loudest, the +Doctor would stand still for a moment, and offer up a short intense +prayer, or ejaculation, that help and safety might come to his beloved +charge in their exposure and peril. + +Six or seven hours passed away; at last the wind began to sink, and the +sea to be less violent. The tide was on the turn. The carriage drove up +with, more men and lights, and the thoughtful servant brought with him +the school surgeon, Dr. Underhay. Long and anxiously did they watch the +ebbing tide, and when it had gone out sufficiently to allow of two +stout planks being laid across the channel, an active sailor ventured +over with a light, and in a few moments stood by Eric’s side. Eric saw +him coming, but was too weak and numb to move; and when the sailor +lifted up the unconscious Russell from his knees, Eric was too much +exhausted even to speak. The man returned for him, and lifting him on +his back crossed the plank once more in safety, and carried them both to +the carriage, where Dr. Underhay had taken care to have everything +likely to revive and sustain them. They were driven rapidly to the +school, and the Doctor raised to God tearful eyes of gratitude as the +boys were taken to the rooms prepared for them. Mrs. Rowlands was +anxiously awaiting their arrival, and the noise of wheels was the signal +for twenty heads to be put through the dormitory windows, with many an +anxious inquiry, “Are they safe?” + +“Yes, thank God!” called Dr. Rowlands; “so now, boys, shut the windows, +and get to sleep.” + +Russell was carefully undressed, and put to bed in the Doctor’s own +house, and the wound in his head was dressed. Eric and Montagu had beds +provided them in another room by themselves, away from the dormitory: +the room was bright and cheerful, with a blazing fire, and looked like +home and when the two boys had drank some warm wine, and cried for +weariness and joy, they sank to sleep after their dangers and fatigues, +and slept the deep, calm, dreamless sleep of tired children. + +So ended the perilous adventure of that eventful night of the Easter +holidays. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SILVER CORD BROKEN + + “Calm on the bosom of thy God, + Fair spirit, rest thee now! + E’en while with us thy footsteps trod, + His seal was on thy brow.”--MRS. HEMANS. + +They did not awake till noon. Montagu opened his eyes, and at first +could not collect his thoughts, as he saw the carpeted little room, the +bright fire, and the housekeeper seated in her arm-chair before it. But +turning his head, he caught a glimpse of Eric, who was still asleep, and +he then remembered all. He sprang out of bed, refreshed and perfectly +well, and the sound of his voice woke Eric; but Eric was still languid +and weak, and did not get up that day, nor was he able to go to work +again for some days; but he was young and strong, and his vigorous +constitution soon threw off the effects of his fast and exposure. + +Their first inquiry was for Edwin. The nurse shook her head sadly. “He +is very dangerously ill.” + +“Is he?” said they both, anxiously. And then they preserved a deep +silence; and when Montagu, who immediately began to dress, knelt down to +say his prayers, Eric, though unable to get up, knelt also over his +pillow, and the two felt that their young earnest prayers were mingling +for the one who seemed to have been taken while they were left. + +The reports grew darker and darker about Edwin, At first it was thought +that the blow on his head was dangerous, and that the exposure to wet, +cold, fear, and hunger, had permanently weakened his constitution; and +when his youth seemed to be triumphing over these dangers, another +became more threatening. His leg never mended; he had both sprained the +knee badly, and given the tibia an awkward twist, so that the least +motion was agony to him. + +In his fever he was constantly delirious. No one was allowed to see him, +though many of the boys tried to do so, and many were the earnest +inquiries for him day by day. It then became more fully apparent than +ever, that, although Edwin was among them without being _of_ them, no +boy in the school was more deeply honored and fondly loved than he. Even +the elastic spirits of boyhood could not quite throw off the shadow of +gloom which his illness cast over the school. + +Very tenderly they nursed him. All that human kindness could do was done +for him by the stranger hands. And yet not all; poor Edwin had no +father, no mother, hardly any relatives. His only aunt, Mrs. Upton, +would have come to nurse him, but she was an invalid, and he was often +left alone in his delirium and agony. + +Alone, yet not alone. There was One with him--always in his thoughts, +always leading, guiding, blessing him unseen--not deserting the hurt +lamb of his flock; one who was once a boy himself, and who, when he was +a boy, did his Father’s business, and was subject unto his parents in +the obscure home of the despised village. Alone! nay, to them whose +eyes were opened, the room of sickness and pain was thronged and +beautiful with angelic presences. + +Often did Eric, and Upton, and Montagu, talk of their loved friend. +Eric’s life seemed absorbed in the thought of him, and in passionate, +unspeakable longings for his recovery. Now he valued more than ever the +sweet remembered hours spent with him; their games, and communnings, and +walks, and Russell’s gentle influence, and brave, kindly rebukes. Yet he +must not even see him, must not whisper one word of soothing to him in +his anguish; he could only pray for him, and that he did with a depth +of hope. + +At last Upton, in virtue of his relationship, was allowed to visit him. +His delirium had become more infrequent, but he could not yet even +recognise his cousin, and the visits to his sick-room were so sad and +useless, that Upton forbore. “And yet you should hear him talk in his +delirium,” he said to Eric; “not one evil word, or bad thought, or +wicked thing, ever escapes him. I’m afraid, Eric, it would hardly be so +with you or me.” + +“No” said Eric, in a low and humble tone; and guilty conscience brought +the deep color, wave after wave, of crimson into his cheeks. + +“And he talks with such affection of you, Eric. He speaks sometimes of +all of us very gently; but you seem to be always in his thoughts, and +every now and then he prays for you quite unconsciously.” + +Eric turned his head to brush away a tear. “When do you think I shall be +allowed too see him?” + +“Not just yet, I fear.” + +After a week or two of most anxious suspense, Russell’s mind ceased to +wander, but the state of his sprain gave more cause for alarm. Fresh +advice was called in, and it was decided that the leg must be amputated. + +When Eric was told of this, he burst into passionate complaints. “Only +think, Monty, isn’t it hard, isn’t it cruel? When we see our brave, +bright Edwin again, he will be a cripple.” Eric hardly understood that +he was railing at the providence of a merciful God. + +The day for the operation came. When it was over, poor Russell seemed to +amend, and the removal of the perpetual pain gave him relief. They were +all deeply moved at his touching resignation; no murmur, no cry escaped +him; no words but the sweetest thanks for every little office of +kindness done to him. A few days after, he asked Dr. Underhay “if he +might see Eric?” + +“Yes, my boy,” said the doctor kindly, “you may see him, and one or two +other of your particular friends if you like, provided you don’t excite +yourself too much. I trust you will get better now.” + +So Eric and Montagu were told by Dr. Rowlands that at six they might go +and see their friend. “Be sure,” he added, “that you don’t startle or +excite him.” + +They promised, and after school on that beautiful evening of early +summer they went to the sick-room door Stopping, they held their breath, +and knocked very gently. Yes! it was the well-known voice which gave the +answer, but it was faint and low. Full of awe, they softly opened the +door, which admitted them into the presence of the dear companion whom +they had not seen for so long. Since then it seemed as though gulfs far +deeper than the sea had been flowing between him and them. + +Full of awe, and hand in hand, they entered the room on tiptoe--the +darkened room where Russell was What a hush and oppression there seemed +to them at first in the dim, silent chamber; what an awfulness in all +the appliances which showed how long and deeply their schoolfellow had +suffered. But all this vanished directly they caught sight of his face. +There he lay, so calm, and weak, and still, with his bright, earnest +eyes turned towards them, as though to see whether any of their +affection for him had ceased or been forgotten! + +In an instant they were kneeling in silence by the bed with bowed +foreheads; and the sick boy tenderly put his hands on their heads, and +pushed the frail white fingers through their hair, and looked at them +tearfully without a word, till they hid their faces with their hands, +and broke into deep suppressed sobs of compassion. + +“Oh hush, hush!” he said, as he felt their tears dropping on his hands +while they kissed him. “Dear Eric, dear Monty, why should you cry so for +me? I am very happy.” + +But they caught the outline of his form as he lay on the bed, and had +now for the first time realized that he was a cripple for life; and as +the throng of memories came on them--memories of his skill and fame at +cricket, and racquets, and football--of their sunny bathes together in +sea and river, and all their happy holiday wanderings--they could not +restrain their emotion, and wept uncontrollably. Neither of them could +speak a word, or break the holy silence; and as he patted their heads +and cheeks, his own tears flowed fast in sympathy and self-pity. But he +felt the comforting affection which they could not utter; he felt it in +his loneliness, and it did him good. + +The nurse broke in upon the scene, which she feared would agitate Edwin +too much; and with red eyes and heavy hearts the boys left, only +whispering, “We will come again to-morrow, Edwin!” + +They came the next day, and many days, and got to talk quite cheerfully +with him, and read to him. They loved this occupation more than any +game, and devoted themselves to it. The sorrow of the sick-room more +than repaid them for the glad life without, when they heard Russell’s +simple and heartfelt thanks. “Ah! how good of you, dear fellows,” he +would say, “to give up the merry playground for a wretched cripple,” and +he would smile cheerfully to show that his trial had not made him weary +of life. Indeed, he often told them that he believed they felt for him +more than he did himself. + +One day Eric brought him a little bunch of primroses and violets. He +seemed much better, and Eric’s spirits were high with the thoughts and +hopes of the coming holidays. “There, Edwin,” he said, as the boy +gratefully and eagerly took the flowers, “don’t they make you glad? They +are one of our _three_ signs, you know, of the approaching holidays. One +sign was the first sight of the summer steamer going across the bay; +another was May eve, when these island-fellows light big gorse fires all +over the mountains, and throw yellow marsh-lilies at their doors to keep +off the fairies. Do you remember, Eddy, gathering some last May eve, and +sitting out in the playground till sunset, watching the fires begin to +twinkle on Cronck-Irey and Barrule for miles away? What a jolly talk we +had that evening about the holidays; but my father and mother were here +then, you know, and we were all going to Fairholm. But the third +sign--the first primrose and violet--was always the happiest. You can’t +think how I _grabbed_ at the first primrose this year; I found it by a +cave on the Ness. And though these are rather the last than the first, +yet I knew you’d like them, Eddy, so I hunted for them everywhere. And +how much better you’re looking too; such shining eyes, and, yes! I +positively declare, quite a ruddy cheek like your old one. You’ll soon +be out among us again, that’s clear----” + +He stopped abruptly: he had been rattling on just in the merry way that +Russell now most loved to hear, but, as he was talking, he caught the +touch of sadness on Russell’s face, and saw his long, abstracted, eager +look at the flowers. + +“Dear fellow, you’re not worse, are you?” he said quickly. “What a fool +I am to chatter so; it makes you ill.” + +“No, no, Eric, talk on; you can’t think how I love to hear you. Oh, how +very beautiful these primroses are! Thank you, thank you, for bringing +them.” And he again fixed on them the eager dreamy look which had +startled Eric--as though he were learning their color and shape +by heart. + +“I wish I hadn’t brought them, though,” said Eric, “they are filling +your mind with regrets. But, Eddy, you’ll be well by the holidays--a +month hence, you know--or else I shouldn’t have talked so gladly +about them.” + +“No, Eric,” said Russell sadly, “these dear flowers are the last spring +blossoms that I shall see--_here_ at least. Yes, I will keep them, for +your sake, Eric, till I die.” + +“Oh don’t talk so,” said Eric, shocked and flustered, “why everybody +knows and says that you’re getting better.” + +Russell smiled and shook his head. “No, Eric, I shall die. There stop, +dear fellow, don’t cry,” said he, raising his hands quietly to Eric’s +face; “isn’t it better for me so? I own it seemed sad at first to leave +this bright world and the sea--yes, even that cruel sea,” he continued +smiling; “and to leave Roslyn, and Upton, and Monty, and, above all, to +leave _you_, Eric, whom I love best in all the world. Yes, remember I’ve +no home, Eric, and no prospects. There was nothing to be sorry for in +this, so long as God gave me health and strength; but health went for +ever into those waves at the Stack, where you saved my life, dear, +gallant Eric; and what could I do now? It doesn’t look so happy to +_halt_ through life. Oh Eric, Eric, I am young, but I am dying--dying, +Eric,” he said solemnly, “my brother; let me call you brother; I have no +near relations, you know, to fill up the love in my yearning heart, but +I _do_ love _you_. Kiss me, Eric, as though I were a child, and you a +child. There, that comforts me; I feel as if I _were_ a child again, and +had a dear brother;--and I _shall_ be a child again soon, Eric, in the +courts of a Father’s house.” + +Eric could not speak. These words startled him; he never dreamt +_recently_ of Russell’s death, but had begun to reckon on his recovery, +and now life seemed darker to him than ever. + +But Russell was pressing the flowers to his lips. “The grass +withereth,” he murmured, “the flower fadeth, and the glory of its beauty +perisheth; but--_but_ the word of the Lord endureth for ever.” And here +he too burst into natural tears, and Eric pressed his hand, with more +than a brother’s fondness, to his heart. + +“Oh Eddy, Eddy, my heart is full,” he said, “too full to speak to you. +Let me read to you;” and with Russell’s arm round his neck he sat down, +beside his pillow, and read to him about “the pure river of water of +life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the +Lamb.” At first sobs choked his voice, but it gathered firmness as +he went on. + +“In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was +there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded +her fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing +of the nations. + +“And there shall be no more curse”--and here the reader’s musical voice +rose into deeper and steadier sweetness--“but the throne of God and of +the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him; and they +shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads.” + +“And they shall see his face,” murmured Russell, “_and they shall see +his face_” Eric paused and looked at him; a sort of rapture seemed to be +lighted in his eyes, as though they saw heavenly things, and his +countenance was like an angel’s to look upon. Eric closed the book +reverently, and gazed. + +“And now pray for me, Eric, will you?” Eric knelt down, but no prayer +would come; his breast swelled; and his heart beat fast, but emotion +prevented him from uttering a word. But Russell laid his hand on his +head and prayed. + +“O gracious Lord God, look down, merciful Father on us, two erring, +weak, sinful boys; look down and bless us, Lord, for the love thou +bearest unto thy children. One thou art taking; Lord, take me to the +green pastures of thy home, where no curse is; and one remains--O Lord! +bless him with the dew of thy blessing; lead and guide him, and keep him +for ever in thy fear and love, that he may continue thine for ever, and +hereafter we may meet together among the redeemed, in the immortal glory +of the resurrection. Hear us, O Father, for thy dear Son’s sake. +Amen! Amen!” + +The childlike, holy, reverent voice ceased, and Eric rose. One long +brotherly kiss he printed on Russell’s forehead, and, full of sorrowful +forebodings, bade him good night. + +He asked Dr. Underhay whether his fears were correct. “Yes,” he said, +“he may die at any time; he _must_ die soon. It is even best that he +should; besides the loss of a limb, that blow on the head would +certainly affect the brain and the intellect if he lived.” + +Eric shuddered--a long cold shudder. + +The holidays drew on; for Russell’s sake, and at his earnest wish, Eric +had worked harder than he ever did before. All his brilliant abilities, +all his boyish ambition, were called into exercise; and, to the delight +of every one, he gained ground rapidly, and seemed likely once more to +dispute the palm with Owen. No one rejoiced more in this than Mr. Rose, +and he often gladdened Russell’s heart by telling him about it; for +every day he had a long visit to the sick boy’s room, which refreshed +and comforted them both. + +In other respects, too, Eric seemed to be turning over a new leaf. He +and Upton, by common consent, had laid aside smoking, and every bad +habit or disobedient custom which would have grieved the dying boy, whom +they both loved so well. And although Eric’s popularity, after the +romantic Stack adventure and his chivalrous daring, was at its very +zenith,--although he had received a medal and flattering letter from the +Humane Society, who had been informed of the transaction by Dr. +Rowlands,--although his success both physical and intellectual was +higher than ever,--yet the dread of the great loss he was doomed to +suffer, and the friendship which was to be snapped, overpowered every +other feeling, and his heart was ennobled and purified by contact with +his suffering friend. + +It was a June evening, and he and Russell were alone; he had drawn up +the blind, and through the open window the summer breeze, pure from the +sea and fragrant from the garden, was blowing refreshfully into the sick +boy’s room. Russell was very, very happy. No doubt, no fear, assailed +him; all was peace and trustfulness. Long and earnestly that evening did +he talk to Eric, and implore him to shun evil ways, striving to lead him +gently to that love of God which was his only support and refuge now. +Tearfully and humbly Eric listened, and every now and then the sufferer +stopped to pray aloud. + +“Good night, Eric,” he said, “I am tired, _so_ tired. I hope we shall +meet again; I shall give you my desk and all my books, Eric, except a +few for Horace, Owen, Duncan, and Monty. And my watch, that dear watch +your mother, _my_ mother, gave me, I shall leave to Rose as a +remembrance of us both. Good night, brother.” + +A little before ten that night Eric was again summoned with Upton and +Montagu to Russell’s bedside. He was sinking fast; and as he had but a +short time to live, he expressed a desire to see them, though he could +see no others. + +They came, and were amazed to see how bright the dying boy looked. They +received his last farewells--he would die that night. Sweetly he blessed +them, and made them promise to avoid all evil, and read the Bible, and +pray to God. But he had only strength to speak at intervals. Mr. Rose, +too, was there; it seemed as though he held the boy by the hand, as +fearlessly now, yea, joyously, he entered the waters of the dark river. + +“Oh, I should _so_ like to stay with you, Monty, Horace, dear, dear +Eric, but God calls me. I am going--a long way--to my father and +mother--and to the light. I shall not be a cripple there--nor be in +pain.” His words grew slow and difficult. “God bless you, dear fellows; +God bless you, dear Eric; I am going--to God.” + +He sighed very gently; there was a slight sound in his throat, and he +was dead. A terrible scene of boyish anguish followed, as they kissed +again and again the lifeless brow. But quietly, calmly, Mr. Rose checked +them, and they knelt down with streaming eyes while he prayed. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +HOME AGAIN + + “O far beyond the waters + The fickle feet may roam, + But they find no light so pure and bright + As the one fair star of home; + The star of tender hearts, lady, + That glows in an English home,” + + F.W.F. + +That night when Eric returned to No. 7, full of grief, and weighed down +with the sense of desolation and mystery, the other boys were silent +from sympathy in his sorrow. Duncan and Llewellyn both knew and loved +Russell themselves, and they were awestruck to hear of his death; they +asked some of the particulars, but Eric was not calm enough to tell them +that evening. The one sense of infinite loss agitated him, and he +indulged his paroxysms of emotion unrestrained, yet silently. Reader, if +ever the life has been cut short which you most dearly loved, if ever +you have been made to feel absolutely lonely in the world, then, and +then only, will you appreciate the depth of his affliction. + +But, like all affliction, it purified and sanctified. To Eric, as he +rested his aching head on a pillow wet with tears, and vainly sought for +the sleep whose blessing he had never learned to prize before, how +odious seemed all the vice which he had seen and partaken in since he +became an inmate of that little room. How his soul revolted with +infinite disgust from the language which he had heard, and the open +glorying in sin of which he had so often been a witness. The stain and +the shame of sin fell heavier than ever on his heart; it rode on his +breast like a nightmare; it haunted his fancy with visions of guilty +memory, and shapes of horrible regret. The ghosts of buried misdoings, +which he had thought long lost in the mists of recollection, started up +menacingly from their forgotten graves, and made him shrink with a sense +of their awful reality. Behind him, like a wilderness, lay years which +the locust had eaten; the intrusted hours which had passed away, and +been reckoned to him as they past. + +And the thought of Russell mingled with all--Russell, as he fondly +imagined him now, glorified with the glory of heaven, crowned, and in +white robes, and with a palm in his hand. Yes, he had walked and talked +with one of the Holy Ones. Had Edwin’s death, quenched his human +affections, and altered his human heart? If not, might not he be there +even now, leaning over his friend with the beauty of his invisible +presence? The thought startled him, and seemed to give an awful lustre +to the moonbeam which fell into the room. No; he could not endure such a +presence now, with his weak conscience and corrupted heart; and Eric hid +his head under the clothes, and shut his eyes. + +Once more the pang of separation entered like iron into his soul. Should +he ever meet Russell again? What if _he_ had died instead of Edwin, +where would he have been? “Oh, no! no!” he murmured aloud, as the +terrible thought came over him of his own utter unfitness for death, and +the possibility that he might never, never again hear the beloved +accents, or gaze on the cherished countenance of his school friend. + +In this tumult of accusing thoughts he fell asleep; but that night the +dew of blessing did not fall for him on the fields of sleep. He was +frightened by unbidden dreams, in all of which his conscience obtruded +on him his sinfulness, and his affection called up the haunting +lineaments of the dear dead face. He was wandering down a path, at the +end of which Russell stood with open arms inviting him earnestly to join +him there; he saw his bright ingenuous smile, and heard, as of old, his +joyous words, and he hastened to meet him; when suddenly the boy-figure +disappeared, and in its place he saw the stern brow, and gleaming +garments, and drawn flaming sword of the Avenger. And then he was in a +great wood alone, and wandering, when the well-known voice called his +name, and entreated him to turn from that evil place; and he longed to +turn,--but, whenever he tried, ghostly hands seemed to wave him back +again, and irresistible cords to drag him into the dark forest, amid the +sound of mocking laughs. Then he was sinking, sinking, sinking into a +gulf, deep and darker even than the inner darkness of a sin-desolated +heart; sinking, helplessly, hopelessly, everlastingly; while far away, +like a star, stood the loved figure in light infinitely above him, and +with pleading hands implored his deliverance, but could not prevail; and +Eric was still sinking, sinking, infinitely, when the agony awoke him +with a violent start and stifled scream. + +He could sleep no longer. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the pale, +dead, holy features of Edwin, and at last he fancied that he was praying +beside his corpse, praying to be more like _him_, who lay there so white +and calm; sorrowing beside it, sorrowing that he had so often rejected +his kind warnings, and pained his affectionate heart. So Eric began +again to make good resolutions about all his future life. Ah! how often +he had done so before, and how often they had failed. He had not yet +learned the lesson which David learned by sad experience; “Then I said, +it is mine own infirmity, _but I will remember the years of the right +hand of the Most High_.” + +That, too, was an eventful night for Montagu. He had grown of late far +more thoughtful than before; under Edwin’s influence he had been laying +aside, one by one, the careless sins of school life, and his tone was +nobler and manlier than it had ever been. Montagu had never known or +heard much about godliness; his father, a gentleman, a scholar, and a +man of the world, had trained him in the principles of refinement and +good taste, and given him a high standard of conventional honor; but he +passed through life lightly, and had taught his son to do the same. +Possessed of an ample fortune, which Montagu was to inherit, he troubled +himself with none of the deep mysteries of life, and + + “Pampered the coward heart + With feelings all too delicate for use; + Nursing in some delicious solitude + His dainty love and slothful sympathies.” + +But Montagu in Edwin’s sick-room and by his death bed; in the terrible +storm at the Stack, and by contact with Dr. Rowlands’ earnestness, and +Mr. Rose’s deep, unaffected, sorrow-mingled piety; by witnessing Eric’s +failures and recoveries; and by beginning to take in his course the same +heartfelt interest which Edwin taught him--Montagu, in consequence of +these things, had begun to see another side of life, which awoke all his +dormant affections and profoundest reasonings. It seemed as though, for +the first time, he began to catch some of + + “The still gad music of humanity,” + +and to listen with deep eagerness to the strain. Hitherto, to be well +dressed, handsome, agreeable, rich, and popular, had been to him a +realised ideal of life; but now he awoke to higher and worthier aims; +and once, when Russell, whose intelligent interest in his work exceeded +that of any other boy, had pointed out to him that solemn question of +Euripides-- + + “[Greek: Ohiei su tous thanontas o Nichaezate + Tzuphaes hapasaes metalabontas en bips + Pepheugenai to theion];” + +he fell into a train of reflection, which made a lasting impression upon +his character. + +The holidays were approaching. Eric, to escape as much, as possible from +his sorrow, plunged into the excitement of working for the examination, +and rapidly made up for lost ground. He now spent most of his time with +the best of his friends, particularly Montagu, Owen, and Upton; for +Upton, like himself, had been much sobered by sorrow at their loss. This +time he came out _second_ in his form, and gained more than one prize. +This was his first glimpse of real delight since Russell’s death; and +when the prize-day came, and he stood with his companions in the +flower-decorated room, and went up amid universal applause to take his +prize-books, and receive a few words of compliment from the governor who +took the chair, he felt almost happy, and keenly entered into the +pleasure which his success caused, as well as into the honors won by his +friends. One outward sign only remained of his late bereavement--his +mourning dress. All the prize-boys wore rosebuds or lilies of the valley +in their button-holes on the occasion, but on this day Eric would not +wear them. Little Wright, who was a great friend of theirs, had brought +some as a present both to Eric and Montagu, as they stood together on +the prize-day morning; they took them with thanks, and, as their eyes +met, they understood each other’s thoughts. + +“No,” said Eric to Wright, “we won’t wear these to-day, although we have +both got prizes. Come along I know what we will do with them.” + +They all three walked together to the little green, quiet churchyard, +where, by his own request, Edwin had been buried. Many a silent visit +had the friends paid to that grave, on which the turf was now green +again, and the daisies had begun to bloom. A stone had just been placed +to mark the spot, and they read-- + + SACRED TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + AN ORPHAN, + + WHO DIED AT ROSLYN SCHOOL, MAY 1847, + + AGED FIFTEEN YEARS. + + * * * * * + + “_Is it well with the child? It is well_.” + + 2 KINGS iv. 26. + +The three boys stood by the grave in silence and sorrow for a time. + +“He would have been the gladdest at our success. Monty,” said Eric; “let +us leave the signs of it upon his grave.” + +And, with reverent hand, scattering over that small mound the choice +rosebuds and fragrant lilies with their green leaves, they turned away +without another word. + +The next morning the great piles of corded boxes which crowded the +passage were put on the coach, and the boys, gladly leaving the deserted +building, drove in every sort of vehicle to the steamer. What joyous +triumphant mornings those were! How the heart exulted and bounded with, +the sense of life and pleasure, and how universal was the gladness and +good humor of every one. Never were voyages so merry as those of the +steamer that day, and even the “good-byes” that had to be said at +Southpool were lightly borne. From thence the boys quickly scattered to +the different railways, and the numbers of those who were travelling +together got thinner and thinner as the distance increased. Wright and +one or two others went nearly all the way with Eric, and when he got +down at the little roadside station, from whence started the branch rail +to Ayrton, he bade them merry and affectionate farewell. The branch +train soon started, and in another hour he would be at Fairholm. + +It was not till then that his home feelings woke in all their intensity. +He had not been there for a year. At Roslyn the summer holidays were +nine weeks, and the holidays at Christmas and Easter were short, so that +it had not been worth while to travel so far as Fairholm, and Eric had +spent his Christmas with friends in another part of the island. But now +he was once more to see dear Fairholm, and his aunt, his cousin Fanny, +and above all, his little brother. His heart was beating fast with joy, +and his eyes sparkling with pleasure and excitement. As he thrust his +head out of the window, each well-remembered landmark gave him the +delicious sensation of meeting again an old friend. “Ah! there’s the +white bridge, and there’s the canal, and the stile; and _there_ runs the +river, and there’s Velvet Lawn. Hurrah! here we are.” And springing out +of the train before it had well stopped, he had shaken hands heartily +with the old coachman, who was expecting him, and jumped up into the +carriage in a moment. + +Through the lanes he knew so well, by whose hedgerows he had so often +plucked sorrel and wild roses; past the old church with its sleeping +churchyard; through, the quiet village, where every ten yards he met old +acquaintances who looked pleased to see him, and whom he greeted with +glad smiles and nods of recognition; past the Latin school, from which +came murmurs and voices as of yore (what a man he felt himself now by +comparison!);--by the old Roman camp, where he had imagined such heroic +things when he was a child; through all the scenes so rich with the +memories and associations of his happy childhood, they flew along; and +now they had entered the avenue, and Eric was painfully on the look-out. + +Yes! there they were all three--Mrs. Trevor, and Fanny, and Vernon, on +the mound at the end of the avenue; and the younger ones ran to meet +him. It was a joyous meeting; he gave Fanny a hearty kiss, and put his +arm round Vernon’s neck, and then held him in front to have a look +at him. + +“How tall you’ve grown, Verny, and how well you look,” he said, gazing +proudly at him; and indeed the boy was a brother to be justly proud of. +And Vernon quite returned the admiration as he saw the healthy glow of +Eric’s features, and the strong graceful development of his limbs. + +And so they quickly joined Mrs. Trevor, who embraced her nephew with a +mother’s love: and, amid all that nameless questioning of delightful +trifles, that “blossoming vein” of household talk, which gives such an +incommunicable charm to the revisiting of home, they all three turned +into the house, where Eric, hungry with his travels, did ample justice +to the “jolly spread” prepared for him, luxurious beyond anything he had +seen for his last year at school. When he and Vernon went up to their +room at night--the same little room in which they slept on the night +when they first had met--they marked their heights on the door again, +which showed Eric that in the last year he had grown two inches, a fact +which he pointed out to Vernon with no little exultation. And then they +went to bed, and to a sleep over which brooded the indefinite sensation +of a great unknown joy;--that rare heavenly sleep which only comes once +or twice or thrice in life, on occasions such as this. + +He was up early next morning, and, opening his window, leaned out with +his hands among the green vine-leaves which encircled it. The garden +looked beautiful as ever, and he promised himself an early enjoyment of +those currants which hung in ruby clusters over the walls. Everything +was bathed in the dewy balm of summer morning, and he felt very happy +as, with his little spaniel frisking round him, he visited the great +Newfoundland in his kennel, and his old pet the pony in the stable. He +had barely finished his rounds when breakfast was ready, and he once +more met the home-circle from which he had been separated for a year. +And yet over all his happiness hung a sense of change and half +melancholy; they were not changed but _he_ was changed. Mrs. Trevor, and +Fanny, and Vernon were the same as ever, but over _him_, had come an +alteration of feeling and circumstance; an unknown or half-known +_something_ which cast a shadow between them and him, and sometimes made +him half shrink and start as he met their loving looks. Can no +schoolboy, who reads history, understand and explain the feeling which +I mean? + +By that mail he wrote to his father and mother an account of Russell’s +death, and he felt that they would guess why the letter was so blurred. +“But,” he wrote, “I have some friends still; especially Mr. Rose among +the masters, and Monty and Upton among the boys. Monty you know; he is +more like Edwin than any other boy, and I like him very much. You didn’t +know Upton, but I am a great deal with him, though he is much older than +I am. He is a fine handsome fellow, and one of the most popular in the +school. I hope you will know him some day.” + +The very next morning Eric received a letter which he at once recognised +to be in Upton’s handwriting He eagerly tore off the envelope, +and read-- + +“My dearest Eric--I have got bad news to tell you, at least, I feel it +to be bad news for me, and I flatter myself that you will feel it to be +bad news for you. In short, I am going to leave Roslyn, and probably we +shall never meet there again. The reason is, I have had a cadetship +given me, and I am to sail for India in September. I have already +written to the school to tell them to pack up and send me all my books +and clothes. + +“I feel leaving very much; it has made me quite miserable. I wanted to +stay at school another year at least; and I will honestly tell you, +Eric, one reason: I’m very much afraid that I’ve done you, and Graham, +and other fellows, no good; and I wanted, if I possibly could, to undo +the harm I had done. Poor Edwin’s death opened my eyes to a good many +things, and now I’d give all I have never to have taught or encouraged +you in wrong things. Unluckily it’s too late;--only, I hope that you +already see, as I do, that the things I mean lead to evil far greater +than we ever used to dream of. + +“Good-bye now, old fellow! Do write to me soon, and forgive me, and +believe me ever--Your most affectionate, HORACE UPTON.” + +“P.S.--Is that jolly little Vernon going back to school with you this +time? I remember seeing him running about the shore with my poor cousin, +when you were a home-boarder, and thinking what a nice little chap he +looked. I hope you’ll look after him as a brother should, and keep him +out of mischief.” + +Eric folded the letter sadly, and put it into his pocket; he didn’t +often show them his school letters, because, like this one, they often +contained allusions to things which he did not like his aunt to know. +The thought of Upton’s leaving him made him quite unhappy, and he wrote +him a long letter by that post, indignantly denying the supposition that +his friendship had ever done him anything but good. + +The postscript about Vernon suggested a thought that had often been in +his mind. He could not but shudder in himself, when he thought of that +bright little brother of his being initiated in the mysteries of evil +which he himself had learnt, and sinking like himself into slow +degeneracy of heart and life. It puzzled and perplexed him, and at last +he determined to open his heart, partially at least, in a letter to Mr. +Rose. The master fully understood his doubts, and wrote him the +following reply:-- + +“My dear Eric--I have just received your letter about your brother +Vernon, and I think that it does you honor. I will briefly give you my +own opinion. + +“You mean, no doubt, that, from your own experience, you fear that +Vernon will hear at school many things which will shock his modesty, and +much language which is evil and blasphemous; you fear that he will meet +with many bad examples, and learn to look on God and godliness in a way +far different from that to which he has been accustomed at home. You +fear, in short, that he must pass through the same painful temptations +to which you have yourself been subjected; to which, perhaps, you have +even succumbed. + +“Well, Eric, this is all true. Yet, knowing this, I say, by all means +let Vernon come to Roslyn. The innocence of mere ignorance is a poor +thing; it _cannot_, under any circumstances, be permanent, nor is it at +all valuable as a foundation of character. The true preparation for +life, the true basis of a manly character, is not to have been ignorant +of evil, but to have known it and avoided it; not to hare been sheltered +from temptation, but to have passed through it and overcome it by God’s +help. Many have drawn exaggerated pictures of the lowness of public +school morality; the best answer is to point to the good and splendid +men that have been trained in public schools, and who lose no +opportunity of recurring to them with affection. It is quite possible to +be _in_ the little world of school-life, and yet not _of_ it. The ruin +of human souls can never be achieved by enemies from without, unless +they be aided by traitors from within. Remember our lost friend; the +peculiar lustre of his piety was caused by the circumstances under which +he was placed. He often told me before his last hour, that he rejoiced +to have been at Roslyn; that he had experienced there much real +happiness, and derived in every way lasting good. + +“I hope you have been enjoying your holidays, and that you will come +back with the ‘spell of home affection’ alive in your heart. I shall +rejoice to make Vernon’s acquaintance, and will do for him all I can. +Bring him with you to me in the library as soon as you arrive.--Ever, +dear Eric, + +“Affectionately yours, + +“WALTER ROSA.” + +END OF PART I + + + +PART II + +“Sed revocare gradum.”--VIRGIL. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER I + +ABDIEL + + [Greek: Phtheirousin aethae chraesth’ omiliai kakai].--MENANDEB. + +A year had passed since the events narrated in the last chapter, and had +brought with it many changes. + +To Eric the changes were not for good. The memories of Russell were +getting dim; the resolutions made during his illness had vanished; the +bad habits laid aside after his death had been resumed. All this took +place very gradually; there were many inward struggles, much occasional +remorse, but the struggles by degrees grew weaker, and remorse lost its +sting, and Eric Williams soon learned again to follow the multitude +to do evil. + +He was now sixteen years old, and high in the fifth form, and, besides +this, he was captain of the school eleven. In work he had fallen off and +no one now expected the fulfilment of that promise of genius which he +had given when he first came. But in all school sports he had improved, +and was the acknowledged leader and champion in matters requiring +boldness and courage. His popularity made him giddy; favor of man led +him to forgetfulness of God; and even a glance at his countenance showed +a self-sufficiency and arrogance which ill became the refinement of his +features, and ill replaced the ingenuous modesty of former years. + +And Vernon Williams was no longer a new boy. The worst had happened to +him, which Eric in his better moments could have feared. He had fallen +into thoroughly bad hands, and Eric, who should have been his natural +guardian and guide, began to treat him with indifference, and scarcely +ever had any affectionate intercourse with him. It is by no means +unfrequent that brothers at school see but little of each other, and +follow their several pursuits, and choose their various companions, with +small regard to the relationship between them. + +Yet Eric could not overlook or be blind to the fact, that Vernon’s chief +friend or leader was the most undesirable whom he could have chosen. It +was a new boy named Brigson. This boy had been expelled from one of the +most ill-managed schools in Ireland, although, of course, the fact had +been most treacherously concealed from the authorities at Roslyn; and +now he was let loose, without warning or caution, among the Roslyn boys. +Better for them if their gates had been open to the pestilence! the +pestilence could but have killed the body, but this boy--this fore-front +fighter in the devil’s battle--did ruin many an immortal soul. He +systematically, from the very first, called evil good and good evil, +put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. He openly threw aside the +admission of any one moral obligation. Never did some of the Roslyn +boys, to their dying day, forget the deep, intolerable, unfathomable +flood of moral turpitude and iniquity which he bore with him; a flood, +which seemed so irresistible, and the influence of such boys as Montagu +and Owen to stay its onrush seemed as futile as the weight of a feather +to bar the fury of a mountain stream. Eric might have done much, Duncan +might have done much, to aid the better cause, had they tried; but they +resisted at first but faintly, and then not at all, until they too were +swept away in the broadening tide of degeneracy and sin. + +Big, burly, and strong, though much younger than he looked (if he stated +his age correctly, which I doubt), Brigson, being low in the school, +naturally became the bully and the Coryphaeus of all the lower +forms--the bully if they opposed him, the Coryphaeus if they accepted +his guidance. A little army of small boys attended him, and were ever +ready for the schemes of mischief to which he deliberately trained them, +until they grew almost as turbulent, as disobedient, and as wicked, as +himself. He taught, both, by precept and example, that towards masters +neither honor was to be recognized, nor respect to be considered due. To +cheat them, to lie to them, to annoy them in every possible way--to +misrepresent their motives, mimic their defects, and calumniate their +actions--was the conduct which he inaugurated towards them; and for the +time that he continued at Roslyn the whole lower school was a +Pandemonium of evil passions and despicable habits. + +Every one of the little boys became more or less amenable to his +influence, and among them. Vernon Williams. Had Eric done his duty this +would never have been; but he was half-ashamed to be often with his +brother, and disliked to find him so often creeping to his side. He +flattered himself that in this feeling he was only anxious that Vernon +should grow spirited and independent; but, had he examined himself, he +would have found selfishness at the bottom of it. Once or twice his +manner showed harshness to Vernon, and the little boy both observed and +resented it. Montagu and others noticed him for Eric’s sake; but, being +in the same form with Brigson, Vernon was thrown much with him, and +feeling, as he did, deserted and lonely, he was easily caught by the +ascendancy of his physical strength and reckless daring. Before three +months were over, he became, to Eric’s intolerable disgust, a ringleader +in the band of troublesome scapegraces, whose increasing numbers were +the despair of all who had the interests of the school at heart. + +Unfortunately, Owen was now head of the school, and from his +constitutional want of geniality, he was so little of a boy that he had +no sympathy from the others, and little authority over them. He simply +kept aloof, holding his own way, and retiring into his own tastes and +pursuits, and the society of one or two congenial spirits in the school, +so as in no way to come in contact with the spreading corruption. + +Montagu, now Owen’s chief friend, was also in the sixth, and fearlessly +expressed at once his contempt for Brigson, and his dread of the evil he +was effecting. Had the monitorial system existed, that contagion could +have been checked at once; but, as it was, brute force the unlimited +authority. Ill indeed are those informed who raise a cry, and join in +the ignorant abuse of that noble safeguard of English schools. Any who +have had personal and intimate experience of how schools work _with_ it +and _without_ it, know what a Palladium it is of happiness and morality; +how it prevents bullying, upholds manliness, is the bulwark of +discipline, and makes boys more earnest and thoughtful, often at the +most critical period of their lives, by enlisting all their sympathies +and interests on the side of the honorable and the just. + +Brigson knew at a glance whom he had most to fear; Bull, Attlay, +Llewellyn, Graham, all tolerated or even approved of him. Owen did not +come in his way, so he left him unmolested. To Eric and Duncan he was +scrupulously civil, and by flattery and deference managed to keep +apparently on excellent terms with them. Eric pretended to be ignorant +of the harm he was bringing about, and in answer to the indignant and +measureless invectives of Montagu and others, professed to see in +Brigson a very good fellow; rather wild, perhaps, but still a very +good fellow. + +Brigson hated Montagu, because he read on his features the unvarying +glance of withering contempt. He dared not come across him openly, since +Montagu was so high in the school; and besides, though much the bigger +of the two, Brigson was decidedly afraid of him. But he chose sly +methods of perpetual annoyance. He nick-named him “Rosebud;” he talked +_at_ him whenever he had an opportunity; he poisoned the minds of the +gang of youngsters against him; he spread malicious reports about him; +he diminished his popularity, and embittered his feelings, by every +secret and underhand means which, lay in his power. + +One method of torment was most successful. As a study-boy, Montagu did +not come to bed till an hour later than _the_ lower part of the school, +and Brigson taught some of the little fellows to play all kinds of +tricks to his bed and room, so that, when he came down, it was with the +certainty of finding everything in confusion. Sometimes his bed would be +turned right on end, and he would have to put it to the ground and +remake it before he could lie down. Sometimes all the furniture in the +room would be thrown about in different corners, with no trace of the +offender. Sometimes he would find all sorts of things put inside the bed +itself. The intolerable part of the vexation was, to be certain that +this was done by Brigson’s instigation, or by his own hand, without +having the means of convicting or preventing him. Poor Monty grew very +sad at heart, and this perpetual dastardly annoyance weighed the more +heavily on his spirits, from its being of a kind which peculiarly grated +on his refined taste, and his natural sense of what was gentlemanly +and fair. + +One night, coming down, as usual, in melancholy dread, he saw a light +under the door of his room. It struck him that he was earlier than +usual, and he walked up quickly and noiselessly. There they were at it! +The instant he entered, there was a rush through the opposite door, and +he felt convinced that one of the retreating figures was Brigson’s. In a +second he had sprung across, so as to prevent the rest from running, and +with heaving breast and flaming eyes, glared at the intruders as they +stood there, sheepish and afraid. + +“What!” he said angrily, “so _you_ are the fellows who have had the +cowardice to annoy me thus, night after night, for weeks; you miserable, +degraded young animals!” And he looked at the four or five who had not +made their escape. “What! and _you_ among them,” he said with a start, +as he caught the eye of Vernon Williams--“Oh, this is too bad.” His tone +showed the deepest sorrow and vexation, and for a moment he said no +more. Instantly Vernon was by him. + +“_Do_ forgive me, _do_ forgive me, Montagu,” he said; “I really didn’t +know it teased you so much.” + +But Montagu shook him off, and at once recovered himself. “Wretched +boys! let me see what you have been doing to-night. Oh, as usual,” he +said, glancing at the complete disorder which they had been effecting. +“Ha! but what is this? So Brigson has introduced another vile secret +among you. Well, he shall rue it!” and he pointed to some small, almost +invisible flakes of a whitish substance scattered here and there over +his pillow. It was a kind of powder, which if once it touched the skin, +caused the most violent and painful irritation. + +“By heavens, this is _too_ bad!” he exclaimed, stamping his foot with +anger. “What have I ever done to you young blackguards, that you should +treat me thus? Have I ever been a bully? Have I ever harmed one of you? +And _you_, too, Vernon Williams!” + +The little boy trembled and looked ashamed under his noble glance of +sorrow and scorn. + +“Well, I _know_ who has put you up to this; but you shall not escape so. +I shall thrash you every one.” + +Very quietly he suited the action to the word, sparing none. They took +it patiently enough, conscious of richly deserving it; and when it was +over, Vernon said, “Forgive me, Montagu. I am very sorry, and will never +do so again.” Montagu, without deigning a reply, motioned them to go, +and then sat down, full of grief, on his bed. But the outrage was not +over for that night, and no sooner had he put out the light than he +became painfully aware that several boys were stealing into the room, +and the next moment he felt a bolster fall on his head. He was out of +bed in an instant, and with a few fierce and indignant blows, had +scattered the crowd of his cowardly assailants, and driven them away. A +number of fellows had set on him in the dark--on _him_, of all others. +Oh, what a change must have happened in the school that this should be +possible! He felt that the contagion of Brigson’s baseness had spread +far indeed. + +He fought like a lion, and several of the conspirators had reason to +repent their miscalculation in assaulting so spirited an antagonist. But +this did not content him; his blood was up, and he determined to attack +the evil at its source. He strode through his discomfited enemies +straight into Brigson’s room, struck a match, and said, “Brigson, get +out of bed this instant.” + +“Hullo!” grunted Brigson, pretending to be only just awake. + +“None of that, you blackguard! Will you take a thrashing?” + +“No!” roared Brigson, “I should think not.” + +“Well, then, take _that_!” he shouted, striking him in the face. + +The fight that followed was very short. In a single round Montagu had +utterly thrashed, and stricken to the earth, and forced to beg for +mercy, his cumbrous and brutal opponent. He seemed to tower above him +with a magnificent superiority, and there was a self-controlled passion +about him which gave tremendous energy to every blow. Brigson was +utterly dashed, confounded, and cowed, and took without a word the +parting kick of ineffable contempt which Montagu bestowed on him. + +“There,” he said to the fellows, who had thronged in from all the +dormitories at the first hint of a fight, “I, a sixth-form fellow, have +condescended to thrash that base coward there, whom all you miserable +lower boys have been making an idol and hero of, and from whom you have +been so readily learning every sort of blackguardly and debasing trick. +But let me tell you and your hero, that if any of you dare to annoy or +lift a finger at me again, you shall do it at your peril. I despise you +all; there is hardly one gentlemanly or honorable fellow left among you +since that fellow Brigson has come here; yes, I despise you, and you +know that you deserve it.” And every one of them _did_ shrink before his +just and fiery rebuke. + +The scene was not over when the door suddenly opened, and Mr. Rose +appeared. He stood amazed to see Montagu there in his night-shirt, the +boys all round, and Brigson washing his nose, which was bleeding +profusely, at his basin. + +Montagu instantly stepped up to him. “You can trust me, sir; may I ask +you kindly to say nothing of this? I have been thrashing some one that +deserved it, and teaching these fellows a lesson.” + +Mr. Rose saw and allowed for his excited manner. “I can trust you,” he +said, “Montagu, and shall take no farther notice of this irregularity. +And now get instantly to your beds.” + +But Montagu, slipping on his clothes, went straight up to the studies, +and called the upper boys together. He briefly told them what had +occurred, and they rejoiced greatly, binding themselves for the future +to check, if they could, by all fair means, Brigson’s pernicious +influence and abominable example. + +But it was too late now; the mischief was done. + +“O Eric,” said Montagu, “why did you not make a stand against all this +before? Your own brother was one of them.” + +“Little wretch. I’ll kick him well for it,” said Eric. + +“No, no!” said Montagu, “that’ll do no good. Try rather to look after +him a little more.” + +“I hope _you_ will forgive him, and try and rescue him.” + +“I will do what I can,” said Montagu, coldly. + +Eric sighed, and they parted. + +Montagu had hoped that after this Eric would at least break off all open +connection with Brigson; and, indeed, Eric had meant to do so. But that +personage kept carefully out of his way until the first burst of +indignation against him had subsided, and after a time began to address +Eric as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile he had completely regained +his ascendancy over the lower part of the school, which was not +difficult, because they were wincing under Montagu’s contempt, and +mingled no little dislike with it; a dislike which all are too apt to +feel towards those whose very presence and moral superiority are a tacit +rebuke of their own failings. But while Montagu was hated, Eric was at +the zenith of popular favor, a favor which Brigson ostentatiously +encouraged. He was openly flattered and caressed, and if ever he got a +large score at cricket, it was chalked triumphantly over the walls. All +this he was weak enough to enjoy immensely, and it was one of the +reasons why he did not wish to risk his popularity by breaking with +Brigson. So, after a little constraint and coldness, he began to stand +in much the same relation to him as before. + +The best-disposed of the upper boys disliked all this very much, and the +sixth and fifth forms began to be split up into two main parties--the +one, headed by Eric, and, to a much less degree, by Duncan, who devoted +themselves to the games and diversions of the school, and troubled +themselves comparatively little about anything else; the other, headed +by Montagu, who took the lead in intellectual pursuits, and endeavored, +by every means in their power, to counteract the pernicious effects of +the spreading immorality. + +And so at Roslyn, owing mainly to the wickedness of one depraved boy, +and the weak fear of man which actuated others, all was disunion, +misery, and deterioration. The community which had once been peaceful, +happy, and united, was filled with violent jealousy and heart-burnings; +every boy’s hand seemed to be against his neighbor; lying, bad language, +dishonesty, grew fearfully rife, and the few who, like Owen and Montagu, +remained uncontaminated by the general mischief, walked alone and +despondent amid their uncongenial and degraded schoolfellow. + + + +CHAPTER II + +WILDNEY + + “That punishment’s the best to bear + That follows soonest on the sin, + And guilt’s a game where losers fare + Better than those who seem to win.” + + COV. PATMORE. + +At the beginning of this quarter Eric and Duncan had succeeded to one of +the studies, and Owen shared with Montagu the one which adjoined it. + +Latterly the small boys, in the universal spirit of disobedience, had +frequented the studies a good deal, but it was generally understood that +no study-boy might ask any one to be a regular visitor to his room +without the leave of its other occupant. + +So one evening Duncan said to Eric, “Do you know little Wildney?” + +“You mean that jolly fearless-looking little fellow, with, the great +black eyes, who came at the beginning of the quarter? No, I don’t +know him.” + +“Well, he’s a very nice little fellow; a regular devil” + +“Humph!” said Eric, laughing; “I shall bring out a new +Duncan-dictionary, in which. [Greek: chezchochezons chos] = very nice +little fellow.” + +“Pooh!” said Duncan; “you know well enough what I mean; I mean he’s not +one of your white-faced, lily-hearted new boys, but has lots of fun +in him.” + +“Well, what of him?” + +“Have you any objection to my asking him to sit in the study when he +likes?” + +“Not the least in the world.” + +“Very well, I’ll go and fetch him now. But wouldn’t you like to ask your +brother Vernon to come in too whenever he’s inclined?” + +“No,” said Eric, “I don’t care. He does come every now and then.” + +Duncan went to fetch Wildney, and while he was gone, Brie was thinking +_why_ he didn’t give Vernon the free run of his study. He would not +admit to himself the true reason, which was, that he had too much ground +to fear that his example would do his brother no good. + +Eric soon learned to like Wildney, who was a very bright, engaging, +spirited boy, with a dash of pleasant impudence about him which took +Eric’s fancy. He had been one of the most mischievous of the lower +fellows, but, although clever, did little or nothing in school, and was +in the worst repute with the masters. Until he was “taken up” by Eric, +he had been a regular little hero among his compeers, because he was +game for any kind of mischief, and, in the new tone of popular morality, +his fearless disregard of rules made him the object of general +admiration. From this time, however, he was much in the studies, and +unhappily carried with him to those upper regions the temptation to a +deeper and more injurious class of transgressions than had yet +penetrated there. + +It was an ill day for General Wildney when he sent his idolised little +son to Roslyn; it was an ill day for Eric when Duncan first asked the +child to frequent their study. + +It was past nine at night, and the lower school had gone to bed, but +there was Wildney quietly sitting on Eric’s knee by the study fire, +while Duncan was doing some Arnold’s verses for him to be shown up +next day. + +“Bother these verses,” said Duncan, “I shall have a whiff. Do you mind, +Eric?” + +“No; not at all.” + +“Give me a weed, too,” said Wildney. + +“What! young un--you don’t mean to say you smoke?” asked Eric in +surprise. + +“Don’t I, though? let me show you. Why, a whole lot of us went and +smoked two or three pipes by Riverbend only yesterday.” + +“Phew!” said Eric, “then I suppose I must smoke too to keep you in +countenance;” and he took a cigar. It was the first time he had touched +one since the day at the Stack. The remembrance made him gloomy and +silent. “Tempora mutantur,” thought he, “nos et mutamur in illis.” + +“Why, how glum you are,” said Wildney, patting him on the head. + +“O no!” said Eric, shaking off unpleasant memories. “Look,” he +continued, pointing out of the window to change the subject, “what a +glorious night it is! Nothing but stars, stars, stars.” + +“Yes,” said Duncan, yawning; “this smoking makes one very thirsty. I +wish I’d some beer.” + +“Well, why shouldn’t we get some?” said Wildney “it would he very +jolly.” + +“Get some! What! at this time of night?” + +“Yes; I’ll go now, if you like, to Ellan, and be back before ten.” + +“Nonsense,” said Eric; “it aint worth while.” + +“I believe you think I’m afraid,” said Wildney, laughing, and looking at +Eric with his dark eyes; “and what’s more, I believe _you’re_ afraid.” + +“Little whippersnapper!” said Eric, coloring, “as if I was afraid to do +anything _you_ dare do. I’ll go with you at once, if you like.” + +“What are you thinking of?” asked Duncan. “I don’t care twopence about +the beer, and I hope you won’t go.” + +“But I will, though,” said Eric, a little nettled that Wildney, of all +people, should think him wanting in pluck. + +“But how will you get out?” + +“Oh, _I’ll_ show you a dodge there,” said Wildney. “Come along. Have you +a dark lantern?” + +“No, but I’ll get Llewellyn’s.” + +“Come along then.” + +So the little boy of twelve took the initiative, and, carrying the dark +lantern, instructed the two study-boys of sixteen in a secret which had +long been known to the lower part of the school. + +“Ibant obscuri dubiâ sub luce.” He led them quietly down stairs, stole +with them noiselessly past the library door, and took them to a window +in the passage, where a pane was broken. + +“Could you get through that?” he whispered to Eric, “if we broke away +the rest of the glass?” + +“I don’t know. But, then, there’s the bar outside.” + +“Oh, I’ll manage that. But will you go and peep through the key-hole of +the library, and see who’s there, Duncan?” + +“No,” said Duncan, bluntly, “no key-holes for me.” + +“Hush! then _I_ will,” and he glided away, while Eric, as quietly as he +could, broke away the glass until it was all removed. + +“There’s only old Stupid,” whispered he, irreverently designating an +under-master named Harley, “and he’s asleep before the fire. Now, then, +just lift me up, Eric, will you?” + +Eric lifted him, and he removed the nails which fastened the end of the +bar. They looked secure enough, and were nails an inch long driven into +the mortar; but they had been successfully loosened, and only wanted a +little pull to bring them out. In one minute Wildney had unfastened and +pushed down one end of the bar. He then got through the broken pane, and +dropped down outside. Eric followed with some little difficulty, for the +aperture would only just admit his passage; and Duncan, going back to +the study, anxiously awaited their return. + +It was a bright moonlight night, and the autumn air was pleasant and +cool. But Eric’s first thought, as he dropped on to the ground, was one +of shame that he should suffer his new friend, a mere child, so easily +to tempt him into disobedience and sin. He had hardly thought till then +of what their errand was to be, but now his couldn’t help so strongly +disapproving of it, that he was half-inclined to turn back. He did not, +however, dare to suggest this, lest Wildney should charge him with +cowardice, and betray it to the rest. Besides, the adventure had its own +excitement, the stars looked splendid, and the stolen waters were sweet. + +“I hope we shan’t be seen crossing the play-ground,” said Wildney. “My +eye, shouldn’t we catch it!” + +He was obviously beginning to be afraid, so Eric assumed an air of +nonchalance, and played the part of protector. + +“Here, take my arm,” he said; and as Wildney grasped it tight, instead +of feeling angry and ashamed at having been misled by one so much his +junior, Eric felt strongly drawn towards him by community of danger and +interest. Reaching Ellan, it suddenly struck him that he didn’t know +where they were going to buy the beer. He asked Wildney. + +“Oh, I see you’re not half up to snuff,” said Wildney, whose courage had +risen; “I’ll show you.” + +He led to a little low public-house, whence tipsy songs were booming, +and tapped at a side door three times. As they looked in they saw some +sailors boozing in a dirty tap-room, and enveloped in tobacco-smoke. + +The side-door was opened, and a cunning wicked-looking man held up a +light to see who they were. + +“Hollo, Billy,” said Wildney, confidentially, “all serene; give us two +bottles of beer--on tick, you know.” + +“Yessir--d’reckly,” said the man, with a hateful twinkle of the eyes. +“So you’re out for a spree,” he continued, winking in a knowing way. +“Won’t you walk into the back-parlor while I get them?” And he showed +them into a dingy horrid room behind the house, stale with smoke, and +begrimed with dust. + +Eric was silent and disgusted, but Wildney seemed quite at home. The +man soon returned with the beer. “Wouldn’t you like a glass of summat +now, young gen’lmen?” he asked, in an insinuating way. + +“No, Billy! don’t jabber--we must be off. Here open the door.” + +“Stop, I’ll pay,” said Eric. “What’s the damage?” + +“Three shilling, sir,” said the man. “Glad to see a new customer, sir.” +He pocketed the money, and showed them, out, standing to look after them +with a malicious leer as they disappeared, and jerking his left thumb +over his shoulder. + +“Faugh!” said Eric, taking a long breath as they got out again into the +moonlight, “what a poisonous place! Good gracious, Charlie, who +introduced you there?” + +“Oh, I don’t think much of going _there_” said Wildney, carelessly; “we +go every-week almost.” + +“We! who?” + +“Oh, Brigson and a lot of us. We have a club there which we call the +‘Anti-muffs,’ and that’s our smoking-room.” + +“And is that horrid beast the landlord?” + +“Yes; he was an old school-servant, and there’s no harm in him that I +know of.” + +But Eric only “phewed” again two or three times, and thought of Montagu. + +Suddenly Wildney clutched him by the arm, and pulled him into the deep +shadow of a porch, whispering, in a low tone, “Look!” + +Under a lamp-post, directly opposite them, stood Mr. Rose! He had heard +voices and footsteps a moment before, and, puzzled at their sudden +cessation in the noiseless street, he was looking round. + +“We must run for it,” whispered Wildney hastily, as Mr. Rose approached +the porch; and the two boys took to their heels, and scampered away as +hard as they could, Eric helping on Wildney by taking his hand, and +neither of them looking behind. They heard Mr. Rose following them at +first, but soon distanced him, and reached a place where two roads met, +either of which would lead to the school. + +“We won’t go by the road; I know a short cut by the fields. What fun!” +said Wildney, laughing. + +“What an audacious little monkey you are; you know all sorts of dodges,” +said Eric. + +They had no time to talk, but with, a speed winged by fear got to the +school, sprang on the buttress beneath the window, effected their +entrance, and vanished after replacing the bar--Eric to his study, and +Wildney to his dormitory. + +“Here’s a go!” said the latter, as they ran up stairs; “I’ve smashed one +of the beer-bottles in getting through the window, and my trousers are +deluged with the stuff.” + +They had hardly separated when Mr. Rose’s step was heard on the stairs. +He was just returning from a dinner-party, when the sight of two boys +and the sound of their voices startled him in the street, and their +sudden disappearance made him sure that they were Roslyn boys, +particularly when they began to run. He strongly suspected that he +recognised Wildney as one of them, and therefore made straight for his +dormitory, which he entered, just as that worthy had thrust the +beer-stained trousers under his bed. Mr. Rose, walked up quietly to his +bedside, and observed that he was not asleep, and that he still had half +has clothes on. He was going away when he saw a little bit of the +trousers protruding under the mattress, and giving a pull, out they +came, wringing wet with the streams of beer. He could not tell at first +what this imported, but a fragment of the bottle fell out of the pocket +with, a crash on the floor, and he then discovered. Taking no notice of +Wildney’s pretended sleep, he said, quietly, “Come to me before +breakfast tomorrow, Wildney,” and went down stairs. + +Eric came in soon after, and found the little fellow vainly attempting +to appear indifferent, as he related to his admiring auditors the +night’s adventure; being evidently rather prouder of the “Eric and I,” +which he introduced every now and then into his story. + +“Has he twigged you?” + +“Yes.” + +“And me?” + +“I don’t know; we shall see to-morrow.” + +“I hope not,” said Eric; “I’m sorry for you, Charlie.” + +“Can’t be cured, must be endured,” said Wildney. + +“Well, good night! and don’t lose heart.” + +Eric went back to Duncan in the study, and they finished the other +bottle of beer between them, though without much enjoyment, because they +were full of surmises as to the extent of the discovery, and the nature +of the punishment. + +Eric went in to tell Montagu of their escapade. + +He listened very coldly, and said, “Well, Eric, it would serve you right +to be caught. What business have you to be going out at night, at the +invitation of contemptible small fry, like this little Wildney?” + +“I beg you won’t speak of any friend of mine in those terms,” said Eric, +drawing up haughtily. + +“I hope you don’t call a bad little boy like Wildney, who’d be no +credit to any one, _your_ friend, Eric?” + +“Yes I do, though. He’s one of the pluckiest, finest, most promising +fellows in the lower school.” + +“How I begin to hate that word plucky,” said Montagu; “it’s made the +excuse here for everything that’s wrong, base, and unmanly. It seems to +me it’s infinitely more ‘plucky’ just now to do your duty and not be +ashamed of it.” + +“You’ve certainly required _that_ kind of pluck to bear you up lately, +Monty,” said Owen, looking up from his books. + +“Pluck!” said Montagu, scornfully; “you seem to me to think it consists +in lowering yourself down to the level of that odious Brigson, and +joining hand and glove with the dregs of the school.” + +“Dregs of the school! Upon my word, you’re cool, to speak of any of my +associates in that way,” said Eric, now thoroughly angry. + +“Associates!” retorted Montagu, hotly; “pretty associates! How do you +expect anything good to go on, when fellows high in the school like you +have such dealings with the refined honorable Brigson, and the exemplary +intellectual Wildney?” + +“You’re a couple of confounded muffs,” shouted Eric, banging the door, +and flinging into his own study again without farther reply. + +“Hav’n’t you been a little hard on him, considering the row he’s in?” +asked Owen. + +Montagu’s head was resting on his hand as he bent over the table. +“Perhaps I have, indeed. But who could help it, Owen, in the present +state of things? Yes, you’re right,” he said, after a pause; “_this_ +wasn’t the time to speak. I’ll go and talk to him again. But how utterly +changed he is!” + +He found Eric on the stairs going down to bed with an affectation of +noise and gaiety. He ran after him, and said-- + +“Forgive me my passion and sarcasm, Williams. You know I am apt to +express myself strongly.” He could not trust himself to say more, but +held out his hand. + +Eric got red, and hesitated for a moment. + +“Come, Eric, it isn’t _wholly_ my fault, is it, that we are not so warm +to each other as we were when ...” + +“Oh, Monty, Monty!” said Eric, softened by the allusion; and warmly +grasped his friend’s proffered hand. + +“Oh, Eric!” + +The two shook hands in silence, and as they left each other they felt +that while things continued thus their friendship could not last. It was +a sad thought for both. + +Next morning Wildney received a severe flogging, but gained great +reputation by not betraying his companion, and refusing to drop the +least hint as to their means of getting out, or their purpose in +visiting Ellan. So the secret of the bar remained undiscovered, and when +any boy wanted to get out at night--(unhappily the trick now became +common enough)--he had only to break a pane of glass in that particular +window, which, as it was in the passage, often remained unmended and +undiscovered for weeks. + +After the flogging, Mr. Rose said shortly to Eric, “I want to speak to +you.” + +The boy’s heart misgave him as they entered the familiar library. + +“I think I suspect who was Wildney’s companion.” + +Eric was silent. + +“I have no proof, and shall not therefore act on vague suspicion; but +the boy whom I _do_ suspect is one whose course lately has given me the +deepest pain; one who has violated all the early promise he gave; one +who seems to be going farther and farther astray, and sacrificing all +moral principle to the ghost of a fleeting and most despicable +popularity--to the approval of those whom he cannot himself approve.” + +Eric still silent. + +“Whatever you do _yourself_, Williams”--(it was the first time for two +years that Mr. Rose had called him “Williams,” and he winced a +little)--“whatever you do _yourself_, Williams, rests with _you_; but +remember it is a ten-thousandfold heavier and more accursed crime to set +stumbling-blocks in the way of others, and abuse your influence to cause +any of Christ’s little ones to perish.” + +“I wasn’t the tempter, however,” thought Eric, still silent. + +“Well, you seem hardened, and give no sign. Believe me, Williams, I +grieve for you, and that bitterly. My interest in you is no less warm, +though my affection for you cannot be the same. You may go.” + +“Another friend alienated, and oh, how true a one! He has not asked me +to see him once this term,” thought Eric, sadly; but a shout of pleasure +greeted him directly he joined the football in the play-ground, and, +half consoled, he hoped Mr. Rose had heard it, and understood that was +meant for the boy whom he had just been rebuking. “Well, after all,” he +thought, “I have _some_ friends still.” + +Yes, friends, such as they were! Except Duncan, hardly one boy whom he +really respected ever walked with him now. Even little Wright, one of +the very few lower boys who had risen superior to Brigson’s temptations, +seemed to keep clear of him as much as he could; and, in absolute +vacuity, he was obliged to associate with fellows like Attlay, and +Graham, and Llewellyn, and Bull. + +Even with Bull! All Eric’s repugnance for this boy seemed to have +evaporated; they were often together, and, to all appearance, were sworn +friends. Eric did not shrink now from such conversation as was pursued +unchecked in his presence by nearly every one; nay, worse, it had lost +its horror, and he was neither afraid nor ashamed to join in it himself. +This plague-spot had fretted more deeply than any other into the heart +of the school morality, and the least boys seemed the greatest +proficients in unbaring without a blush, its hideous ugliness. + + + +CHAPTER III + +“THE JOLLY HERRING” + +“Velut unda supervenit undam.”--VIRGIL. + +The Anti-muffs request the honor of Williams’ company to a spread they +are going to have to-morrow evening at half-past four, in their +smoking-room-- + +A note to this effect was put into Eric’s hands by Wildney after +prayers. He read it when he got into his study, and hardly knew whether +to be pleased or disgusted at it. + +He tossed it to Duncan, and said, “What shall I do?” + +Duncan turned up his nose, and chucked the note into the fire. + +“I’d give them that answer, and no other.” + +“Why?” + +“Because, Eric,” said Duncan, with more seriousness than was usual with +him, “I can’t help thinking things have gone too far lately.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“Well, I’m no saint myself, Heaven knows; but I do think that the +fellows are worse now than I have ever known them--far worse. Your +friend Brigson reigns supreme out of the studies; he has laid down a law +that _no work_ is to be done down stairs ever under any pretence, and +it’s only by getting into one of the studies that good little chaps +like Wright can get on at all. Even in the class-rooms there’s so much +row and confusion that the mere thought of work is ridiculous.” + +“Well, there’s no great harm in a little noise, if that’s all.” + +“But it isn’t all. The talk of nearly the whole school is getting most +blackguardly; shamelessly so. Only yesterday Wildney was chatting with +Vernon up here (you were out, or Vernon would not have been here) while +I was reading; they didn’t seem to mind me, and I’m sure you’d have been +vexed to the heart if you’d heard how they talked to each other. At last +I couldn’t stand it any longer, and bouncing up, I boxed both their ears +smartly, and kicked them down stairs.” + +As Eric said nothing, Duncan continued, “And I wish it ended in talk, +but----” + +“But I believe you’re turning Owenite. Why, bless me, we’re only +schoolboys; it’ll be lots of time to turn saint some other day.” + +Eric was talking at random, and in the spirit of opposition. “You don’t +want to make the whole school such a muffish set as the rosebuds, +do you?” + +There was something of assumed bravado in Eric’s whole manner which +jarred on Duncan exceedingly. “Do as you like,” he said, curtly, and +went into another study. + +Immediately after came a rap at the door, and in walked Wildney, as he +often did after the rest were gone to bed, merely slipping his trousers +over his nightshirt, and running up to the studies. + +“Well, you’ll come to the Anti-muffs, won’t you?” he said. + +“To that pestilential place again?--not I.” + +Wildney looked offended. “Not after we’ve all asked you? The fellows +won’t half like your refusing.” + +He had touched Eric’s weak point. + +“Do come,” he said, looking up in Eric’s face. + +“Confound it all,” answered Eric, hastily. “Yes, I’ve no friends, I’ll +come, Charlie. Anything to please you, boy.” + +“That’s a brick. Then I shall cut down and tell the fellows. They’ll be +no end glad. No friends! why all the school like you.” And he scampered +off, leaving Eric ill at ease. + +Duncan didn’t re-enter the study that evening. + +The next day, about half-past four, Eric found himself on the way to +Ellan. As he was starting, Bull caught him up, and said-- + +“Are you going to the Anti-muffs?” + +“Yes; why? are you going too?” + +“Yes; do you mind our going together?” + +“Not at all.” + +In fact, Eric was very glad of some one--no matter who--to keep him in +countenance, for he felt considerably more than half ashamed +of himself. + +They went to “The Jolly Herring,” as the pot-house was called, and +passed through the dingy beery tap-room into the back parlor, to which +Eric had already been introduced by Wildney. About a dozen boys were +assembled, and there was a great clapping on the table as the two +new-comers entered. A long table was laid down the room, which was +regularly spread for dinner. + +“Now then, Billy; make haste with the goose,” called Brigson. “I vote, +boys, that Eric Williams takes the chair.” + +“Hear! hear!” said half a dozen; and Eric, rather against his will, +found himself ensconced at the end of the table, with Brigson and Bull +on either hand. The villainous-low-foreheaded man, whom they called +Billy, soon brought in a tough goose at one end of the table, and some +fowls at the other; and they fell to, doing ample justice to the [Greek: +daiz heisae] while Billy waited on them. There was immense uproar during +the dinner, every one eating as fast, and talking as loud, as he could. + +The birds soon vanished, and were succeeded by long rolly-polly +puddings, which the boys called Goliahs; and they, too, rapidly +disappeared. Meanwhile beer was circling only too plentifully. + +“Now for the dessert, Billy,” called several voices; and that worthy +proceeded to put on the table some figs, cakes, oranges, and four black +bottles of wine. There was a general grab for these dainties, and one +boy shouted, “I say, I’ve had no wine.” + +“Well, it’s all gone. We must get some brandy--it’s cheaper,” said +Brigson; and accordingly some brandy was brought in, which the boys +diluted with hot water, and soon despatched. + +“Here! before you’re all done swilling,” said Brigson, “I’ve got a +health; ‘Confound muffs and masters, and success to the anti’s.’” + +“And their chairman,’ suggested Wildney. + +“And their chairman, the best fellow in the school,” added Brigson. + +The health was drunk with due clamor, and Eric got up to thank them. + +“I’m not going to spout,” he said; “but boys must be boys, and there’s +no harm in a bit of fun. I for one have enjoyed it, and am much obliged +to you for asking me; and now I call for a song.” + +“Wildney! Wildney’s song,” called several. + +Wildney had a good voice, and struck up, without the least bashfulness-- + + “Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl, + Until it does run overt + Come, landlord, fill,” &c + +“Now,” he said, “join in the chorus!” The boys, all more or less +excited, joined in heartily and uproariously-- + + “For to-night we’ll merry merry be! + For to-night we’ll merry merry be! + For to-night we’ll merry merry be! + To-morrow we’ll be sober!” + +While Wildney sang, Eric had time to think. As he glanced round the +room, at the flushed faces of the boys, some of whom he could not +recognise in the dusky atmosphere, a qualm of disgust and shame passed +over him. Several of them were smoking, and, with Bull and Brigson +heading the line on each, side of the table, he could not help observing +what a bad set they looked. The remembrance of Russell came back to him. +Oh, if Edwin could have known that he was in such company at such a +place! And by the door stood Billy, watching them all like an evil +spirit, with a leer of saturnine malice on his evil face. + +But the bright little Wildney, unconscious of Eric’s bitter thoughts, +sang on with overflowing mirth. As Eric looked at him, shining out like +a sunbeam among the rest, he felt something like blood-guiltiness on his +soul, when, he felt that he was sanctioning the young boy’s presence in +that degraded assemblage. + +Wildney meanwhile was just beginning the next verse, when he was +interrupted by a general cry of “cavé, cavé.” In an instant the room was +in confusion; some one dashed the candles upon the floor, the table was +overturned with a mighty crash, and plates, glasses, and bottles rushed +on to the ground in shivers. Nearly every one bolted for the door, which +led through the passage into the street; and in their headlong flight +and selfishness, they stumbled over each other, and prevented all +egress, several being knocked down and bruised in the crush. Others made +for the tap-room; but, as they opened the door leading into it, there +stood Mr. Ready and Mr. Gordon! and as it was impossible to pass without +being seen, they made no further attempt at escape. All this was the +work of a minute. Entering the back parlor, the two masters quickly took +down the names of full half the boys who, in the suddenness of the +surprise, had been unable to make their exit. + +And Eric? + +The instant that the candles were knocked over, he felt Wildney seize +his hand, and whisper, “This way all serene;” following, he groped his +way in the dark to the end of the room, where Wildney, shoving aside a +green baize curtain, noiselessly opened a door, which at once let them +into a little garden. There they both crouched down, under a lilac tree +beside the house, and listened intently. + +There was no need for this precaution; their door remained unsuspected, +and in five minutes the coast was clear. Creeping into the house again, +they whistled, and Billy coming in, told them that the masters had gone, +and all was safe. + +“Glad ye’re not twigged, gen’lmen,” he said; “but there’ll be a pretty +sight of damage for all this glass and plates.” + +“Shut up with your glass and plates,” said Wildney. “Here, Eric, we must +cut for it again.” + +It was the dusk of a winter evening when they got out from the close +room into the open air, and they had to consider which way they would +choose to avoid discovery. They happened to choose the wrong, but +escaped by dint of hard running, and Wildney’s old short cut. As they +ran they passed several boys (who having been caught, were walking home +leisurely), and managed to get back undiscovered, when they both +answered their names quite innocently at the roll-call, immediately +after lock up. + +“What lucky dogs you are to get off,” said many boys to them. + +“Yes, it’s precious lucky for me,” said Wildney. “If I’d been caught at +this kind of thing a second time, I should have got something worse than +a swishing.” + +“Well, it’s all through you I escaped,” said Eric, “you knowing little +scamp.” + +“I’m glad of it, Eric,” said Wildney in his fascinating way, “since it +is all through me you went. It’s rather too hazardous though; we must +manage better another time.” + +During tea-time Eric was silent, as he felt pretty sure that none of the +sixth form or other study boys would particularly sympathise with his +late associates. Since the previous evening he had been cool with +Duncan, and the rest had long rather despised him as a boy who’d do +anything to be popular; so he sat there silent, looking as disdainful as +he could, and not touching the tea, for which he felt disinclined after +the recent potations. But the contemptuous exterior hid a self-reproving +heart, and he felt how far more noble Owen and Montagu were than he. How +gladly would he have changed places with them! how much he would have +given to recover some of their forfeited esteem! + +The master on duty was Mr. Rose, and after tea he left the room for a +few minutes while the tables were cleared for “preparation,” and the +boys were getting out their books and exercises. All the study and +class-room boys were expected to go away during this interval; but Eric, +not noticing Mr. Rose’s entrance, sat gossipping with Wildney about the +dinner and its possible consequences to the school. + +He was sitting on the desk carelessly, with one leg over the other, and +bending down towards Wildney. He had just told him that he looked like a +regular little sunbeam in the smoking-room of the Jolly Herring, and +Wildney was pretending to be immensely offended by the simile. + +“Hush! no more talking,” said Mr. Rose, who did everything very gently +and quietly. Eric heard him, but he was inclined to linger, and had +always received such mild treatment from Mr. Rose, that he didn’t think +he would take much notice of the delay. For the moment he did not, so +Wildney began to chatter again. + +“All study boys to leave the room,” said Mr. Rose. + +Eric just glanced round and moved slightly; he might have gone away, +but that he caught a satirical look in Wildney’s eye, and besides wanted +to show off a little indifference to his old master, with whom he had +had no intercourse since their last-mentioned conversation. + +“Williams, go away instantly; what do you mean by staying after I have +dismissed you?” said Mr. Rose sternly. + +Every one knew what a favorite Eric had once been, so this speech +created a slight titter. The boy heard it just as he was going out of +the room, and it annoyed him, and called to arms all his proud and +dogged obstinacy. Pretending to have forgotten something, he walked +conceitedly back to Wildney, and whispered to him, “I shan’t go if he +chooses to speak like that.” + +A red flush passed over Mr. Rose’s cheek; he took two strides to Eric, +and laid the cane sharply once across his back. + +Eric was not quite himself, or he would not have acted as he had done. +His potations, though not deep, had, with the exciting events of the +evening, made his head giddy, and the stroke of the cane, which he had +not felt now for two years, roused him to madness. He bounded up, sprang +towards Mr. Rose, and almost before he knew what he was about, had +wrenched the cane out of his hands, twisted it violently in the middle +until it broke, and flung one of the pieces furiously into the fire. + +For one instant, boy and master--Eric Williams and Mr. Rose--stood +facing each other amid breathless silence, the boy panting and +passionate, with his brain swimming, and his heart on fire; the master +pale, grieved, amazed beyond measure, but perfectly self-collected. + +“After that exhibition,” said Mr. Rose, with cold and quiet dignity, +“you had better leave the room.” + +“Yes, I had,” answered Eric bitterly; “there’s your cane.” And, flinging +the other fragment at Mr. Rose’s head, he strode blindly out of the +room, sweeping books from the table, and overturning several boys in his +way. He then banged the door with all his force, and rushed up into +his study. + +Duncan was there, and remarking his wild look and demeanor, asked, after +a moment’s awkward silence, “Is anything the matter, Williams?” + +“Williams!” echoed Eric with a scornful laugh; “yes, that’s always the +way with a fellow when he’s in trouble. I always know what’s coming when +you begin to leave off calling me by my Christian name.” + +“Very well, then,” said Duncan, good-humoredly, “what’s the matter, +Eric?” + +“Matter?” answered Brie, pacing up and down the little room with an +angry to-and-fro like a caged wild beast, and kicking everything which +came in his way. “Matter? hang you all, you are all turning against me, +because you are a set of muffs, and----” + +“Take care!” said Duncan; but suddenly he caught Eric’s look, and +stopped. + +“And I’ve been breaking Rose’s cane over his head, because he had the +impudence to touch, me with it, and----” + +“Eric, you’re not yourself to-night,” said Duncan, interrupting, but +speaking in the kindest tone; and taking Eric’s hand, he looked him +steadily in the face. + +Their eyes met; the boy’s false self once more slipped off. By a strong +effort he repressed the rising passion which the fumes of drink had +caused, and flinging him self on his chair, refused to speak again, or +even to go down stairs when the prayer-bell rang. + +Seeing that in his present mood there was nothing to be done with him, +Duncan, instead of returning to the study, went after prayers into +Montagu’s, and talked with him over the recent events, of which the +boys’ minds were all full. + +But Eric sat lonely, sulky, and miserable, in his study, doing nothing, +and when Montagu came in to visit him, felt inclined to resent +his presence. + +“So!” he said, looking up at the ceiling, “another saint come to cast a +stone at me! Well! I suppose I must be resigned,” he continued, dropping +his cheek on his hand again; “only don’t let the sermon be long.” + +But Montagu took no notice of his sardonic harshness, and seated himself +by his side, though Eric pettishly pushed him away. + +“Come, Eric,” said Montagu, taking the hand which was repelling him; “I +won’t be repulsed in this way. Look at me. What? won’t you even look? Oh +Eric, one wouldn’t have fancied this in past days, when we were so much +together with one who is dead. It’s a long long time since we’ve eyen +alluded to him, but _I_ shall never forget those happy days.” + +Eric heaved a deep sigh. + +“I’m not come to reproach you. You don’t give me a friend’s right to +reprove. But still, Eric, for your own sake, dear fellow, I can’t help +being sorry for all this. I did hope you’d have broken with Brigson +after the thrashing I gave him, for the way in which he treated me. I +don’t think you _can_ know the mischief he is doing.” + +The large tears began to soften the fire of Eric’s eye, “Ah!” he said, +“it’s all of no use; you’re all giving me the cold shoulder, and I’m +going to the bad, that’s the long and short of it.” + +“Oh, Eric! for your own sake, for your parents’ sake, for the school’s +sake, for all your real friends’ sake, don’t talk in that bitter +hopeless way. You are too noble a fellow to be made the tool or the +patron of the boys who lead, while they seem to follow you. I _do_ hope +you’ll join us even yet in resisting them.” + +Eric had laid his head on the table, which shook with his emotion. “I +can’t talk, Monty,” he said, in an altered tone; “but leave me now; and +if you like, we will have a walk to-morrow.” + +“Most willingly, Eric.” And again, warmly pressing his hand, Montagu +returned to his own study. + +Soon after, there came a timid knock at Eric’s door. He expected Wildney +as usual; a little before, he had been looking out for him, and hoping +he would come, but he didn’t want to see him now, so he answered rather +peevishly, “Come in; but I don’t want to be bothered to-night.” + +Not Wildney, but Vernon appeared at the door. “May I come in? not if it +bothers you, Eric,” he said, gently. + +“Oh, Verny, I didn’t know it was you; I thought it would be Wildney. You +_never_ come now.” + +The little boy came in, and his pleading look seemed to say, “Whose +fault is that?” + +“Come here, Verny;” and Eric drew him towards him, and put him on his +knee, while the tears trembled large and luminous in the child’s eyes. + +It was the first time for many a long day that the brothers had been +alone together, the first time for many a long day that any acts of +kindness had passed between them. Both seemed to remember this, and, at +the same time, to remember home, and their absent parents, and their +mother’s prayers, and all the quiet half-forgotten vista of innocent +pleasures, and sacred relationships, and holy affections. And why did +they see each other so little at school? Their consciences told them +both, that either wished to conceal from the other his wickedness and +forgetfulness of God. + +They wept together; and once more, as they had not done since they were +children, each brother put his arm round the other’s neck, and +remorseful Eric could not help being amazed, how, in his cruel heartless +selfishness, he had let that fair child go so far astray; left him as a +prey to such boys as were his companions in the lower school. + +“Eric, did you know I was caught to-night at the dinner?” + +“You!” said Brie, with a start and a deep blush. “Good heavens! I didn’t +notice you, and should not have dreamt of coming, if I’d known you were +there. Oh, Vernon, forgive me for setting you such, a bad example.” + +“Yes, I was there, and I was caught.” + +“Poor boy! but never mind; there are such a lot that you can’t get much +done to you.” + +“It isn’t _that_ I care for; I’ve been flogged before, you know. +But--may I say something?” + +“Yes, Vernon, anything you like.” + +“Well, then,--oh, Eric! I am so, so sorry that you did that to Mr. Rose +to-night. All the fellows are praising you up, of course; but I could +have cried to see it, and I did. I wouldn’t have minded if it had been +anybody but Rose.” + +“But why?” + +“Because, Eric, he’s been so good, so kind to both of us. You’ve often +told me about him, you know, at Fairholm, and he’s done such, lots of +kind things to me. And only to-night, when he heard I was caught, he +sent for me to the library, and spoke so firmly, yet so gently, about +the wickedness of going to such low places, and about so young a boy as +I am learning to drink, and the ruin of it and--and”--His voice was +choked by sobs for a time,--“and then he knelt down and prayed for me, +so as I have never heard any one pray but mother;--and do you know, +Eric, it was strange, but I thought I _did_ hear our mother’s voice +praying for me too, while he prayed, and”--He tried in vain to go on; +but Eric’s conscience continued for him; “and just as he had ceased +doing this for one brother, the other brother, for whom he has often +done the same, treated him with coarseness, violence, and insolence.” + +“Oh, I am utterly wretched, Verny. I hate myself And to think that while +I am like this, they are yet loving and praising me at home. And, oh, +Verny, I was so sorry to hear from Duncan, how you were talking the +other day.” + +Vernon hid his face on Eric’s shoulder; and as his brother stooped over +him, and folded him to his heart, they cried in silence, until wearied +with sorrow, the younger fell asleep; and then Eric carried him tenderly +down stairs, and laid him, still half-sleeping, upon his bed. + +He laid him down, and looked at him as he slumbered. The other boys had +not been disturbed by their noiseless entrance, and he sat down on his +brother’s bed to think, shading off the light of the candle with his +hand. It was rarely now that Eric’s thoughts were so rich with the +memories of childhood, and sombre with the consciousness of sin, as they +were that night, while he gazed on his brother Vernon’s face. He did not +know what made him look so long and earnestly; an indistinct sorrow, an +unconjectured foreboding, passed over his mind, like the shadow of a +summer cloud. Vernon was now slumbering deeply; his soft childish curls +fell off his forehead, and his head nestled in the pillow; but there was +an expression of uneasiness on his sleeping features, and the long +eyelashes were still wet with tears. + +“Poor child,” thought Eric; “dear little Vernon; and he is to be +flogged, perhaps birched, to-morrow.” + +He went off sadly to bed, and hardly once remembered, that _he_ too +would come in for certain punishment the next day. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +MR. ROSE AND BRIGSON + + “Raro antecedentem scelestum + Deseruit pede Poena claudo.”--HOR. + +After prayers the next morning Dr. Rowlands spoke to his boarders on the +previous day’s discovery, and in a few forcible vivid words set before +them, the enormity of the offence. He ended by announcing that the boys +who were caught would be birched,--“except the elder ones, Bull and +Brigson, who will bring me one hundred lines every hour of the +half-holidays till further notice. There are some,” he said, “I am well +aware, who, though present yesterday, were not detected. I am sorry for +it, for _their_ sakes; they will be more likely to sin again. In cases +like this, punishment is a blessing, and impunity a burden.” On leaving +the room he bade Eric follow him into his study. Eric obeyed, and stood +before the head-master with downcast eyes. + +“Williams,” he said, “I have had a great regard for you, and felt a deep +interest in you from the day I first saw you, and knew your excellent +parents. At one time I had conceived great hopes of your future course, +and your abilities seemed likely to blossom into noble fruit. But you +fell off greatly, and grew idle and careless. At last an event happened, +in which for a time you acted worthily of yourself, and which seemed to +arouse you from your negligence and indifference. All my hopes in you +revived; but as I continued to watch your course (more closely, perhaps, +than you supposed), I observed with pain that those hopes must be again +disappointed. It needs but a glance at your countenance to be sure that +you are not so upright or right-minded a boy as you were two years ago. +I can judge only from your outward course; but I deeply fear, Williams, +I deeply fear, that in _other_ respects also you are going the down-hill +road. And what am I to think now, when on the _same_ morning, you and +your little brother _both_ come before me for such serious and heavy +faults? I cannot free you from blame even for _his_ misdoings, for you +are his natural guardian here; I am only glad that you were not involved +with him in that charge.” + +“Let _me_ bear the punishment, sir, instead of him,” said Eric, by a +sudden impulse; “for I misled him, and was there myself.” + +Dr. Rowlands paced the room in deep sorrow. “You, Williams! on the verge +of the sixth form. Alas! I fear, from this, that the state of things +among you is even worse than I had supposed.” + +Eric again hung his head. + +“No; you have confessed the sin voluntarily, and therefore at present I +shall not notice it; only, let me entreat you to beware. But I must turn +to the other matter. What excuse have you for your intolerable conduct +to Mr. Rose, who, as I know, has shown you from the first the most +unusual and disinterested kindness?” + +“I cannot defend myself, sir. I was excited, and could not control my +passion.” + +“Then you must sit down here, and write an apology, which I shall make +you read aloud before the whole school at twelve to-day.” + +Eric, with trembling hand, wrote his apology, and Dr. Rowlands glanced at +it. “Come to me again at twelve,” he said. + +At twelve all the school were assembled, and Eric, pale and miserable, +followed the Doctor into the great school-room. The masters stood at one +end of the room, and among them Mr. Rose, who, however, appeared an +indifferent and uninterested spectator of the transaction. Every eye was +fixed on Eric, and every one pitied him. + +“We are assembled,” said Dr. Rowlands, “for an act of justice. One of +your number has insulted a master publicly, and is ashamed of his +conduct, and has himself written the apology which he will read. I had +intended to add a still severer punishment, but Mr. Rose has earnestly +begged me not to do so, and I have succumbed to his wishes. Williams, +read your apology.” + +There was a dead hush, and Eric tried once or twice in vain to utter a +word. At last, by a spasmodic effort, he regained his voice, and read, +but in so low and nervous a tone, that not even those nearest him heard +what he was saying. + +Dr. Rowlands took the paper from him. “Owing,” he said, “to a very +natural and pardonable emotion, the apology has been read in such a way +that you could not have understood it. I will therefore read it myself. +It is to this effect-- + +“‘I, Eric Williams, beg humbly and sincerely to apologise for my +passionate and ungrateful insult to Mr. Rose.’ + +“You will understand that he was left quite free to choose his own +expressions; and as he has acknowledged his shame and compunction for +the act, I trust that none of you will be tempted to elevate him into a +hero, for a folly which he himself so much regrets. This affair,--as I +should wish all bad deeds to be after they have once been +punished,--will now be forgiven, and I hope forgotten.” + +They left the room and dispersed, and Eric fancied that all shunned and +looked coldly on his degradation But not so: Montagu came, and taking +his arm in the old friendly way, went a walk with him. It was a +constrained and silent walk, and they were both glad when it was over, +although Montagu did all he could to show that he loved Eric no less +than before. Still it was weeks since they had been much together, and +they had far fewer things in common now than they used to have. + +“I’m so wretched, Monty,” said Eric at last; “do you think Rose despises +me?” + +“I am _sure_ of the contrary. Won’t you go to him, Eric, and say all you +feel?” + +“Heigh ho! I shall never get right again. Oh, to recover the last two +years!” + +“You can redeem them, Eric, by a nobler present. Let the same words +comfort you that have often brought hope to me--‘I will restore the +years which the locust hath eaten.’” + +They reached the school-door, and Eric went straight to the library. Mr. +Rose was there alone. He received him kindly, as usual, and Eric went up +to the fire-place where he was standing. They had often stood by that +library fire on far different terms. + +“Forgive me, sir,” was all Eric could say, as the tears rushed to his +eyes. + +“Freely, my boy,” said Mr. Rose, sadly. “I wish you could feel how fully +I forgive you; but,” he added, laying his hand for the last time on +Eric’s head, “you have far more, Eric, to forgive yourself. I will not +talk to you, Eric; it would be little good, I fear; but you little know +how much I pity and tremble for you.” + +While these scenes were being enacted with Eric, a large group was +collected round the fire-place in the boarders’ room, and many tongues +were loudly discussing the recent events. + +Alas for gratitude! there was not a boy in that group to whom Mr. Rose +had not done many an act of kindness; and to most of them far more than +they ever knew. Many a weary hour had he toiled for them in private, +when his weak frame was harassed by suffering; many a sleepless night +had he wrestled for them in prayer, when, for their sakes, his own many +troubles were laid aside. Work on, Walter Rose, and He who seeth in +secret will reward you openly! but expect no gratitude from those for +whose salvation you, like the great tenderhearted apostle, would almost +be ready to wish yourself accursed. + +Nearly every one in that noisy group was abusing Mr. Rose. It had long +been Brigson’s cue to do so; he derided him on every opportunity, and +delighted to represent him as hypocritical and insincere. Even his weak +health was the subject of Brigson’s coarse ridicule, and the bad boy +paid, in deep hatred, the natural tribute which vice must ever accord to +excellence. + +“You see how he turns on his pets if they offend him,” said Brigson; +“why, even that old beast Gordon isn’t as bad.” + +“Yes; while poor Eric was reading, Rose reminded me of Milton’s +serpent,” drawled Bull; + + “Hope elevates and joy brightens his crest.” + +“He-e-ar! He-e-ar!” said Pietrie; “_vide_ the last fifth form Rep.” + +“I expect Eric won’t see everything so much _couleur de Rose_ now, as +the French frog hath it,” remarked Graham. + +“It was too bad to stand by and triumph, certainly,” observed Wildney. + +“I say, you fellows,” remonstrated Wright, who, with Vernon, was sitting +reading a book at one of the desks, “all that isn’t fair. I’m sure you +all saw how really sorry Rose looked about it; and he said, you know, +that it was merely for the sake of school discipline that he put the +matter in Rowlands’ hands.” + +“Discipline be hanged,” shouted Brigson; “we’ll have our revenge on him +yet, discipline or no.” + +“I hope you won’t, though,” said Vernon; “I know Eric will be sorry if +you do.” + +“The more muff he. We shall do as we like.” + +“Well, I shall tell him; and I’m sure he’ll ask you not. You know how he +tries to stick up for Rose.” + +“If you say a word more,” said Brigson, unaccustomed to being opposed +among his knot of courtiers, “I’ll kick you out of the room; you and +that wretched little fool there with you.” + +“You may do as you like,” answered Wright, quietly, “but you won’t go +on like this long, I can tell you.” + +Brigson tried to seize him, but failing, contented himself with flinging +a big coal at him as he ran out of the room, which narrowly missed +his head. + +“I have it!” said Brigson; “that little donkey’s given me an idea. We’ll +_crust_ Rose to-night.” + +“To crust,” gentle reader, means to pelt an obnoxious person with +crusts. + +“Capital!” said some of the worst boys present; “we will.” + +“Well, who’ll take part?” + +No one offered. “What! are we all turning sneaks and cowards? Here, +Wildney, won’t you? you were abusing Rose just now.” + +“Yes, I will,” said Wildney, but with no great alacrity. “You’ll not +have done till you’ve got us all expelled, I believe.” + +“Fiddle-stick end! and what if we are? besides, he can’t expel half the +school.” + +First two or three more offered, and then a whole lot, gaining courage +by numbers. So the plot was regularly laid. Pietrie and Graham were to +put out the lights at each end of one table immediately after tea, and +Wildney and Brooking at the other, when the study fellows had gone out. +There would then be only Mr. Rose’s candle burning, and the two middle +candles, which, in so large a room, would just give enough light for +their purpose. Then all the conspirators were to throng around the door, +and from it aim their crusts at Mr. Rose’s head, Not nearly so many +would have volunteered to join, but that they fancied Mr. Rose was too +gentle to take up the matter with vigor, and they were encouraged by +his quiet leniency towards Eric the night before. It was agreed that no +study-boy should be told of the intention, lest any of them should +interfere. + +Many hearts beat fast at tea that night as they observed that numbers of +boys, instead of eating all their bread, were cutting off the crusts, +and breaking them into good-sized bits. + +Tea finished, Mr. Rose said grace, and then sat down quietly reading in +his desk. The signal agreed on was the (accidental) dropping of a plate +by Brigson. The study-boys left the room. + +Crash!--down fell a plate on the floor, breaking to pieces in the fall. + +Instantly the four candles went out, and there was a hurried movement +towards the door, and a murmur of voices. + +“Now then,” said Brigson, in a loud whisper, “what a funky set you are! +Here goes?” + +The master, surprised at the sudden gloom and confusion, had just looked +up, unable to conjecture what was the matter. Brigson’s crust caught him +a sharp rap on the forehead as he moved. + +In an instant he started up, and ten or twelve more crusts flew by or +hit him on the head, as he strode out of the desk towards the door. +Directly he stirred, there was a rush of boys into the passage, and if +he had once lost his judgment or temper, worse harm might have followed. +But he did not. Going to the door, he said, “Preparation will be in five +minutes; every boy not then in his place will be punished.” + +During that five minutes the servants had cleared away the tea, full of +wonder; but Mr. Rose paced up and down the room, taking no notice of any +one. Immediately after, all the boys were in their places, with their +books open before them, and in the thrilling silence you might have +heard a pin drop. Every one felt that Mr. Rose was master of the +occasion, and awaited his next step in terrified suspense. + +They all perceived how thoroughly they had mistaken their subject. The +ringleaders would have given all they had to be well out of the scrape. +Mr. Rose ruled by kindness, but he never suffered his will to be +disputed for an instant. He governed with such consummate tact, that +they hardly felt it to be government at all, and hence arose their +stupid miscalculation. But he felt that the time was now come to assert +his paramount authority, and determined to do so at once and for ever. + +“Some of you have mistaken me,” he said, in a voice so strong and stern +that it almost startled them. “The silly display of passion in one boy +yesterday has led you to presume that you may trifle with me. You are +wrong. For Williams’ sake, as a boy who has, or at least once _had_, +something noble in him, I left that matter in the Doctor’s hands. I +shall _not_ do so to-night. Which of you put out the candles?” + +Dead silence. A pause. + +“Which of you had the audacity to throw pieces of bread at me?” + +Still silence. + +“I warn you that I _will_ know, and it will be far worse for the guilty +if I do not know at once.” There was unmistakeable decision in the tone. + +“Very well. I know many boys who were _not_ guilty because I saw them +in parts of the room where to throw was impossible. I shall now _ask_ +all the rest, one by one, if they took any part in this. And beware of +telling me a lie.” + +There was an uneasy sensation in the room, and several boys began to +whisper aloud, “Brigson! Brigson!” The whisper grew louder, and Mr. Rose +heard it. He turned on Brigson like a lion, and said-- + +“They call your name; stand out!” + +The awkward, big, ungainly boy, with his repulsive countenance, shambled +out of his place into the middle of the room. Mr. Rose swept him with +one flashing glance. “_That_ is the boy,” thought he to himself, “who +has been like an ulcer to this school. These boys shall have a good look +at their hero.” It was but recently that Mr. Rose knew all the harm +which Brigson had been doing, though he had discovered, almost from the +first, what _sort_ of character he had. + +So Brigson stood out in the room, and as they looked at him, many a boy +cursed him in their hearts for evil taught them, such as a lifetime’s +struggle could not unteach. And it was _that_ fellow, that stupid, +clumsy, base compound of meanness and malice, that had ruled like a king +among them. Faugh! + +“They call your name! Do you know anything of this?” + +“No!” said Brigson; “I’ll swear I’d nothing to do with it.” + +“Oh-h-h-h!” the long, intense, deep-drawn expression of disgust and +contempt ran round the room. + +“You have told me a lie!” said Mr. Rose, slowly, and with ineffable +contempt. “No words can express my loathing for your false and +dishonorable conduct. Nor shall your lie save you, as you shall find +immediately. Still, you shall escape if you can or dare to deny it +again. I repeat my question--Were you engaged in this?” + +He fixed his full, piercing eye on the culprit, whom it seemed to scorch +and wither. Brigson winced back, and said nothing. “As I thought,” +said Mr. Rose. + +“Not _one_ boy only, but many, were engaged. I shall call you up one by +one to answer me. Wildney, come here.” + +The boy walked in front of the desk. + +“Were you one of those who threw?” + +Wildney, full as he was of dangerous and deadly faults, was no coward, +and not a liar. He knew, or at least feared, that this new scrape might +be fatal to him, but, raising his dark and glistening eyes to Mr. Rose, +he said penitently-- + +“I didn’t throw, sir, but I _did_ put out one of the candles that it +might be done.” + +The contrast with Brigson was very great; the dark cloud hung a little +less darkly on Mr. Rose’s forehead, and there was a very faint murmur +of applause. + +“Good! stand back. Pietrie, come up.” + +Pietrie, too, confessed, and indeed all the rest of the plotters except +Brooking. Mr. Rose’s lip curled with scorn as he heard the exclamation +which his denial caused; but he suffered him to sit down. + +When Wright’s turn came to be asked, Mr. Rose said--“No! I shall not +even ask you, Wright. I know well that your character is too good to be +involved in such an attempt.” + +The boy bowed humbly, and sat down. Among the last questioned was +Vernon Williams, and Mr. Rose seemed anxious for his answer. + +“No,” he said at once,--and seemed to wish to add something. + +“Go on,” said Mr. Rose, encouragingly. + +“Oh, sir! I only wanted to say that I hope you won’t think Eric knew of +this. He would have hated it, sir, more even than I do.” + +“Good,” said Mr. Rose; “I am sure of it. And now,” turning to the +offenders, “I shall teach you never to dare again to be guilty of such +presumption and wickedness as to-night. I shall punish you according to +my notion of your degrees of guilt. Brigson, bring me a cane from +that desk.” + +He brought it. + +“Hold out your hand.” + +The cane fell, and instantly split up from top to bottom. Mr. Rose +looked at it, for it was new that morning. + +“Hah! I see; more mischief; there is a hair in it.” + +The boys were too much frightened to smile at the complete success of +the trick. + +“Who did this? I must be told at once.” + +“I did, sir,” said Wildney, stepping forward. + +“Ha! very well,” said Mr. Rose, while, in spite of his anger, a smile +hovered at the corner of his lips. “Go and borrow me a cane from +Mr. Harley.” + +While he went there was unbroken silence. + +“Now, sir,” said he to Brigson, “I shall flog you.” + +Corporal punishment was avoided with the bigger boys, and Brigson had +never undergone it before. At the first stroke he writhed and yelled; +at the second he retreated, twisting like a serpent, and blubbering like +a baby; at the third he flung himself on his knees, and, as the strokes +fell fast, clasped Mr. Rose’s arm, and implored and besought for mercy. + +“_Miserable_ coward,” said Mr. Rose, throwing into the word such ringing +scorn that no one who heard it ever forgot it. He indignantly shook the +boy off, and caned him till he rolled on the floor, losing every +particle of self-control, and calling out, “The devil--the devil--the +devil!” (“invoking his patron saint,” as Wildney maliciously observed). + +“There! cease to blaspheme, and get up,” said the master, blowing out a +cloud of fiery indignation. “There, sir. Retribution comes at last, +leaden-footed but iron-handed. A long catalogue of sins is visited on +you to-day, and not only on your shrinking body, but on your conscience +too, if you have one left. Let those red marks betoken that your reign +is ended. Liar and tempter, you have led boys into the sins which you +then meanly deny! And now, you boys, _there_ in that coward, who cannot +even endure his richly-merited punishment, see the boy whom you have +suffered to be your _leader_ for well-nigh six months!” + +“Now, sir”--again he turned upon Brigson--“that flogging shall be +repeated with interest on your next offence. At present you will take +each boy on your back while I cane him. It is fit that they should see +where _you_ lead them to.” + +Trembling violently, and cowed beyond description, he did as he was bid. +No other boy cried, or even winced; a few sharp cuts was all which Mr. +Rose gave them, and even they grew fewer each time, for he was tired, +and displeased to be an executioner. + +“And now,” he said, “since that disgusting but necessary scene is over, +_never_ let me have to repeat it again.” + +But his authority was established like a rock from that night forward. +No one ever ventured to dispute it again, or forgot that evening. Mr. +Rose’s noble moral influence gained tenfold strength from the respect +and wholesome fear that he then inspired. + +But, as he had said, Brigson’s reign was over. Looks of the most +unmitigated disgust and contempt were darted at him, as he sat alone and +shunned at the end of the table; and the boys seemed now to loathe and +nauseate the golden calf they had been worshipping. He had not done +blubbering even yet, when the prayer-bell rang. No sooner had Mr. Rose +left the room than Wildney, his dark eyes sparkling with rage, leaped on +the table, and shouted-- + +“Three groans, hoots, and hisses, for a liar and a coward,” a sign of +execration which he was the first to lead off, and which the boys echoed +like a storm. + +Astonished at the tumult, Mr. Rose re-appeared at the door. “Oh, we’re +not hissing you, sir,” said Wildney excitedly; “we’re all hissing at +lying and cowardice.” + +Mr. Rose thought the revulsion of feeling might do good, and he was +striding out again, without a word, when-- + +“Three times three for Mr. Rose,” sang out Wildney. + +Never did a more hearty or spontaneous cheer burst from the lips and +lungs of fifty boys than that. The news had spread like wildfire to the +studies, and the other boys came flocking in during the uproar, to join +in it heartily. Cheer after cheer rang out like a sound of silver +clarions from the clear boy-voices; and in the midst of the excited +throng stood Eric and Montagu, side by side, hurrahing more lustily than +all the rest. + +But Mr. Rose, in the library, was on his knees, with moving lips and +lifted hands. He coveted the popular applause as little as he had +dreaded the popular opposition; and the evening’s painful experiences +had taught him anew the bitter lesson to expect no gratitude, and hope +for no reward, but simply, and contentedly, and unmurmuringly, to work +on in God’s vineyard so long as life and health should last. + +Brigson’s brazen forehead bore him through the disgrace which would have +crushed another. But still he felt that his position at Roslyn could +never be what it had been before, and he therefore determined to leave +at once. By grossly calumniating the school, he got his father to remove +him, and announced, to every one’s great delight, that he was going in a +fortnight. On his last day, by way of bravado, he smashed and damaged as +much of the school property as he could, a proceeding which failed to +gain him any admiration, and merely put his father to ruinous expense. + +The day after his exposure Eric had cut him dead, without the least +pretence of concealment; an example pretty generally followed throughout +the school. + +In the evening Brigson went up to Eric and hissed in his ear, “You cut +me, curse you; but, _never fear, I’ll be revenged on you yet_.” + +“Do your worst,” answered Eric, contemptuously, “and never speak to me +again.” + + + +CHAPTER V + +RIPPLES + + “Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And live for ever and for ever.”--TENNYSON. + +Owen and Montagu were walking by Silverburn, and talking over the +affairs of the school. During their walk they saw Wright and Vernon +Williams in front of them. + +“I am so glad to see those two together,” said Montagu; “I really think +Wright is one of the best little fellows in the school, and he’ll be the +saving of Vernon. He’s already persuaded him to leave off smoking and +other bad things, and has got him to work a little harder, and turn over +a new leaf altogether.” + +“Yes,” answered Owen; “I’ve seen a marvellous improvement in little +Williams lately. I think that Duncan gave him a rough lesson the other +night which did him good, and dear old Rose too has been leading him by +the hand; but the best thing is that, through Wright, he sees less of +Eric’s _friend_, that young scapegrace Wildney.” + +“Yes; that little wretch has a good deal to answer for. What a pity that +Eric spoils him so, or rather suffers himself to be spoilt by him. I’m +glad Vernon’s escaped his influence now; he’s too fine a boy to be made +as bad as the general run of them. What a brilliant little fellow he is; +just like his brother.” + +“Just like what his brother _was_,” said Owen; “his face, like his +mind, has suffered lately.” + +“Too true,” answered Montagu, with a sigh; “and yet, cool as we now are +in our outward intercourse, he little knows how I love him, and yearn +for the Eric I once knew. Would to God poor Russell had lived, and then +I believe that Williams wouldn’t have gone so for wrong.” + +“Well, I think there’s another chance for him now that--that--what name +is bad enough, for that Brigson?--is gone.” + +“I hope so. But”--he added after a pause--“his works do follow him. Look +there!” He took a large stone and threw it into the Silverburn stream; +there was a great splash, and then ever-widening circles of blue ripple +broke the surface of the water, dying away one by one in the sedges on +the bank. “There,” he said, “see how long those ripples last, and how +numerous they are.” + +Owen understood him. “Poor Williams! What a gleam of new hope there was +in him after Russell’s death!” + +“Yes, for a time,” said Montagu; “heigh ho! I fear we shall never be +warm friends again. We can’t be while he goes on as he is doing. And yet +I love him.” + +A sudden turn of the stream brought them to the place called Riverbend. + +“If you want a practical comment on what we’ve been talking about, +you’ll see it there,” said Montagu. + +He pointed to a party of boys, four or five, all lying on a pleasant +grass bank, smoking pipes. Prominent among them was Eric, stretched at +ease, and looking up at the clouds, towards which curled the puffed +fumes of his meerschaum--a gift of Wildney’s. That worthy was beside him +similarly employed. + +The two sixth-form boys hoped to pass by unobserved, as they did not +wish for a rencontre with our hero under such circumstances. But they +saw Wildney pointing to them, and, from the fits of laughter which +followed his remarks, they had little doubt that they were the subject +of the young gentleman’s wit. This is never a pleasant sensation; but +they observed that Eric made a point of not looking their way, and went +on in silence. + +“How very sad!” said Montagu. + +“How very contemptible!” said Owen. + +“Did you observe what they were doing?” + +“Smoking?” + +“Worse than that a good deal. They were doing something which, if Eric +doesn’t take care, will one day be his ruin.” + +“What?” + +“I saw them drinking. I have little doubt it was brandy.” + +“Good heavens!” + +“It is getting a common practice with some fellows. One of the ripples, +you see, of Brigson’s influence.” + +Before they got home they caught up Wright and Vernon, and walked in +together. + +“We’ve been talking,” said Wright, “about a bad matter. Vernon here says +that there’s no good working for a prize in his form, because the +cribbing’s so atrocious. Indeed, it’s very nearly as bad in my form. It +always is under Gordon; he _can’t_ understand fellows doing +dishonorable things.” + +“It’s a great bore in the weekly examinations,” said Vernon; “every now +and then Gordon will even leave the room for a few minutes, and then out +come dozens of books.” + +“Well, Wright,” said Montagu, “if that happens again next examination, +I’d speak out about it.” + +“How?” + +“Why, I’d get every fellow who disapproves of it to give me his name, +and get up and read the list, and say that you at least have pledged +yourselves not to do it.” + +“Humph! I don’t know how that would answer. They’d half kill me for one +thing.” + +“Never mind; do your duty. I wish I’d such an opportunity, if only to +show how sorry I am for my own past unfairness.” + +And so talking, the four went in, and the two elder went to their study. + +It was too true that drinking had become a common vice at Roslyn school. +Accordingly, when Eric came in with Wildney about half an hour after, +Owen and Montagu heard them talk about ordering some brandy, and then +arrange to have a “jollification,” that evening. + +They got the brandy through “Billy.” One of Brigson’s most cursed +legacies to the school was the introduction of this man to a nefarious +intercourse with the boys. His character was so well known that it had +long been forbidden, under the strictest penalty, for any boy ever to +speak to him; yet, strange to say, they seemed to take a pleasure in +doing so, and just now particularly it was thought a fine thing, a sign +of “pluck” and “anti-muffishness,” to be on familiar and intimate terms +with that degraded and villainous scoundrel. + +Duncan had made friends again with Eric; but he did not join him in his +escapades and excesses, and sat much in other studies. He had not been +altogether a good boy, but yet there was a sort of rough honesty and +good sense about him, which preserved him from the worst and most +dangerous failings, and his character had been gradually improving as he +mounted higher in the school. He was getting steadier, more diligent, +more thoughtful, more manly; he was passing through that change so +frequent in boys as they grow older, to which Eric was so sad an +exception. Accordingly Duncan, though sincerely fond of Eric, had +latterly disapproved vehemently of his proceedings, and had therefore +taken to snubbing his old friend Wildney, in whose favor Eric seemed to +have an infatuation, and who was the means of involving him in every +kind of impropriety and mischief. So that night Duncan, hearing of what +was intended, sat in the next study, and Eric, with Bull, Wildney, +Graham, and Pietrie, had the room to themselves. Several of them were +lower boys still, but they came to the studies after bed-time, according +to Wildney’s almost nightly custom. + +A little pebble struck the study window. + +“Hurrah!” said Wildney, clapping his hands, “here’s the grub.” + +They opened the window and looked out. Billy was there, and they let +down to him a long piece of cord, to which he attached a basket, and, +after bidding them “Good night, and a merry drink,” retired. No sooner +had they shut the window, than he grimaced as usual towards them, and +shook his fist in a sort of demoniacal exultation, muttering, “Oh, I’ll +have you all under my thumb yet, you fine young fools!” + +Meanwhile the unconscious boys had opened the basket, and spread its +contents on the table. They were, bread, a large dish of sausages, a +tart, beer, and, alas! a bottle of brandy. + +They soon got very noisy, and at last uproarious. The snatches of songs, +peals of laughter, and rattle of plates, at last grew so loud that the +other study-boys were afraid lest one of the masters should come up and +catch the revellers. All of them heard every word that was spoken by +Eric and his party as the walls between the rooms were very thin; and +very objectionable much of the conversation was. + +“This _won’t_ do,” said Duncan emphatically, after a louder burst of +merriment than usual; “those fellows are getting drunk; I can tell it to +a certainty from the confused and random way in which some of them +are talking.” + +“We’d better go in and speak to them,” said Montagu; “at any rate, +they’ve no right to disturb us all night. Will you come?” + +“I’ll join you,” said Owen; “though I’m afraid my presence won’t do you +much good.” + +The three boys went to the door of Eric’s study, and their knock could +not at first be heard for the noise. When they went in they found a +scene of reckless disorder; books were scattered about, plates and +glasses lay broken on the floor, beer was spilt on all sides, and there +was an intolerable smell of brandy. + +“If you fellows don’t care,” said Duncan, sharply, “Rose or somebody’ll +be coming up and catching you. It’s ten now.” + +“What’s that to you?” answered Graham, with an insolent look. + +“It’s something to me that you nice young men have been making such a +row that none of the rest of us can hear our own voices, and that, +between you, you’ve made this study in such a mess that I can’t +endure it.” + +“Pooh!” said Pietrie; “we’re all getting such saints, that one can’t +have the least bit of spree now-a-days.” + +“Spree!” burst in Montagu indignantly; “fine spree, to make sots of +yourselves with spirits; fine spree, to----” + +“Amen!” said Wildney, who was perched on the back of a chair; and he +turned up his eyes and clasped his hands with a mock-heroic air. + +“There, Williams,” continued Montagu, pointing to the +mischievous-looking little boy; “see that spectacle, and be ashamed of +yourself, if you can. That’s what you lead boys to! Are you anxious to +become the teacher of drunkenness?” + +In truth, there was good ground for his sorrowful apostrophe, for the +scene was very painful to a high-minded witness. + +They hardly understood the look on Eric’s countenance; he had been +taking far more than was good for him; his eyes sparkled fiercely, and +though as yet he said nothing, he seemed to be resenting the intrusion +in furious silence. + +“How much longer is this interesting lecture to last?” asked Bull, with +his usual insufferable drawl; “for I want to finish my brandy.” + +Montagu rather looked as if he intended to give the speaker a box on the +ear; but he was just deciding that Bull wasn’t worth the trouble, when +Wildney, who had been grimacing all the time, burst into a fit +of laughter. + +“Let’s turn out these impudent lower-school fellows,” said Montagu, +speaking to Duncan. “Here! you go first,” he said, seizing Wildney by +the arm, and giving him a swing, which, as he was by no means steady on +his legs, brought him sprawling to the ground. + +“By Jove, I won’t stand this any longer,” shouted Eric, springing up +ferociously. “What on earth do you mean by daring to come in like this? +Do you hear?” + +Montagu took no sort of notice of his threatening gesture, for he was +looking to see if Wildney was hurt, and finding he was not, proceeded to +drag him out, struggling and kicking frantically. + +“Drop me, you fellow, drop me, I say. I won’t go for you,” cried +Wildney, shaking with passion. “Eric, why do you let him bully me?” + +“You let him go this minute,” repeated Eric, hoarsely. + +“I shall do no such thing. You don’t know what you’re about.” + +“Don’t I? Well, then, take _that_, to show whether I do or no!” and +suddenly leaning forward, he struck Montagu a violent back-handed blow +on the mouth. + +Everybody saw it, everybody heard it; and it instantly astounded them +into silence. That Montagu should have been struck in public, and that +by Eric--by a boy who had loved him, and whom he had loved--by a boy who +had been his schoolfellow for three years now, and whose whole life +seemed bound to him by so many associations; it was strange, and +sad indeed. + +Montagu sprang straight upright; for an instant he took one stride +towards his striker with lifted hand and lightning eyes, while the blood +started to his lips in consequence of the blow. But he stopped suddenly +and his hand fell to his side; by a strong effort of self-control he +contrived to master himself, and sitting down quite quietly on a chair, +he put his white handkerchief to his wounded mouth, and took it away +stained with blood. + +No one spoke; and rising with quiet dignity, he went back into his study +without a word. + +“Very well,” said Duncan; “you may all do as you like; only I heartily +hope now you will be caught. Come, Owen.” + +“Oh, Williams,” said Owen, “you are changed indeed, to treat your best +friend so.” + +But Eric was excited with drink, and the slave of every evil passion at +that moment. “Serve him right,” he said; “what business has he to +interfere with what I choose to do?” + +There was no more noise that night. Wildney and the rest slunk off +ashamed and frightened, and Eric, leaving his candle flaring on the +table, went down to his bed-room, where he was very sick. He had neither +strength nor spirit to undress, and flung himself into bed just as was. +When they heard that he was gone, Owen and Duncan (for Montagu was +silent and melancholy) went into his study, put out the candle, and had +only just cleared away, to the best of their power, the traces of the +carouse, when Dr. Rowlands came up stairs on his usual nightly rounds. +They had been lighting brown paper to take away the fumes of the brandy, +and the Doctor asked them casually the cause of the smell of burning. +Neither of them answered, and seeing Owen there, in whom he placed +implicit trust, the Doctor thought no more about it. + +Eric awoke with a bad headache, and a sense of shame and sickness. When +he got up he felt most wretched, and while washing he thought to +himself, “Ah! that I could thus wash away the memory of last night!” Of +course, after what had occurred, Eric and Montagu were no longer on +speaking terms, and miserable as poor Eric felt when he saw how his blow +had bruised and disfigured his friend’s face, he made no advances. He +longed, indeed, from his inmost heart, to be reconciled to him; but +feeling that he had done grievous wrong, he dreaded a repulse, and his +pride would not suffer him to run the risk. So he pretended to feel no +regret, and, supported by his late boon-companions, represented the +matter as occurring in the defence of Wildney, whom Montagu +was bullying. + +Montagu, too, was very miserable; but he felt that, although ready to +forgive Eric, he could not, in common self-respect, take the first step +to a reconciliation: indeed, he rightly thought that it was not for +Eric’s good that he should do so. + +“You and Williams appear never to speak to each other now,” said Mr. +Rose. “I am sorry for it, Monty; I think you are the only boy who has +any influence over him.” + +“I fear you are mistaken, sir, in that. Little Wildney has much more.” + +“Wildney?” asked Mr. Rose, in sorrowful surprise. “Wildney more +influence than _you_?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Ah, that our poor Edwin had lived!” + +So, with a sigh, Walter Rose and Harry Montagu buried their friendship +for Eric until happier days. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ERIC AND MONTAGU + + “And constancy lives in realms above; + And life is thorny; and youth is vain; + And to be wroth with one we love, + Doth work like madness in the brain. + + * * * * * + + Each spoke words of high disdain + And insult to his heart’s best brother.” + + COLERIDGE’S _Christabel_. + +Wright had not forgotten Montagu’s advice, and had endeavored to get the +names of boys who wern’t afraid to scout publicly the disgrace of +cheating in form. But he could only get one name promised him--the name +of Vernon Williams; and feeling how little could be gained by using it, +he determined to spare Vernon the trial, and speak, if he spoke at all, +on his own responsibility. + +As usual, the cribbing at the next weekly examination was well-nigh +universal, and when Mr. Gordon went out to fetch something he had +forgotten, merely saying, “I trust to your honor not to abuse my +absence,” books and papers were immediately pulled out with the coolest +and most unblushing indifference. + +This was the time for Wright to deliver his conscience; he had counted +the cost, and, rightly or wrongly considering it to be his duty, he had +decided that speak he would. He well knew that his interference would +be attributed to jealousy, meanness, sneaking, and every kind of wrong +motive, since he was himself one of the greatest sufferers from the +prevalent dishonesty; but still he had come to the conclusion that he +_ought_ not to draw back, and therefore he bravely determined that he +would make his protest, whatever happened. + +So, very nervously, he rose and said, “I want to tell you all that I +think this cheating very wrong and blackguardly. I don’t mind losing by +it myself, but if Vernon Williams loses the prize in the lower fourth, +and any one gets it by copying, I’ve made up my mind to tell Gordon.” + +His voice trembled a little at first, but he spoke fast, and acquired +firmness as he went on. Absolute astonishment and curiosity had held the +boys silent with amazement, but by the end of this sentence they had +recovered themselves, and a perfect burst of derision and +indignation followed. + +“Let’s see if _that’ll_ cut short his oration,” said Wildney, throwing a +book at his head, which was instantly followed by others from +all quarters. + +“My word! we’ve had nothing but lectures lately,” said Brooking. “Horrid +little Owenite saint.” + +“Saint!--sneak, you mean. I’ll teach him,” growled Pietrie, and jumping +up, he belabored Wright’s head with the Latin grammar out of which he +had just been cribbing. + +The whole room was in confusion and hubbub, during which Wright sat +stock still, quietly enduring without bowing to the storm. + +Only one boy sympathised with him, but he did so deeply--poor little +penitent Vernon. He felt his position hard because Wright had alluded so +prominently to him, and he knew how much he must be misconstrued, but he +had his brother’s spirit, and would not shrink. Amid the tumult he got +up in his seat, and they heard his pleasant, childish voice saying +boldly, “I hope Wright won’t tell; but he’s the best fellow in the room, +and cribbing _is_ a shame, as he says.” + +What notice would have been taken of this speech is doubtful, for at the +critical moment Mr. Gordon reappeared, and the whispered cavè caused +instantaneous quiet. + +Poor Wright awaited with some dread the end of school; and many an angry +kick and blow he got, though he disarmed malice by the spirit and +heroism with which he endured them. The news of his impudence spread +like wildfire, and not five boys in the school approved of what he had +done, while most of them were furious at his ill-judged threat of +informing Mr. Gordon. There was a general agreement to thrash him after +roll-call that afternoon. + +Eric had lately taken a violent dislike to Wright, though he had been +fond of him in better days. He used to denounce him as a disagreeable +and pragmatical little muff, and was as loud as any of them in +condemning his announced determination to “sneak.” Had he known that +Wright had acted under Montagu’s well-meant, though rather mistaken +advice, he might have abstained from having anything more to do with the +matter, but now he promised to kick Wright himself after the four +o’clock bell. + +Four o’clock came; the names were called; the master left the room. +Wright, who perfectly knew what was threatened, stood there pale but +fearless. His indifferent look was an additional annoyance to Eric, who +walked up to him carelessly, and boxing his ears, though without hurting +him, said contemptuously, “Conceited little sneak.” + +Montagu had been told of the intended kicking, and had determined even +single-handed to prevent it. He did _not_, however, expect that Eric +would have taken part in it, and was therefore unprepared. The color +rushed into his cheeks; he went up, took Wright quietly by the hand, and +said with firm determination, “No one in the school shall touch +Wright again.” + +“What? no one! just hark to that,” said Graham; “I suppose he thinks +himself cock of the school.” + +Eric quite misunderstood Montagu’s proceedings; he took it for a public +challenge. All the Rowlandites were round, and to yield would have +looked like cowardice. Above all, his evil genius Wildney was by, and +said, “How very nice! another dictation lesson!” + +A threatening circle had formed round Montagu, but his closed lips, and +flushing brow, and dilated nostrils, betrayed a spirit which made them +waver, and he quietly repeated, “No one shall touch you, Wright.” + +“They _will_, though,” said Eric instantly; “_I_ will, for one, and I +should like to see you prevent me.” And so saying he gave Wright another +slight blow. + +Montagu dropped Wright’s hand and said slowly, “Eric Williams, I have +taken one unexpected blow from you without a word, and bear the marks of +it yet. It is time to show that it was _not_ through cowardice that I +did not return it. Will you fight?” + +The answer was not prompt by any means, though every one in the school +knew that Eric was not afraid. So sure was he of this, that, for the +sake of “auld lang syne,” he would probably have declined to fight with +Montagu had he been left to his own impulses. + +“I have been in the wrong, Montagu, more than once,” he answered, +falteringly, “and we have been friends--” + +But it was the object of many of the worst boys that the two should +fight--not only that they might see the fun, but that Montagu’s +authority, which stood in their way, might be flung aside. So Brooking +whispered in an audible voice-- + +“Faith! he’s showing the white feather.” + +“You’re a liar!” flung in Eric; and turning to Montagu, he said--“There! +I’ll fight you this moment.” + +Instantly they had stripped off their coats and prepared for action. A +ring of excited boys crowded round them. Fellows of sixteen, like +Montagu and Eric, rarely fight, because their battles have usually been +decided in their earlier school-days; and it was also but seldom that +two boys so strong, active, and prominent, took this method of settling +their differences. + +The fight began, and at first the popular favor was entirely on the side +of Eric, while Montagu found few or none to back him. But he fought with +a fire and courage which soon won applause; and as Eric, on the other +hand, was random and spiritless, the cry was soon pretty fairly divided +between them. + +After a sharp round they paused for breath, and Owen, who had been a +silent and disgusted spectator of such a combat between boys of such +high standing, said with much, feeling-- + +“This is not a very creditable affair, Montagu.” + +“It is necessary,” was Montagu’s laconic reply. + +Among other boys who had left the room before the fracas had taken +place, was Vernon Williams, who shrank away to avoid the pain of seeing +his new friend Wright bullied and tormented. But curiosity soon took him +back, and he came in just as the second round began. At first he only +saw a crowd of boys in the middle of the room, but jumping on a desk he +had a full view of what was going on. + +There was a tremendous hubbub of voices, and Eric, now thoroughly roused +by the remarks he overheard, and especially by Wildney’s whisper that +“he was letting himself be licked,” was exerting himself with more vigor +and effect. It was anything but a noble sight; the faces of the +combatants were streaked with blood and sweat, and as the miserable gang +of lower school-boys backed them on with eager shouts of--“Now Eric, now +Eric,” “Now Montagu, go it, sixth, form,” etc., both of them fought +under a sense of deep disgrace, increased by the recollections which +they shared in common. + +All this Vernon marked in a moment, and, filled with pain and vexation, +his said in a voice which, though low, could be heard amid all the +uproar, “Oh Eric, Eric, fighting with Montagu!” There was reproach and +sorrow in the tone, which touched more than one boy there, for Vernon, +spite of the recent change in him, could not but continue a favorite. + +“Shut up there, you little donkey,” shouted one or two, looking back at +him for a moment. + +But Eric heard the words, and knew that it was his brother’s voice. The +thought rushed on him how degraded his whole position was, and how +different it might have been. He felt that he was utterly in the wrong, +and Montagu altogether in the right; and from that moment his blows once +more grew feeble and ill-directed. When they again stopped to take rest, +the general shout for Montagu showed that he was considered to have the +best of it. + +“I’m getting so tired of this,” muttered Eric, during the pause. + +“Why, you’re fighting like a regular muff,” said Graham; “you’ll have to +acknowledge yourself thrashed in a minute.” + +“That I’ll _never_ do,” he said, once more firing up. + +Just as the third round began, Duncan came striding in, for Owen, who +had left the room, told him what was going on. He had always been a +leading fellow, and quite recently his influence had several times been +exerted in the right direction, and he was very much looked up to by all +the boys alike, good or bad. He determined, for the credit of the sixth, +that the fight should not go on, and bursting into the ring, with his +strong shoulders he hurled on each side the boys who stood in his way, +and struck down the lifted arms of the fighters. + +“You _shan’t_ fight,” he said, doggedly, thrusting himself between them; +“so there’s an end of it. If you do, you’ll both have to fight +me first.” + +“Shame!” said several of the boys, and the cry was caught up by Bull and +others. + +“Shame, is it?” said Duncan, and his lip curled with scorn. “There’s +only one way to argue with, you fellows. Bull, if you, or any other boy, +repeat that word, I’ll thrash him. Here, Monty, come away from this +disgraceful scene.” + +“I’m sick enough of it,” said Montagu, “and am ready to stop if Williams +is,--provided no one touches Wright.” + +“I’m sick of it too,” said Eric sullenly. + +“Then you two shall shake hands,” said Duncan. + +For one instant--an instant which he regretted till the end of his +life--Montagu drew himself up and hesitated. He had been deeply wronged, +deeply provoked, and no one could blame him for the momentary feeling: +but Eric had observed the gesture, and his passionate pride took the +alarm. “It’s come to this, then,” he thought; “Montagu doesn’t think me +good enough to be shaken hands with.” + +“Pish!” he said aloud, in a tone of sarcasm; “it may be an awful honor +to shake hands with such an immaculate person as Montagu, but I’m not +proud on the subject;” and he turned away. + +Montagu’s hesitation was but momentary, and without a particle of anger +or indignation he sorrowfully held out his hand. It was too late; that +moment had done the mischief, and it was now Eric’s turn coldly +to withdraw. + +“You don’t think me worthy of your friendship, and what’s the good of +grasping hands if we don’t do it with cordial hearts?” + +Montagu’s lip trembled, but he said nothing, and quietly putting on his +coat, waved back the throng of boys with a proud sweep of his arm, and +left the room with Duncan. + +“Come along, Wright,” he said. + +“Nay, leave him,” said Eric with a touch of remorse. “Much as you think +me beneath you, I have honor enough to see that no one hurts him.” + +The group of boys gradually dispersed, but one or two remained with +Eric, although he was excessively wearied by their observations. + +“You didn’t fight half like yourself,” said Wildney. + +“Can’t you tell why? I had the wrong side to fight for.” And getting up +abruptly, he left the room, to be alone in his study, and bathe his +swollen and aching face. + +In a few minutes Vernon joined him, and at the mere sight of him Eric +burst into tears of shame. That evening with Vernon in the study, after +the dinner at the Jolly Herring, had revived all his really warm +affection for his little brother; and as he could no longer conceal the +line he took in the school, they had been often together since then; and +Eric’s moral obliquity was not so great as to prevent him from feeling +deep joy at the change for the better in Vernon’s character. + +“Verny, Verny,” he said, as the boy came up and affectionately took his +hand, “it was you who lost me that fight.” + +“Oh, but, Eric, you were fighting with Montagu.” + +“Don’t you remember the days, Eric,” he continued, “when we were +home-boarders, and how kind Monty used to be to me even then, and how +mother liked him, and thought him quite your truest friend, except +poor Russell?” + +“I do, indeed. I didn’t think then that it would come to this.” + +“I’ve always been _so_ sorry,” said Vernon, “that I joined the fellows +in playing him tricks. I can’t think how I came to do it, except that +I’ve done such lots of bad things here. But he’s forgiven and forgotten +that long ago, and is very kind to me now.” + +It was true; but Eric didn’t know that half the kindness which Montagu +showed to his brother was shown solely for _his_ sake. + +“Do you know, I’ve thought of a plan for making you two friends again? +I’ve written to Aunt Trevor to ask him to Fairholm with us next +holidays.” + +“Oh, have you? Good Verny! Yes; _there_ we might be friends. Perhaps +there,” he added, half to himself, “I might be more like what I was in +better days.” + +“But it’s a long time to look forward to. Easter hasn’t come yet,” said +Vernon. + +So the two young boys proposed; but God had disposed it otherwise. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PIGEONS + + “Et motae ad Lunam trepidabis arundinis umbram.” + + Juv. X. 21. + +“How awfully dull it is, Charlie,” said Eric, a few weeks before Easter, +as he sat with Wildney in his study one holiday afternoon. + +“Yes; too late for football, too early for cricket.” And Wildney +stretched himself and yawned. + +“I suppose this is what they call ennui,” said Eric again, after a +pause. “What is to be done, Sunbeam?” + +“You _shan’t_ call me that, so there’s an end of it,” said Wildney, +hitting him on the arm. + +“By the bye, Eric, you remind me to-morrow’s my birth-day, and I’ve got +a parcel coming this afternoon full of grub from home. Let’s go and see +if it’s come.” + +“Capital! We will.” + +So Eric and Wildney started off to the coach-office, where they found +the hamper, and ordered it to be brought at once to the school, and +carried up to Eric’s study. + +On opening it they found it rich in dainties, among which were a pair of +fowls and a large plum-cake. + +“Hurrah!” said Wildney, “you were talking of nothing to do; I vote we +have a carouse to-morrow.” + +“Very well; only let’s have it _before_ prayers, because we were so +nearly caught last time.” + +“Ay, and let it be in one of the class-rooms, Eric; not up here, lest +we have another incursion of the ‘Rosebuds.’ I shall have to cut +preparation, but that don’t matter, It’s Harley’s night, and old Stupid +will never twig.” + +“Well, whom shall we ask?” said Eric. + +“Old Llewellyn for one,” said Wildney. “We havn’t seen him for an age, +and he’s getting too lazy even for a bit of fun.” + +“Good; and Graham,” suggested Eric. He and Wildney regarded their +possessions so much as common property, that he hadn’t the least +delicacy in mentioning the boys whom he wanted to invite. + +“Yes; Graham’s a jolly bird; and Bull?” + +“I’ve no objection; and Pietrie?” + +“Well; and your brother Vernon?” + +“No!” said Eric, emphatically. “At any rate I won’t lead _him_ into +mischief any more.” + +“Attlay, then; and what do you say to Brooking?” + +“No, again,” said Eric; “he’s a blackguard.” + +“I wonder you haven’t mentioned Duncan,” said Wildney. + +“Duncan! why, my dear child, you might as well ask Owen, or even old +Rose, at once. Bless you, Charlie, he’s a great deal too correct to +come now.” + +“Well; we’ve got six already, that’s quite enough.” + +“Yes; but two fowls isn’t enough for six hungry boys.” + +“No, it isn’t,” said Wildney. He thought a little, and then, clapping +his hands, danced about and said, “Are you game for a _regular_ +lark, Eric?” + +“Yes; anything to make it less dull. I declare I’ve very nearly been +taking to work again to fill up the time.” + +Eric often talked now of work in this slighting way partly as an excuse +for the low places in form to which he was gradually sinking. Everybody +knew that had he properly exerted his abilities he was capable of +beating almost any boy; so, to quiet his conscience, he professed to +ridicule diligence as an unboyish piece of muffishness, and was never +slow to sneer at the “grinders,” as he contemptuously called all those +who laid themselves out to win school distinctions. + +“Ha, ha!” said Wildney, “that’s rather good! No, Eric, it’s too late for +you to turn ‘grinder’ now. I might as well think of doing it myself, and +I’ve never been higher than five from lag in my form yet.” + +“Haven’t you? But what’s the regular lark you hinted at?” + +“Why, we’ll go and seize the Gordonites’ _pigeons_, and make another +dish of them.” + +“Seize the Gordonites’ pigeons! Why, when do you mean?” + +“To-night.” + +Eric gave a long whistle. “But wouldn’t it be st--t--?” + +“Stealing?” said Wildney, with a loud laugh. “Pooh! ‘_convey_ the wise +call it.’” + +But Eric still looked serious. “Why, my dear old boy,” continued +Wildney, “the Gordonites’ll be the first to laugh at the trick when we +tell them of it next morning, as of course we will do. There, now, don’t +look grumpy. I shall cut away and arrange it with. Graham, and tell you +the whole dodge ready prepared to-night at bed-time.” + +After lights were put out, Wildney came up to the study according to +promise, and threw out hints about the proposed plan. He didn’t tell it +plainly, because Duncan was there, but Duncan caught enough to guess +what was intended, and said, when Wildney had gone-- + +“Take my advice, and have nothing to do with this, Eric.” + +Eric had grown very touchy lately about advice, particularly from any +fellow of his own standing; and after the checks he had recently +received, a coolness had sprung up between him and nearly all the +study-boys, which made him more than ever inclined to assert his +independence, and defy and thwart them in every way. + +“Keep your advice to yourself, Duncan, till it’s asked for,” he +answered, roughly. “You’ve done nothing but _advise_ lately, and I’m +rather sick of it.” + +“Comme vous voulez,” replied Duncan, with a shrug. “Gang your own gait; +I’ll have nothing more to do with trying to stop you, since you _will_ +ruin yourself.” + +Nothing more was said in the study that evening, and when Eric went down +he didn’t even bid Duncan goodnight. + +“Charlie,” he said, as he stole on tiptoe into Wildney’s dormitory. + +“Hush!” whispered Wildney, “the other fellows are asleep. Come and sit +by my bedside, and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.” + +Eric went and sat by him, and he sat up in his bed “First of all, +_you’re_ to keep awake till twelve to-night,” he whispered; “old +Rowley’ll have gone round by that time, and it’ll be all safe. Then come +and awake me again, and I’ll watch till one, Pietrie till two, and +Graham till three. Then Graham’ll awake us all, and we’ll dress.” + +“Very well. But how will you get the key of the lavatory?” + +“Oh, I’ll manage that,” said Wildney, chuckling. “But come again and +awake me at twelve, will you?” + +Eric went to his room and lay down, but he didn’t take off his clothes, +for fear he should go to sleep. Dr. Rowlands came round as usual at +eleven, and then Eric closed his eyes for a few minutes, till the +head-master had disappeared. After that he lay awake thinking for an +hour, but his thoughts weren’t very pleasant. + +At twelve he went and awoke Wildney. + +“I don’t feel very sleepy. Shall I sit with you for your hour, Charlie?” + +“Oh, do! I should like it of all things. But douse the glim there; we +shan’t want it, and it might give the alarm.” + +“All right.” + +So Eric went and sat by his dangerous little friend, and they talked in +low voices until they heard the great school clock strike one. They then +woke Pietrie, and Eric went off to bed again. + +At three Graham awoke him, and dressing hastily, he joined the others in +the lavatory. + +“Now, I’m going to get the key,” said Wildney, “and mean to have a +stomach-ache for the purpose.” + +Laughing quietly he went up to the door of Mr. Harley’s bed-room, which +opened out of the lavatory, and knocked. + +No answer. He knocked a little louder. Still no answer. Louder still. + +“Bother the fellow,” said Wildney; “he sleeps like a grampus. Won’t one +of you try to wake him?” + +“No,” said Graham; “’taint dignified for fifth-form boys to have +stomach-aches.” + +“Well, I must try again.” But it seemed no use knocking, and Wildney at +last, in a fit of impatience, thumped a regular tattoo on the +bed-room door. + +“Who’s there?” said the startled voice of Mr. Harley. + +“Only me, sir!” answered Wildney, in a mild and innocent way. + +“What do you want?” + +“Please, sir, I want the key of the lavatory. I’m indisposed,” said +Wildney again, in a tone of such disciplined suavity, that the others +shook with laughing. + +Mr. Harley opened the door about an inch, and peered about suspiciously. + +“Oh, well, you must go and awake Mr. Rose. I don’t happen to have the +key to-night.” And so saying, he shut the door. + +“Phew! Here’s a go!” said Wildney, recovering immediately. “It’ll never +do to awake old Rose. He’d smell a rat in no time.” + +“I have it,” said Pietrie. “I’ve got an old nail, with which I believe I +can open the lock quite simply. Let’s try.” + +“Quietly and quick, then,” said Eric. + +In ten minutes he had silently shot back the lock with the old nail, and +the boys were on the landing. They carried their shoes in their hands, +ran noiselessly down stairs, and went to the same window at which Eric +and Wildney had got out before. Wildney had taken care beforehand to +break the pane and move away the glass, so they had only to loosen the +bar and slip through one by one. + +It was cold and very dark, and as on the March morning they stood out +in the playground, all four would rather have been safe and harmlessly +in bed. But the novelty and the excitement of the enterprise bore them +up, and they started off quickly for the house at which Mr. Gordon and +his pupils lived, which was about half a mile from the school. They went +arm in arm to assure each other a little, for at first in their fright +they were inclined to take every post and tree for a man in ambush, and +to hear a recalling voice in every sound of wind and wave. + +Not far from Mr. Gordon’s was a carpenter’s shop, and outside of this +there was generally a ladder standing. They had arranged to carry this +ladder with them (as it was only a short one), climb the low garden wall +with it, and then place it against the house, immediately under the +dovecot which hung by the first story-windows. Wildney, as the lightest +of the four, was to take the birds, while the others held the ladder. + +Slanting it so that it should be as far from the side of the window as +possible, Wildney ascended and thrust both hands into the cot. He +succeeded in seizing a pigeon with each hand, but in doing so threw the +other birds into a state of such alarm that they fluttered about in the +wildest manner, and the moment his hands were withdrawn, flew out with a +great flapping of hurried wings. + +The noise they made alarmed the plunderer, and he hurried down the +ladder as fast as he could. He handed the pigeons to the others, who +instantly wrung their necks. + +“I’m nearly sure I heard somebody stir,” said Wildney; “we haven’t been +half quiet enough. Here! let’s crouch down in this corner.” + +All four shrank up as close to the wall as they could, and held their +breath. Some one was certainly stirring, and at last they heard the +window open. A head was thrust out, and Mr. Gordon’s voice asked +sternly--“Who’s there?” + +He seemed at once to have caught sight of the ladder, and made an +endeavor to reach it; but though he stretched out his arm at full +length, he could not do so. + +“We must cut for it,” said Eric; “it’s quite too dark for him to see us, +or even to notice that we are boys.” + +They moved the ladder to the wall, and sprang over, one after the other, +as fast as they could. Eric was last, and just as he got to the top of +the wall he heard the back door open, and some one run out into +the yard. + +“Run for your lives,” said Eric hurriedly; “it’s Gordon, and he’s +raising the alarm.” + +They heard footsteps following them, and an occasional shout of +“thieves! thieves!” + +“We must separate and run different ways, or we’ve no chance of escape. +We’d better turn towards the town to put them off the right scent,” said +Eric again. + +“Don’t leave me,” pleaded Wildney; “you know I can’t run very fast.” + +“No, Charlie, I won’t;” and grasping his hand, Eric hurried him over the +style and through the fields, while Pietrie and Graham took the opposite +direction. + +Some one (they did not know who it was, but suspected it to be Mr. +Gordon’s servant-man) was running after them, and they could distinctly +hear his footsteps, which seemed to be half a field distant. He carried +a light, and they heard him panting. They were themselves tired, and in +the utmost trepidation; the usually courageous Wildney was trembling all +over, and his fear communicated itself to Eric. Horrible visions of a +trial for burglary, imprisonment in the castle jail, and perhaps +transportation, presented themselves to their excited imaginations, as +the sound of the footsteps came nearer. + +“I can’t run any further, Eric,” said Wildney. “What shall we do? don’t +leave me, for heaven’s sake.” + +“Not I, Charlie. We must hide the minute we get t’other side of this +hedge.” + +They scrambled over the gate, and plunged into the thickest part of a +plantation close by, lying down on the ground behind some bushes, and +keeping as still as they could, taking care to cover over their +white collars. + +The pursuer reached the gate, and no longer hearing footsteps in front +of him, he paused. He went a little distance up the hedge on both sides +and held up his light, but did not detect the cowering boys, and at last +giving up the search in despair, went slowly home. They heard him +plodding back over the field, and it was not until the sound of his +footsteps had died away, that Eric cautiously broke cover, and looked +over the hedge. He saw the man’s light gradually getting more distant, +and said, “All right now, Charlie. We must make the best of our +way home.” + +“Are you sure he’s gone?” said Wildney, who had not yet recovered from +his fright. + +“Quite; come along. I only hope Pietrie and Graham ain’t caught.” + +They got back about half-past four, and climbed in unheard and +undetected through the window pane. They then stole up stairs with +beating hearts, and sat in Eric’s room to wait for the other two. To +their great relief they heard them enter the lavatory about ten +minutes after. + +“Were you twigged?” asked Wildney eagerly. + +“No,” said Graham; “precious near it though. Old Gordon and some men +were after us, but at last we doubled rather neatly, and escaped them. +It’s all serene, and we shan’t be caught.” + +“Well, we’d best to bed now,” said Eric; “and, to my thinking, we should +be wise to keep a quiet tongue in our heads about this affair.” + +“Yes, we had better tell _no one_.” They agreed, and went off to bed +again. So, next morning, they all four got up quite as if nothing had +happened, and made no allusion to the preceding night, although, they +could not help chuckling inwardly a little when the Gordonites came to +morning school, brimful of a story about their house having been +attacked in the night by thieves, who, after bagging some pigeons, had +been chevied by Gordon and the servants. Wildney professed immense +interest in the incident, and asked many questions, which showed that +there was not a shadow of suspicion in any one’s mind as to the +real culprits. + +Carter, the school servant, didn’t seem to have noticed that the +lavatory door was unlocked, and Mr. Harley never alluded again to his +disturbance in the night. So the theft of the pigeons remained +undiscovered, and remains so till this day. If any old Roslyn boy reads +this veracious history, he will doubtless be astounded to hear that the +burglars on that memorable night were Brio, Pietrie, Graham, +and Wildney. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOWING THE WIND + + “Praepediuntur + Crura vacillanti, tardescit lingua, madet mens, + Nant oculi.” + + LUCR. iii. 417. + +Next evening, when preparation began, Pietrie and Graham got everything +ready for a carouse in their class-room. Wildney, relying on the chance +of names not being called over (which, was only done in case any one’s +absence was observed), had absented himself altogether from the +boarders’ room, and helped busily to spread the table for the banquet. +The cook had roasted for them the fowls and pigeons, and Billy had +brought an ample supply of beer and some brandy for the occasion. A +little before eight o’clock everything was ready, and Eric, Attlay, and +Llewellyn were summoned to join the rest. + +The fowls, pigeons, and beer had soon vanished, and the boys were in the +highest spirits. Eric’s reckless gaiety was kindled by Wildney’s +frolicsome vivacity, and Graham’s sparkling wit; they were all six in a +roar of perpetual laughter at some fresh sally of fun elicited by the +more phlegmatic natures of Attlay or Llewellyn, and the dainties of +Wildney’s parcel were accompanied by draughts of brandy and water, which +were sometimes exchanged for potations of the raw liquor. It was not the +first time, be it remembered, that the members of that young party had +been present at similar scenes, and even the scoundrel Billy was +astonished, and alarmed occasionally at the quantities of spirits and +other inebriating drinks that of late had found their way to the +studies. The disgraceful and deadly habit of tippling had already told +physically on both Eric and Wildney. The former felt painfully that he +was losing his clear-headedness, and that his intellectual tastes were +getting not only blunted but destroyed; and while he perceived in +himself the terrible effects of his sinful indulgence, he saw them still +more indisputably in the gradual coarseness which seemed to be +spreading, like a grey lichen, over the countenance, the mind, and the +manners of his younger companion. Sometimes the vision of a Nemesis +breaking in fire out of his darkened future, terrified his guilty +conscience in the watches of the night; and the conviction of some +fearful Erynnis, some discovery dawning out of the night of his +undetected sins, made his heart beat fast with agony and fear. But he +fancied it too late to repent. He strangled the half-formed resolutions +as they rose, and trusted to the time when, by leaving school, he should +escape, as he idly supposed, the temptations to which he had yielded. +Meanwhile, the friends who would have rescued him had been alienated by +his follies, and the principles which might have preserved him had been +eradicated by his guilt. He had long flung away the shield of prayer, +and the helmet of holiness, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the +word of God; and now, unarmed and helpless, Eric stood alone, a mark for +the fiery arrows of his enemies, while, through the weakened inlet of +every corrupted sense, temptation rushed in upon him perpetually +and unawares. + +As the class-room they had selected was in a remote part of the +building, there was little immediate chance of detection. So the +laughter of the party grew louder and sillier; the talk more foolish and +random; the merriment more noisy and meaningless. But still most of them +mingled some sense of caution with their enjoyment, and warned Eric and +Wildney more than once that they must look out, and not take too much +that night for fear of being caught. But it was Wildney’s birth-day, and +Eric’s boyish mirth, suppressed by his recent troubles, was blazing out +unrestrained. In the riot of their feasting, the caution had been +utterly neglected, and the boys were far from being sober when the sound +of the prayer-bell ringing through the great hall, startled them into +momentary consciousness. + +“Good heavens!” shouted Graham, springing up; “there’s the prayer-bell; +I’d no notion it was so late. Here, let’s shove these brandy bottles and +things into the cupboards and drawers, and then we must run down.” + +There was no time to lose. The least muddled of the party had cleared +the room in a moment, and then addressed themselves to the more +difficult task of trying to quiet Eric and Wildney, and conduct them +steadily into the prayer-room. + +Wildney’s seat was near the door, so there was little difficulty in +getting him to his place comparatively unobserved. Llewellyn took him by +the arm, and after a little stumbling, helped him safely to his seat, +where he assumed a look of preternatural gravity. But Eric sat near the +head of the first table, not far from Dr. Rowlands’ desk, and none of +the others had to go to that part of the room. Graham grasped his arm +tight, led him carefully down stairs, and, as they were reaching the +door, said to him, in a most earnest and imploring tone--“Do try and +walk sensibly to your place, Eric, or we shall all be caught.” + +It was rather late when they got down. Everybody was quietly seated, and +most of the Bibles were already open, although the Doctor had not yet +come in. Consequently, the room was still, and the entrance of Graham +and Eric after the rest attracted general notice. Eric had just sense +enough to try and assume his ordinary manner; but he was too giddy with +the fumes of drink to walk straight, or act naturally. + +Vernon was sitting next to Wright, and stared at his brother with great +eyes and open lips. He was not the only observer. + +“Wright,” whispered he, in a timid voice; “just see how Eric walks. What +can be the matter with him? Good gracious, he must be ill!” he said, +starting up, as Eric suddenly made a great stagger to one side, and +nearly fell in the attempt to recover himself. + +Wright pulled the little boy down with a firm hand. + +“Hush!” he whispered; “take no notice; he’s been drinking, Verny, and I +fear he’ll be caught.” + +Vernon instantly sat down, and turned deadly pale. He thought, and he +had hoped, that since the day at the “Jolly Herring,” his brother had +abandoned all such practices, for Eric had been most careful to conceal +from him the worst of his failings. And now he trembled violently with +fear for his discovery, and horror at his disgraceful condition. + +The sound of Eric’s unsteady footsteps had made Mr. Rose quickly raise +his head; but at the same moment Duncan hastily made room for the boy +on the seat beside him, and held out his hand to assist him. It was not +Eric’s proper place; but Mr. Rose, after one long look of astonishment, +looked down at his book again, and said nothing. + +It made other hearts besides Vernon’s ache to see the unhappy boy roll +to his place in that helpless way. + +Dr. Rowlands came in, and prayers commenced. When they were finished, +the names were called, and Eric, instead of quietly answering his +“adsum,” as he should have done, stood up, with a foolish look, and +said, “Yes, Sir.” The head master looked at him for a minute; the boy’s +glassy eyes, and jocosely stupid appearance, told an unmistakable tale; +but Dr. Rowlands only remarked, “Williams, you don’t look well. You had +better go at once to bed.” + +It was hopeless for Eric to attempt getting along without help, so +Duncan at once got up, took him by the arm, and with much difficulty +(for Eric staggered at every step) conducted him to his bed-room. + +Wildney’s condition was also too evident; and Mr. Rose, while walking up +and down the dormitories, had no doubt left on his mind that both Eric +and Wildney had been drinking. But he made no remarks to them, and +merely went to the Doctor to talk over the steps which were to be taken. + +“I shall summon the school,” said Dr. Rowlands, “on Monday, and by that +time we will decide on the punishment. Expulsion, I fear, is the only +course open to us.” + +“Is not that a _very_ severe line to take?” + +“Perhaps; but the offence is of the worst character I must consider the +matter.” + +“Poor Williams!” sighed Mr. Rose, as he left the room. + +The whole of the miserable Sunday that followed was spent by Eric and +his companions in vain inquiries and futile restlessness. It seemed +clear that two of them at least were detected, and they were +inexpressibly wretched with anxiety and suspense. Wildney, who had to +stay in bed, was even more depressed; his head ached violently, and he +was alone with his own terrified thoughts. He longed for the morrow, +that at least he might have the poor consolation of knowing his fate. No +one came near him all day. Eric wished to do so, but as he could not +have visited the room without express leave, the rest dissuaded him from +asking, lest he should excite further suspicion. His apparent neglect +made poor Wildney even more unhappy, for Wildney loved Eric as much as +it was possible for his volatile mind to love any one; and it seemed +hard to be deserted in the moment of disgrace and sorrow by so close +a friend. + +At school the next morning the various masters read out to their forms a +notice from Dr. Rowlands, that the whole school were to meet at ten in +the great schoolroom. The object of the summons was pretty clearly +understood; and few boys had any doubt that it had reference to the +drinking on Saturday night. Still nothing had been _said_ on the subject +as yet; and every guilty heart among those 250 boys beat fast lest _his_ +sin too should have been discovered, and he should be called out for +some public and heavy punishment. + +The hour arrived. The boys thronging into the great school-room, took +their places according to their respective forms. The masters in their +caps and gowns were all seated on a small semicircular bench at the +upper end of the room, and in the centre of them, before a small table, +sate Dr. Rowlands. + +The sound of whispering voices sank to a dead and painful hush. The +blood was tingling consciously in many cheeks, and not even a breath +could be heard in the deep expectation of that anxious and +solemn moment. + +Dr. Rowlands spread before him the list of the school, and said, “I +shall first read out the names of the boys in the first-fifth, and +upper-fourth forms.” + +This was done to ascertain formally whether the boys were present on +whose account the meeting was convened; and it at once told Eric and +Wildney that _they_ were the boys to be punished, and that the others +had escaped. + +The names were called over, and an attentive observer might have told, +from the sound of the boys’ voices as they answered, which of them were +afflicted with a troubled conscience. + +Another slight pause, and breathless hush. + +“Eric Williams and Charles Wildney, stand forward.” + +The boys obeyed. From his place in the fifth, where he was sitting with +his head propped on his hand, Eric rose and advanced; and Wildney, from +the other end of the room, where the younger boys sat, getting up, came +and stood by his side. + +Both of them fixed their eyes on the ground, whence they never once +raised them; and in the deadly pallor of their haggard faces, you could +scarcely have recognized the joyous high-spirited friends, whose laugh +and shout had often rung so merrily through the play-ground, and woke +the echoes of the rocks along the shore. Every eye was on them, and +they were conscious of it, though they could not see it--painfully +conscious of it, so that they wished the very ground to yawn beneath +their feet for the moment, and swallow up their shame. Companionship in +disgrace increased the suffering; had either of them been alone, he +would have been less acutely sensible to the trying nature of his +position; but that they, so different in their ages and position in the +school, should thus have their friendship and the results of it +blazoned, or rather branded, before their friends and enemies added +keenly to the misery they felt. So, with eyes bent on the floor, Eric +and Charlie awaited their sentence. + +“Williams and Wildney,” said Dr. Rowlands in a solemn voice, of which +every articulation thrilled to the heart of every hearer, “you have been +detected in a sin most disgraceful and most dangerous. On Saturday night +you were both drinking, and you were guilty of such gross excess, that +you were neither of you in a fit state to appear among your +companions--least of all to appear among them at the hour of prayer. I +shall not waste many words on an occasion like this; only I trust that +those of your schoolfellows who saw you staggering and rolling into the +room on Saturday evening in a manner so unspeakably shameful and +degrading, will learn from that melancholy sight the lesson which the +Spartans taught their children by exhibiting a drunkard before them--the +lesson of the brutalising and fearful character of this most ruinous +vice. Eric Williams and Charles Wildney, your punishment will be public +expulsion, for which you will prepare this very evening. I am unwilling +that for a single day either of you--especially the elder of +you--should linger, so as possibly to contaminate others with the danger +of so pernicious an example.” + +Such a sentence was wholly unexpected; it took boys and masters equally +by surprise. The announcement of it caused an uneasy sensation, which +was evident to all present, though no one spoke a word; but Dr. Rowlands +took no notice of it, and only said to the culprits-- + +“You may return to your seats.” + +The two boys found their way back instinctively, they hardly knew how. +They seemed confounded and thunderstruck by their sentence, and the +painful accessories of its publicity. Eric leaned over the desk with his +head resting on a book, too stunned even to think; and Wildney looked +straight before him with his eyes fixed in a stupid and +unobserved stare. + +Form by form the school dispersed, and the moment he was liberated Eric +sprang away from the boys, who would have spoken to him, and rushed +wildly to his study, where he locked the door. In a moment, however, he +re-opened it, for he heard Wildney’s step, and, after admitting him, +locked it once more. + +Without a word Wildney, who looked very pale, flung his arms round +Eric’s neck, and, unable to bear up any longer, burst into a flood of +tears. Both of them felt relief in giving the reins to their sorrow. + +“O my father! my father!” sobbed Wildney at length. “What will he say? +He will disown me, I know; he is so stern always with me when he thinks +I bring disgrace on him.” + +Eric thought of Fairholm, and of his own far-distant parents, and of the +pang which _his_ disgrace would cause their loving hearts; but he could +say nothing, and only stroked Wildney’s dark hair again and again with +a soothing hand. + +They sat there long, hardly knowing how the time passed; Eric could not +help thinking how very, very different their relative positions might +have been; how, while he might have been aiding and ennobling the young +boy beside him, he had alternately led and followed him into wickedness +and disgrace. His heart was full of misery and bitterness, and he felt +almost indifferent to all the future, and weary of his life. + +A loud knocking at the door disturbed them. It was Carter, the school +servant. + +“You must pack up to go this evening, young gentlemen.” + +“O no! no! no!” exclaimed Wildney; “_cannot_ be sent away like this. It +would break my father’s heart. Eric, _do_ come and entreat Dr. Rowlands +to forgive us only this once.” + +“Yes,” said Eric, starting up with sudden energy; “he _shall_ forgive +us--_you_ at any rate. I will not leave him till he does. Cheer up, +Charlie, cheer up, and come along.” + +Filled with an irresistible impulse, he pushed Carter aside, and sprang +down stairs three steps at a time, with Wildney following him. They went +straight for the Doctor’s study, and without waiting for the answer to +their knock at the door, Eric walked up to Dr. Rowlands, who sate +thinking in his arm-chair by the fire, and burst out passionately, “O +sir, forgive us this once.” + +The Doctor was completely taken by surprise, so sudden was the +intrusion, and so intense was the boy’s manner. He remained silent a +moment from astonishment, and then said with asperity-- + +“Your offence is one of the most dangerous possible. There could be no +more perilous example for the school, than the one you have been +setting, Williams. Leave the room,” he added, with an authoritative +gesture, “my mind is made up.” + +But Eric was too excited to be overawed by the master’s manner; an +imperious passion blinded him to all ordinary considerations, and, +heedless of the command, he broke out again-- + +“O sir, try me but once, _only_ try me. I promise you most faithfully +that I will never again commit the sin. O sir, do, do trust me, and I +will be responsible for Wildney too.” + +Dr. Rowlands, seeing that in Eric’s present mood he must and would be +heard, unless he were ejected by actual force, began to pace silently up +and down the room in perplexed and anxious thought; at last he stopped +and turned over the pages of a thick school register, and found +Eric’s name. + +“It is not your first offence, Williams, even of this very kind. That +most seriously aggravates your fault.” + +“O sir! give us one more chance to mend. O, I feel that I _could_ do +such great things, if you will be but merciful, and give me time to +change. O, I entreat you, sir, to forgive us only this once, and I will +never ask again. Let us bear _any_ other punishment but this. O sir,” he +said, approaching the doctor in an imploring attitude, “spare us this +one time for the sake of our friends.” + +The head-master made no reply for a time, but again paced the room in +silence. He was touched, and seemed hardly able to restrain his emotion. + +“It was my deliberate conclusion to expel you, Williams. I must not +weakly yield to entreaty. You must go.” + +Eric wrung his hands in agony. “O, sir, then, if you must do so, expel +me only, and not Charlie, _I_ can bear it, but do not let me ruin him +also. O I implore you, sir, for the love of God do, do forgive him. It +is I who have misled him;” and he flung himself on his knees, and lifted +his hands entreatingly towards the Doctor. + +Dr. Rowlands looked at him--at his blue eyes drowned with tears, his +agitated gesture, his pale, expressive face, full of passionate +supplication. He looked at Wildney, too, who stood trembling with a look +of painful and miserable suspense, and occasionally added his wild word +of entreaty, or uttered sobs more powerful still, that seemed to come +from the depth of his heart. He was shaken in his resolve, wavered for a +moment, and then once more looked at the register. + +“Yes,” he said, after a long pause, “here is an entry which shall save +you this time. I find written here against your name, ‘April 3. Risked +his life in the endeavor to save Edwin Russell at the Stack.’ That one +good and noble deed shall be the proof that you are capable of better +things. It may be weak perhaps--I know that it will be called weak--and +I do not feel certain that I am doing right; but if I err it shall be on +the side of mercy. I shall change expulsion into some other punishment. +You may go.” + +Wildney’s face lighted up as suddenly and joyously as when a ray of +sun-light gleams for an instant out of a dark cloud. + +“O thank you, thank you, sir,” he exclaimed, drying his eyes, and +pouring into the words a world of expression, which it was no light +pleasure to have heard. But Eric spoke less impulsively, and while the +two boys were stammering out their deep gratitude, a timid hand knocked +at the door, and Vernon entered. + +“I have come, sir, to speak for poor Eric,” he said in a low voice, and +trembling with emotion, as, with downcast eyes, he modestly approached +towards Dr. Rowlands, not even observing the presence of the others in +the complete absorption of his feelings. He stood in a sorrowful +attitude, not venturing to look up, and his hand played nervously with +the ribbon of his straw hat. + +“I have just forgiven him, my little boy,” said the Doctor kindly, +patting his stooping head; “there he is, and he has been speaking +for himself.” + +“O, Eric, I am so, so glad, I don’t know what to say for joy. O Eric, +thank God that you are not to be expelled;” and Vernon went to his +brother, and embraced him with the deepest affection. + +Dr. Rowlands watched the scene with moist eyes. He was generally a man +of prompt decision, and he well knew that he would incur by this act the +charge of vacillation. It was a noble self-denial in him to be willing +to do so, but it would have required an iron heart to resist such +earnest supplications, and he was more than repaid when he saw how much +anguish he had removed by yielding to their entreaties. + +Once more humbly expressing their gratitude, the boys retired. + +They did not know that other influences had been also exerted in their +favor, which, although ineffectual at the time, had tended to alter the +Doctor’s intention. Immediately after school Mr. Rose had been strongly +endeavoring to change the Doctor’s mind, and had dwelt forcibly on all +the good points in Eric’s character, and the promise of his earlier +career. And Montagu had gone with Owen and Duncan to beg that the +expulsion might be commuted into some other punishment. They had failed +to convince him; but, perhaps, had they not thus exerted themselves, Dr. +Rowlands might have been unshaken, though he could not be unmoved by +Vernon’s gentle intercession and Eric’s passionate prayers. + +Wildney, full of joy, and excited by the sudden revulsion of feeling, +only shook Eric’s hand with all his might, and then darted out into the +playground to announce the happy news. The boys all flocked round him, +and received the intelligence with unmitigated pleasure. Among them all +there was not one who did not rejoice that Eric and Wildney were yet to +continue of their number. + +But the two brothers returned to the study, and there, sorrowful in his +penitence, with his heart still aching with remorse, Eric sat down on a +chair facing the window, and drew Vernon to his side. The sun was +setting behind the purple hills, flooding the green fields and silver +sea with the crimson of his parting rays. The air was full of peace and +coolness, and the merry sounds of the cricket field blended joyously +with the whisper of the evening breeze. Eric was fond of beauty in every +shape, and his father had early taught him a keen appreciation of the +glories of nature. He had often gazed before on that splendid scene, as +he was now gazing on it thoughtfully with his brother by his side. He +looked long and wistfully at the gorgeous pageantry of quiet clouds, +and passed his arm more fondly round Vernon’s shoulder. + +“What are you thinking of, Eric? Why, I declare you are crying still,” +said Vernon playfully, as he wiped a tear which had overflowed on his +brother’s cheek, “aren’t you glad that the Doctor has forgiven you?” + +“Gladder, far gladder than I can say, Verny. O Verny, Verny, I hope your +school-life may be happier than mine has been. I would give up all I +have, Verny, to have kept free from the sins I have learnt. God grant +that I may yet have time and space to do better.” + +“Let us pray together, Eric,” whispered his brother reverently, and they +knelt down and prayed; they prayed for their distant parents and +friends; they prayed for their schoolfellows and for each other, and for +Wildney, and they thanked God for all his goodness to them; and then +Eric poured out his heart in a fervent prayer that a holier and happier +future might atone for his desecrated past, and that his sins might be +forgiven for his Saviour’s sake. + +The brothers rose from their knees calmer and more light-hearted, and +gave each other a solemn affectionate kiss, before they went down again +to the play-ground. But they avoided the rest of the boys, and took a +stroll together along the sands, talking quietly, and happily, and +hoping bright hopes for future days. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG + + “Oh is it weed, or fish, or floating hair? + A tress of maiden’s hair, + Of drowned maiden’s hair, + Above the nets at sea?”--KINGSLEY. + +Eric and Wildney were flogged and confined to gates for a time instead +of being expelled, and they both bore the punishment in a manly and +penitent way, and set themselves with all their might to repair the +injury which their characters had received. Eric, especially, seemed to +be devoting himself with every energy to regain, if possible, his long +lost position, and by the altered complexion of his remaining +school-life, to atone in some poor measure for its earlier sins. And he +carried Wildney with him, influencing others also of his late companions +in a greater or less degree. It was not Eric’s nature to do things by +halves, and it became obvious to all that his exertions to resist and +abandon his old temptations were strenuous and unwavering. He could no +longer hope for the school distinctions, which would have once lain so +easily within his reach, for the ground lost during weeks of idleness +cannot be recovered by a wish; but he succeeded sufficiently, by dint of +desperately hard work, to acquit himself with considerable credit, and +in the Easter examination came out sufficiently high, to secure his +remove into the sixth form after the holidays. + +He felt far happier in the endeavor to fulfill his duty, than he had +ever done during the last years of recklessness and neglect, and the +change for the better in his character tended to restore unanimity and +good will to the school. Eric no longer headed the party which made a +point of ridiculing and preventing industry; and, sharing as he did the +sympathy of nearly all the boys, he was able quietly and unobtrusively +to calm down the jealousies and allay the heartburnings which had for so +long a time brought discord and disunion into the school society. +Cheerfulness and unanimity began to prevail once more at Roslyn, and +Eric had the intense happiness of seeing how much good lay still within +his power. + +So the Easter holidays commenced with promise, and the few first days +glided away in innocent enjoyments. Eric was now reconciled again to +Owen and Duncan, and, therefore, had a wider choice of companions more +truly congenial to his high nature than the narrow circle of his late +associates. + +“What do you say to a boat excursion to-morrow?” asked Duncan, as they +chatted together one evening. + +“I won’t go without leave,” said Eric; “I should only get caught, and +get into another mess. Besides, I feel myself pledged now to strict +obedience.” + +“Ay, you’re quite right. We’ll get leave easily enough though, provided +we agree to take Jim the boatman with us; so I vote we make up a party.” + +“By the bye, I forgot; I’m engaged to Wildney to-morrow.” + +“Never mind. Bring him with you, and Graham too, if you like.” + +“Most gladly,” said Eric, really pleased; for he saw by this that Duncan +observed the improvement in his old friends, and was falling in with the +endeavor to make all the boys really cordial to each other, and destroy +all traces of the late factions. + +“Do you mind my bringing Montagu?” + +“Not at all. Why should I?” answered Eric, with a slight blush. Montagu +and he had never been formally reconciled, nor had they, as yet, spoken +to each other. Indeed Duncan had purposely planned the excursion to give +them an opportunity of becoming friends once more, by being thrown +together. He knew well that they both earnestly wished it, although, +with the natural shyness of boys, they hardly knew how to set about +effecting it. Montagu hung back lest he should seem to be patronising a +fallen enemy, and Eric lest he should have sinned too deeply to +be forgiven. + +The next morning dawned gloriously, and it was agreed that they should +meet at Starhaven, the point where they were to get the boat, at ten +o’clock. As they had supposed, Dr. Rowlands gave a ready consent to the +row, on condition of their being accompanied by the experienced sailor +whom the boys called Jim. The precaution was by no means unnecessary, +for the various currents which ran round the island were violent at +certain stages of the tide, and extremely dangerous for any who were not +aware of their general course. + +Feeling that the day would pass off very unpleasantly if any feeling of +restraint remained between him and Montagu, Eric, by a strong effort, +determined to “make up with him” before starting, and went into his +study for that purpose after breakfast. Directly he came in, Montagu +jumped up and welcomed him cordially, and when, without any allusion to +the past, the two shook hands with all warmth, and looked the old proud +look into each other’s faces, they felt once more that their former +affection was unimpaired, and that in heart they were real and loving +friends. Most keenly did they both enjoy the renewed intercourse, and +they found endless subjects to talk about on their way to Starhaven, +where the others were already assembled when they came. + +With Jim’s assistance they shoved a boat into the water, and sprang into +it in the highest spirits. Just as they were pushing off they saw Wright +and Vernon running down to the shore towards them, and they waited to +see what they wanted. “Couldn’t you take us with you?” asked Vernon, +breathless with his run. + +“I’m afraid not, Verny,” said Montagu; “the boat won’t hold more than +six, will it, Jim?” + +“No, sir, not safely.” + +“Never mind, you shall have my place, Verny,” said Eric, as he saw his +brother’s disappointed look. + +“Then Wright shall take mine,” said Wildney. + +“O dear no,” said Wright, “we wouldn’t turn you out for the world. +Vernon and I will take an immense walk down the coast instead, and will +meet you here as we come back.” + +“Well, good bye, then; off we go;” and with light hearts the boaters and +the pedestrians parted. + +Eric, Graham, Duncan, and Montagu took the first turn at the oars, while +Wildney steered. Graham’s “crabs,” and Wildney’s rather crooked +steering, gave plenty of opportunity for chaff, and they were full of +fun as the oar-blades splashed and sparkled in the waves. Then they made +Jim sing them some of his old sailor songs as they rowed, and joined +vigorously in the choruses. They had arranged to make straight for St. +Catherine’s Head, and land somewhere near it to choose a place for their +pic-nic. It took them nearly two hours to get there, as they rowed +leisurely, and enjoyed the luxury of the vernal air. It was one of the +sunniest days of early spring; the air was pure and delicious, and the +calm sea breeze, just strong enough to make the sea flame and glister in +the warm sunlight, was exhilarating as new wine. Underneath them the +water was transparent as crystal, and far below they could see the green +and purple sea-weeds rising like a many-colored wood, through which +occasionally they saw a fish, startled by their oars, dart like an +arrow. The sky overhead was a cloudless blue, and as they kept not far +from shore, the clearly cut outline of the coast, with its rocks and +hills standing out in the vivid atmosphere, made a glowing picture, to +which the golden green of the spring herbage, bathed in its morning +sunlight, lent the magic of enchantment. Who could have been otherwise +than happy in such a scene and at such a time? but these were boys with +the long bright holiday before them, and happiness is almost too quiet a +word to express the bounding exultation of heart, the royal and tingling +sense of vigorous life, which made them shout and sing, as their boat +rustled through the ripples, from a mere instinct of inexpressible +enjoyment. + +They had each contributed some luxury to the pic-nic, and it made a very +tempting display as they spread it out, under a sunny pebbled cave, by +St. Catherine’s Head; although, instead of anything more objectionable, +they had thought it best to content themselves with a very moderate +quantity of beer. When they had done eating, they amused themselves on +the shore; and had magnificent games among the rocks, and in every +fantastic nook of the romantic promontory. And then Eric suggested a +bathe to wind up with, as it was the first day when it had been quite +warm enough to make bathing pleasant. + +“But we’ve got no towels.” + +“Oh! chance the towels. We can run about till we’re dry.” So they +bathed, and then getting in the boat to row back again, they all agreed +that it was the very jolliest day they’d ever had at Roslyn, and voted +to renew the experiment before the holidays were over, and take Wright +and Vernon with them in a larger boat. + +It was afternoon,--and afternoon still warm and beautiful,--when they +began to row home; so they took it quietly, and kept near the land for +variety’s sake, laughing, joking, and talking as merrily as ever. + +“I declare I think this is the prettiest or anyhow the grandest bit of +the whole coast,” said Eric, as they neared a glen through whose narrow +gorge a green and garrulous little river gambolled down with noisy +turbulence into the sea. He might well admire that glen; its steep and +rugged sides were veiled with lichens, moss, and wild-flowers, and the +sea-birds found safe refuge in its lonely windings, which were colored +with topaz and emerald by the pencillings of nature and the rich +stains of time. + +“Yes,” answered Montagu, “_I_ always stick up for Avon Glen as the +finest scene we’ve got about here. But, I say, who’s that gesticulating +on the rock there to the right of it? I verily believe it’s Wright, +apostrophising the ocean for Vernon’s benefit. I only see one of +them though.” + +“I bet you he’s spouting + + ‘Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean--roll! + Ten thousand fleets, etc.’” + +said Graham laughing. + +“What do you say to putting in to shore there?” said Duncan; “it’s only +two miles to Starhaven, and I dare say we could make shift to take them +in for that distance. If Jim says anything we’ll chuck him overboard.” + +They rowed towards Avon Glen, and to their surprise Wright, who stood +there alone (for with a pocket telescope they clearly made out that it +_was_ Wright), still continued to wave his arms and beckon them in a +manner which they at first thought ridiculous, but which soon make them +feel rather uneasy. Jim took an oar, and they soon got within two +hundred yards of the beach. Wright had ceased to make signals, but +appeared to be shouting to them, and pointing towards one corner of the +glen; but though they caught the sound of his voice they could not hear +what he said. + +“I wonder why Vernon isn’t with him,” said Eric anxiously; “I hope--why, +what _are_ you looking at, Charlie?” + +“What’s that in the water there?” said Wildney, pointing in the +direction to which Wright was also looking. + +Montagu snatched the telescope out of his hand and looked. “Good God!” +he exclaimed, turning pale; “what can be the matter?” + +“O _do_ let me look,” said Eric. + +“No! stop, stop, Eric, you’d better not, I think; pray don’t, it may be +all a mistake. You’d better not--but it looked--nay, you really +_mustn’t,_ Eric,” he said, and, as if accidentally, he let the telescope +fall into the water, and they saw it sink down among the seaweeds at +the bottom. + +Eric looked at him reproachfully. “What’s the fun of that, Monty? you +let it drop on purpose.” + +“O never mind; I’ll get Wildney another. I really daren’t let you look, +for fear you should _fancy_ the same as I did, for it must be fancy. O +_don’t_ let us put in there--at least not all of us.” + +What _was_ that thing in the water?--When Wright and Vernon left the +others, they walked along the coast, following the direction of the +boat, and agreed to amuse themselves in collecting eggs. They were very +successful, and, to their great delight, managed to secure some rather +rare specimens. When they had tired themselves with this pursuit, they +lay on the summit of one of the cliffs which formed the sides of Avon +Glen, and Wright, who was very fond of poetry, read Vernon a canto of +Marmion with great enthusiasm. + +So they whiled away the morning, and when the canto was over, Vernon +took a great stone and rolled it for amusement over the cliff’s edge. It +thundered over the side, bounding down till it reached the strand, and a +large black cormorant, startled by the reverberating echoes, rose up +suddenly, and flapped its way with protruded neck to a rock on the +further side of the little bay. + +“I bet you that animal’s got a nest somewhere near here,” said Vernon +eagerly. “Come, let’s have a look for it; a cormorant’s egg would be a +jolly addition to our collection.” + +They got up, and looking down the face of the cliff, saw, some eight +feet below them, a projection half hidden by the branch of a tree, on +which the scattered pieces of stick clearly showed the existence of a +rude nest. They could not, however, see whether it contained eggs or no. + +“I must bag that nest; it’s pretty sure to have eggs in it,” said +Vernon, “and I can get at it easy enough.” He immediately began to +descend towards the place where the nest was built, but he found it +harder than he expected. + +“Hallo,” he said, “this is a failure. I must climb up again to +reconnoitre if there isn’t a better dodge for getting at it.” He reached +the top, and, looking down, saw a plan of reaching the ledge which +promised more hope of success. + +“You’d better give it up, Verny,” said Wright. “I’m sure it’s harder +than we fancied, _I_ couldn’t manage it, I know.” + +“O no, Wright, never say die. Look; if I get down more towards the right +the way’s plain enough, and I shall have reached the nest in no time.” +Again his descended in a different direction, but again he failed. The +nest could only be seen from the top, and he had lost the right route. + +“You must keep more to the right.” + +“I know,” answered Vernon; “but, bother take it, I can’t manage it, now +I’m so far down. I must climb up _again_.” + +“_Do_ give it up, Verny, there’s a good fellow. You _can’t_ reach it, +and really it’s dangerous.” + +“O no, not a bit of it. My head’s very steady, and I feel as cool as +possible. We mustn’t give up; I’ve only to get at the tree, and then I +shall be able to reach the nest from it quite easily.” + +“Well, do take care, that’s a dear fellow.” + +“Never fear,” said Vernon, who was already commencing his third attempt. +This time he got to the tree, and placed his foot on a part of the root, +while with his hands he clung on to a clump of heather. “Hurrah!” he +cried, “it’s got two eggs in it, Wright;” and he stretched downwards to +take them. Just as he was doing so, he heard the root on which his foot +rested give a great crack, and with a violent start he made a spring for +one of the lower branches. The motion caused his whole weight to rest +for an instant on his arms;--unable to sustain the wrench, the heather +gave way, and with a wild shriek he fell headlong down the surface of +the cliff. + +With, a wild shriek!--but silence followed it. + +“Vernon! Vernon!” shouted the terrified Wright, creeping close up to the +edge of the precipice. “O Vernon! for heaven’s sake speak!” + +There was no answer, and leaning over, Wright saw the young boy +outstretched on the stones three hundred feet below. For some minutes he +was horrorstruck beyond expression, and made wild attempts to descend +the cliff and reach him. But he soon gave up the attempt in despair. +There was a tradition in the school that the feat had once been +accomplished by an adventurous and active boy, but Wright at any rate +found it hopeless for himself. The only other way to reach the glen was +by a circuitous route which led to the entrance of the narrow gorge, +along the sides of which it was possible to make way with difficulty +down the bank of the river to the place where it met the sea. But this +would have taken him an hour and a half, and was far from easy when the +river was swollen with high tide. Nor was there any house within some +distance at which assistance could be procured, and Wright, in a tumult +of conflicting emotions, determined to wait where he was, on the chance +of seeing the boat as it returned from St. Catherine’s Head. It was +already three o’clock, and he knew that they could not now be longer +than an hour at most; so with eager eyes he sat watching the headland, +round which he knew they would first come in sight. He watched with wild +eager eyes, absorbed in the one longing desire to catch sight of them; +but the leaden-footed moments crawled on like hours, and he could not +help shivering with agony and fear. At last he caught a glimpse of them, +and springing up, began to shout at the top of his voice, and wave his +handkerchief and his arms in the hope of attracting their attention. +Little thought those blithe merry-hearted boys in the midst of the happy +laughter which they sent ringing over the waters, little they thought +how terrible a tragedy awaited them. + +At last Wright saw that they had perceived him, and were putting inland, +and now, in his fright, he hardly knew what to do; but feeling sure that +they could not fail to see Vernon, he ran off as fast as he could to +Starhaven, where he rapidly told the people at a farm-house what had +happened, and asked them to get a cart ready to convey the wounded boy +to Roslyn school. + +Meanwhile the tide rolled in calmly and quietly in the rosy evening, +radiant with the diamond and gold of reflected sunlight and transparent +wave. Gradually gently it crept up to the place where Vernon lay; and +the little ripples fell over him wonderingly, with the low murmur of +their musical laughter, and blurred and dimmed the vivid splashes and +crimson streaks upon the white stone on which his head had fallen, and +washed away some of the purple bells and green sprigs of heather round +which his fingers were closed in the grasp of death, and played softly +with his fair hair as it rose, and fell, and floated on their +undulations like a leaf of golden-colored weed, until they themselves +were faintly discolored by his blood. And then, tired with their new +plaything, they passed on, until the swelling of the water was just +strong enough to move rudely the boy’s light weight, and in a few +moments more would have tossed it up and down with every careless wave +among the boulders of the glen. And then it was that Montagu’s +horror-stricken gaze had identified the object at which they had been +gazing. In strange foreboding silence they urged on the boat, while Eric +at the prow seemed wild with the one intense impulse to verify his +horrible suspicion. The suspicion grew and grew:--it _was_ a boy lying +in the water;--it was Vernon;--he was motionless;--he must have fallen +there from the cliff. + +Eric could endure the suspense no longer. The instant that the boat +grated on the shingle, he sprang into the water, and rushed to the spot +where his brother’s body lay. With a burst of passionate affection, he +flung himself on his knees beside it, and took the cold hand in his +own--the little rigid hand in which the green blades of grass, and fern, +and heath, so tightly clutched, were unconscious of the tale they told. + +“Oh Verny, Verny, darling Verny, speak to me!” he cried in anguish, as +he tenderly lifted up the body, and marked how little blood had flowed. +But the child’s head fell back heavily, and his arms hung motionless +beside him, and with a shriek, Eric suddenly caught the look of dead +fixity in his blue open eyes. + +The others had come up. “O God, save my brother, save him, save him from +death,” cried Eric, “I cannot live without him. Oh God! Oh God! Look! +look!” he continued, “he has fallen from the cliff with his head on this +cursed stone,” pointing to the block of quartz, still red with +blood-stained hair; “but we must get a doctor. He is not dead! no, no, +no, he _cannot_ be dead. Take him quickly, and let us row home. Oh God! +why did I ever leave him?” + +The boys drew round in a frightened circle, and lifted Vernon’s corpse +into the boat; and then, while Eric still supported the body, and +moaned, and called to him in anguish, and chafed his cold pale brow and +white hands, and kept saying that he had fainted and was not dead, the +others rowed home with all speed, while a feeling of terrified anxiety +lay like frost upon their hearts. + +They reached Starhaven, and got into the cart with the lifeless boy, and +heard from Wright how the accident had taken place. Few boys were about +the play-ground, so they got unnoticed to Roslyn, and Dr. Underhay, who +had been summoned, was instantly in attendance. He looked at Vernon for +a moment, and then shook his head in a way that could not be mistaken. +Eric saw it, and flung himself with uncontrollable agony on his +brother’s corpse. “O Vernon, Vernon, my own dear brother! oh God, then +he is dead.” And, unable to endure the blow, he fainted away. + +I cannot dwell on the miserable days that followed, when the very sun +in heaven seemed dark to poor Eric’s wounded and crushed spirit. He +hardly knew how they went by. And when they buried Vernon in the little +green churchyard by Russell’s side, and the patter of the earth upon the +coffin--that most terrible of all sounds--struck his ear, the iron +entered into his soul, and he had but one wish as he turned away from +the open grave, and that was, soon to lie beside his beloved little +brother and to be at rest. + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE LAST TEMPTATION + + [Greek: ’Ae d’ Atae sthenazae te chai ’aztipos sunecha pasas + Pollou ’upechpzotheei, phthaneei d’ de te pasan ep’ aiach + Blaptous’ anthxopous.] Hom Il. ix. 505. + +Time, the great good angel, Time, the merciful healer, assuaged the +violence of Eric’s grief, which seemed likely to settle down into a +sober sadness. At first his letters to his parents and to Fairholm were +almost unintelligible in their fierce abandonment of sorrow; but they +grew calmer in time,--and while none of his school-fellows ever ventured +in his presence to allude to Vernon, because of the emotion which the +slightest mention of him excited, yet he rarely wrote any letters to his +relations in which he did not refer to his brother’s death, in language +which grew at length both manly and resigned. + +A month after, in the summer term, he was sitting alone in his study in +the afternoon (for he could not summon up spirit enough to play +regularly at cricket), writing a long letter to his aunt. He spoke +freely and unreservedly of his past errors,--more freely than he had +ever done before,--and expressed not only deep penitence, but even +strong hatred of his previous unworthy courses. “I can hardly even yet +realize,” he added, “that I am alone here, and that I am writing to my +aunt Trevor about the death of my brother, my noble, only brother, +Vernon. Oh how my whole soul yearns towards him. I _must_ be a better +boy, I _will_ be better than I have been, in the hopes of meeting him +again. Indeed, indeed, dear aunt, though I have been so guilty, I am +laying aside, with all my might, idleness and all bad habits, and doing +my very best to redeem the lost years. I do hope that the rest of my +time at Roslyn will be more worthily spent than any of it has been +as yet.” + +He finished the sentence, and laid his pen down to think, gazing quietly +on the blue hills and sunlit sea. A feeling of hope and repose stole +over him;--when suddenly he saw at the door, which was ajar, the leering +eyes and villainously cunning countenance of Billy. + +“What do you want?” he said angrily, casting at the intruder a look of +intense disgust. + +“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man, pulling his hair. “Anything in my line, +sir, to-day?” + +“No!” answered Eric, rising up in a gust of indignation. “What business +have you here? Get away instantly.” + +“Not had much custom from you lately, sir,” said the man. + +“What do you mean by having the insolence to begin talking to me? If you +don’t make yourself scarce at once, I’ll--” + +“O well,” said the man; “if it comes to that, I’ve business enough. +Perhaps you’ll just pay me this debt,” he continued, changing his +fawning manner into a bullying swagger. “I’ve waited long enough.” + +Eric, greatly discomfited, took the dirty bit of paper. It purported to +be a bill for various items of drink, all of which Eric _knew_ to have +been paid for, and among other things, a charge of £6 for the dinner at +the “Jolly Herring.” + +“Why, you villain, these have all been paid. What! six pounds for the +dinner! Why Brigson collected the subscriptions to pay for it before it +took place.” + +“That’s now’t to me, sir. He never paid me; and as you was the young +gen’lman in the cheer, I comes to you.” + +_Now_ Eric knew for the first time what Brigson had meant by his +threatened revenge. He saw at once that the man had been put up to act +in this way by some one, and had little doubt that Brigson was the +instigator. Perhaps it might be even true, as the man said, that he had +never received the money. Brigson was quite wicked enough to have +embezzled it for his own purposes. + +“Go,” he said to the man; “you shall have the money in a week.” + +“And mind it bean’t more nor a week. I don’t chuse to wait for my money +no more,” said Billy, impudently, as he retired with an undisguised +chuckle, which very nearly made Eric kick him down stairs. + +What was to be done? To mention the subject to Owen or Montagu, who were +best capable of advising him, would have been to renew the memory of +unpleasant incidents, which he was most anxious to obliterate from the +memory of all. He had not the moral courage to face the natural +consequences of his past misconduct, and was now ashamed to speak of +what he had not then been ashamed to do. He told Graham and Wildney, who +were the best of his old associates, and they at once agreed that _they_ +ought to be responsible for at least a share of the debt. Still, between +them they could only muster three pounds out of the six which were +required, and the week had half elapsed before there seemed any prospect +of extrication from the difficulty; so Eric daily grew more miserable +and dejected. + +A happy thought struck him. He would go and explain the source of his +trouble to Mr. Rose, his oldest, his kindest, his wisest friend. To him +he could speak without scruple and without reserve, and from him he knew +that he would receive nothing but the noblest advice and the +warmest sympathy. + +He went to him after prayers that night, and told his story. + +“Ah, Eric, Eric!” said Mr. Rose; “you see, my boy, that sin and +punishment are twins.” + +“O but, sir, I was just striving so hard to amend, and it seems cruel +that I should receive at once so sad a check.” + +“There is only one way that I see, Eric. You must write home for the +money, and confess the truth to them honestly, as you have to me.” + +It was a hard course for Eric’s proud and loving heart to write and tell +his aunt the full extent of his guilt. But he did it faithfully, +extenuating nothing, and entreating her, as she loved him, to send the +money by return of post. + +It came, and with it a letter full of deep and gentle affection. Mrs. +Trevor knew her nephew’s character, and did not add by reproaches to the +bitterness which she perceived he had endured; she simply sent him the +money, and told him, that in spite of his many failures, “she still had +perfect confidence in the true heart of her dear boy.” + +Touched by the affection which all seemed to be showing him, it became +more and more the passionate craving of Eric’s soul to be worthy of that +love. But it is far, far harder to recover a lost path than to keep in +the right one all along; and by one more terrible fall, the poor erring +boy was to be taught for the last time the fearful strength of +temptation, and the only source in earth and heaven from which +deliverance can come. Theoretically he knew it, but as yet not +practically. Great as his trials had been, and deeply as he had +suffered, it was God’s will that he should pass through a yet fiercer +flame ere he could be purified from pride and passion and +self-confidence, and led to the cross of a suffering Saviour, there to +fling himself down in heart-rending humility, and cast his great load of +cares and sins upon Him who cared for him through all his wanderings, +and was leading him back through thorny places to the green pastures and +still waters, where at last he might have rest. + +The money came, and walking off straight to the Jolly Herring, he dashed +it down on the table before Billy, and imperiously bade him write a +receipt. The man did so, but with so unmistakable an air of cunning and +triumph that Eric was both astonished and dismayed. Could the miscreant +have any further plot against him? At first he fancied that Billy might +attempt to extort money by a threat of telling Dr. Rowlands; but this +supposition he banished as unlikely since it might expose Billy himself +to very unpleasant consequences. Eric snatched the receipt, and said +contemptuously, “Never come near me again; next time you come up to the +studies I’ll tell Carter to turn you out.” + +“Ho, ho, ho!” sneered Billy. “How mighty we young gents are all of a +sudden. Unless you buy of me sometimes, you shall hear of me again; +never fear, young gen’lman.” He shouted out the latter words, for Eric +had turned scornfully on his heel, and was already in the street. +Obviously more danger was to be apprehended from this quarter. At first +the thought of it was disquieting, but three weeks glided away, and +Eric, now absorbed heart and soul in school work, began to remember it +as a mere vague and idle threat. But one afternoon, to his horror, he +again heard Billy’s step on the stairs, and again saw the hateful +iniquitous face at the door. + +“Not much custom from you lately, sir,” said Billy, mockingly. “Anything +in my line to-day.” + +“Didn’t I tell you never to come near me again, you foul villain? Go +this instant, or I’ll call Carter;” and, opening the window, he prepared +to put his threat into execution. + +“Ho, ho, ho! Better look at summat I’ve got first.” It was a printed +notice to the following effect-- + +“FIVE POUNDS REWARD. + +“WHEREAS some evil-disposed persons stole some pigeons on the evening of +April 6th from the Rev. H. Gordon’s premises; the above reward will be +given for any such information as may lead to the apprehension of the +offenders.” + +Soon after the seizure of the pigeons there had been a rumor that Gordon +had offered a reward of this kind, but the matter had been forgotten, +and the boys had long fancied their secret secure, though at first they +had been terribly alarmed. + +“What do you show me that for?” he asked, reddening and then growing +pale again. + +Billy’s only answer was to pass his finger slowly along the words “Five +pounds reward!” + +“Well?” + +“I thinks I knows who took them pigeons.” + +“What’s that to me?” + +“Ho, ho, ho! that’s a good un,” was Billy’s reply; and he continued to +cackle as though enjoying a great joke. + +“Unless you gives me five pound, anyhow, I knows where to get ’em. I +know who them evil-disposed persons be! So I’ll give ye another week +to decide.” + +Billy shambled off in high spirits; but Eric sank back into his chair. +Five pounds! The idea haunted him. How could he ever get them? To write +home again was out of the question. The Trevors, though liberal, were +not rich, and after just sending him so large a sum, it was impossible, +he thought, that they should send him five pounds more at his mere +request. Besides, how could he be sure that Billy would not play upon +his fears to extort further sums? And to explain the matter to them +fully was more than he could endure. He remembered now how easily his +want of caution might have put Billy in possession of the secret, and +he knew enough of the fellow’s character to feel quite sure of the use +he would be inclined to make of it. Oh how he cursed that hour of folly! + +Five pounds! He began to think of what money he could procure. He +thought again and again, but it was no use; only one thing was clear--he +_had_, not the money, and could not get it. Miserable boy! It was too +late then! for him repentance was to be made impossible; every time he +attempted it he was to be thwarted by some fresh discovery. And, leaning +his head on his open palms, poor Eric sobbed like a child. + +Five pounds! And all this misery was to come upon him for the want of +five pounds! Expulsion was _certain_, was _inevitable_ now, and perhaps +for Wildney too as well as for himself. After all his fine promises in +his letters home,--yes, that reminded him of Vernon. The grave had not +closed for a month over one brother, and the other would be _expelled_. +Oh misery, misery! He was sure it would break his mother’s heart. Oh how +cruel everything was to him! + +Five pounds--he wondered whether Montagu would lend it him, or any other +boy? But then it was late in the quarter, and all the boys would have +spent the money they brought with them from home. There was no chance of +any one having five pounds, and to a master he _dare_ not apply, not +even to Mr. Rose. The offence was too serious to be overlooked, and if +noticed at all, he fancied that, after his other delinquencies, it +_must_, as a matter of notoriety, be visited with expulsion. He could +not face that bitter thought; he could not thus bring open disgrace upon +his father’s and his brother’s name; this was the fear which kept +recurring to him with dreadful iteration. + +By the bye, he remembered that if he had continued captain of the +school eleven, he would have had easy command of the money by being +treasurer of the cricket subscriptions. But at Vernon’s death he lost +all interest in cricket for a time, and had thrown up his office, to +which Montagu had been elected by the general suffrage. + +He wondered whether there was as much as five pounds of the +cricketing-money left? He knew that the box which contained it was in +Montagu’s study, and he also knew where the key was kept. It was merely +a feeling of curiosity--he would go and look. + +All this passed through Eric’s mind as he sat in his study after Billy +had gone. It was a sultry summer day; all the study-doors were open, and +all their occupants were absent in the cricket-field, or bathing. He +stole into Montagu’s study, hastily got the key, and took down the box. + +“O put it down, put it down, Eric,” said Conscience; “what business have +you with it?” + +“Pooh! it is merely curiosity; as if I couldn’t trust myself!” + +“Put it down,” repeated Conscience authoritatively, deigning no longer +to argue or entreat. + +Eric hesitated, and did put down the box; but he did not instantly leave +the room. He began to look at Montagu’s books, and then out of the +window. The gravel play-ground was deserted, he noticed, for the +cricket-field. Nobody was near, therefore. Well, what of that? he was +doing no harm. + +“Nonsense! I _will_ just look and see if there’s five pounds in the +cricket-box.” Slowly at first he put out his hand, and then, hastily +turning the key, opened the box. It contained three pounds in gold, and +a quantity of silver. He began to count the silver, putting it on the +table, and found that it made up three pounds ten more. “So that, +altogether, there’s six pounds ten; that’s thirty shillings more than +... and it won’t be wanted till next summer term, because all the bats +and balls are bought now. I daresay Montagu won’t even open the box +again. I know he keeps it stowed away in a corner, and hardly ever looks +at it, and I can put back the five pounds the very first day of next +term, and it will save me from expulsion.” + +Very slowly Eric took the three sovereigns and put them in his pocket, +and then he took up one of the heaps of shillings and sixpences which he +had counted, and dropped them also into his trousers; they fell into the +pocket with a great jingle.... + +“Eric, you are a thief!” He thought he heard his brother Vernon’s voice +utter the words thrillingly distinct; but it was conscience who had +borrowed the voice, and, sick with horror, he began to shake the money +out of his pockets again into the box. He was only just in time; he had +barely locked the box, and put it in its place, when he heard the sound +of voices and footsteps on the stairs. He had no time to take out the +key and put it back where he found it, and had hardly time to slip into +his own study again, when the boys had reached the landing. + +They were Duncan and Montagu, and as they passed the door, Eric +pretended to be plunged in books. + +“Hallo, Eric! grinding as usual,” said Duncan, good-humoredly; but he +only got a sickly smile in reply. + +“What! are you the only fellow in the studies?” asked Montagu. “I was +nearly sure I heard some one moving about as we came up stairs.” + +“I don’t think there’s any one here but me,” said Eric, “and I’m going a +walk now.” + +He closed his books with, a bang, flew down stairs, and away through the +play-ground towards the shore But he could not so escape his thoughts. +“Eric, you are a thief! Eric, you are a thief!” rang in his ear. “Yes,” +he thought; “I am even a thief. Oh, good God, yes, _even_ a _thief_, for +I _had_ actually stolen the money, until I changed my mind. What if they +should discover the key in the box, knowing that I was the only fellow +up stairs? Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy!” + +It was a lonely place, and he flung himself, with his face hid in the +coarse grass, trying to cool the wild burning of his brow. And as he +lay, he thrust his hand into the guilty pocket. Good heavens! there was +something still there. He pulled it out; it was a sovereign! Then he WAS +a thief, even actually. Oh, everything was against him; and, starting to +his feet, he flung the accursed gold over the rocks far into the sea. + +When he got home he felt so inconceivably wretched that, unable to work, +he begged leave to go to bed at once. It was long before he fell asleep; +but when he did, the sleep was more terrible than the haunted +wakefulness. For he had no rest from tormenting and horrid dreams. +Brigson and Billy, their bodies grown to gigantic proportions, and their +faces fierce with demoniacal wickedness, seemed to be standing over him, +and demanding five pounds on pain of death. Flights of pigeons darkening +the air, settled on him, and flapped about him. He fled from them madly +through the dark midnight, but many steps pursued him. He saw Mr. Rose, +and running up, seized him by the hand, and implored protection. But in +his dream Mr. Rose turned from him with a cold look of sorrowful +reproach. And then he saw Wildney, and cried out to him, “O Charlie, +save me;” but Charlie ran away, saying, “Williams, you are a thief!” and +then a chorus of voices took up that awful cry, voices of expostulation, +voices of contempt, voices of indignation, voices of menace; they took +up the cry, and repeated and re-echoed it; but, most unendurable of all, +there were voices of wailing and voices of gentleness among them, and +his soul died within him as he caught, amid the confusion of condemning +sounds, the voices of Russell and Vernon, and they, too, were saying to +him, in tender pity and agonized astonishment, “Eric, Eric, you are +a thief!” + + + +CHAPTER XI + +REAPING THE WHIRLWIND + + “For alas! alas! with me + The light of life is o’er; + No more--no more--no more + (Such language holds the solemn sea + To the sands upon the shore) + Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, + Or the stricken eagle soar!” + + EDGAR A. POE. + +The landlord of the Jolly Herring had observed during his visits to +Eric, that at mid-day the studies were usually deserted, and the doors +for the most part left unlocked. He very soon determined to make use of +this knowledge for his own purposes, and as he was well acquainted with +the building (in which for a short time he had been a servant), he laid +his plans without the least dread of discovery. + +There was a back entrance into Roslyn school behind the chapel, and it +could be reached by a path through the fields without any chance of +being seen, if a person set warily to work and watched his opportunity. +By this path Billy came, two days after his last visit, and walked +straight up the great staircase, armed with the excuse of business with +Eric in case any one met or questioned him. But no one was about, since +between twelve and one the boys were pretty sure to be amusing +themselves out of doors; and after glancing into each of the studies, +Billy finally settled on searching Montagu’s (which was the neatest and +best furnished), to see what he could get. + +The very first thing which caught his experienced eye was the +cricket-fund box, with the key temptingly in the lock, just where Eric +had left it when the sounds of some one coming had startled him. In a +moment Billy had made a descent on the promising-looking booty, and +opening his treasure, saw, with lively feelings of gratification, the +unexpected store of silver and gold. This he instantly transferred to +his own pocket, and then replacing the box where he had found it, +decamped with the spoil unseen, leaving the study in all other respects +exactly as he had found it. + +Meanwhile the unhappy Eric was tossed and agitated with apprehension and +suspense. Unable to endure his misery in loneliness, he had made several +boys to a greater or less degree participators in the knowledge of his +difficult position, and in the sympathy which his danger excited, the +general nature of his dilemma with Billy (though not its special +circumstances) was soon known through the school. + +At the very time when the money was being stolen, Eric was sitting with +Wildney and Graham under the ruin by the shore, and the sorrow which lay +at his heart was sadly visible in the anxious expression of his face, +and the deep dejection of his attitude and manner. + +The other two were trying to console him. They suggested every possible +topic of hope; but it was too plain that there was nothing to be said, +and that Eric had real cause to fear the worst. Yet though their +arguments were futile, he keenly felt the genuineness of their +affection, and it brought a little alleviation to his heavy mood. + +“Well, well; at least _do_ hope the best, Eric,” said Graham. + +“Yes!” urged Wildney; “only think, dear old fellow, what lots of worse +scrapes we’ve been in before, and how we’ve always managed to get out of +them somehow.” + +“No, my boy; not worse scrapes,” answered Eric. “Depend upon it this is +the last for me; I shall not have the chance of getting into another at +_Roslyn_, anyhow.” + +“Poor Eric! what shall I do if you leave?” said Wildney, putting his arm +round Eric’s neck. “Besides it’s all my fault, hang it, that you got +into this cursed row.” + + “‘The curse is come upon, me, cried + The Lady of Shallott,’ + +“those words keep ringing in my ears,” murmured Eric. + +“Well, Eric, if _you_ are sent away, I know I shall get my father to +take me too, and then we’ll join each other somewhere. Come, cheer up, +old boy--being sent isn’t such a very frightful thing after all.” + +“No” said Graham; “and besides, the bagging of the pigeons was only a +lark, when one comes to think of it. It wasn’t like stealing, you know; +_that_’d be quite a different thing.” + +Eric winced visibly at this remark, but his companions did not notice +it. “Ah,” thought he, “there’s _one_ passage of my life which I never +shall be able to reveal to any human soul.” + +“Come now, Eric,” said Wildney, “I’ve got something to propose. You +shall play cricket to-day; you haven’t played for an age, and it’s high +time you should. If you don’t you’ll go mooning about the shore all day, +and that’ll never do, for you’ll come back glummer than ever.” + +“No!” said Eric, with a heavy sigh, as the image of Vernon instantly +passed through his mind; “no more cricket for me.” + +“Nay, but you _must_ play to-day. Come, you shan’t say no. You won’t say +no to me, will you, dear old fellow?” And Wildney looked up to him with +that pleasant smile, and the merry light in his dark eyes, which had +always been so charming to Eric’s fancy. + +“There’s no refusing you,” said Eric with the ghost of a laugh, as he +boxed Wildney’s ears. “O you dear little rogue, Charlie, I wish I +were you.” + +“Pooh! pooh! now you shan’t get sentimental again. As if you wern’t +fifty times better than me every way. I’m sure I don’t know how I shall +ever love you enough, Eric,” he added more seriously, “for all your +kindness to me.” + +“I’m so glad you’re going to play, though,” said Graham; “and so will +everybody be; and I’m certain it’ll be good for you. The game will +divert your thoughts.” + +So that afternoon Eric, for the first time since Verny’s death, played +with the first eleven, of which he had been captain. The school cheered +him vigorously as he appeared again on the field, and the sound lighted +up his countenance with some gleam of its old joyousness. When one +looked at him that day with his straw hat on and its neat light-blue +ribbon, and the cricket dress (a pink jersey and leather belt, with a +silver clasp in front), showing off his well-built and graceful figure, +one little thought what an agony was gnawing like a serpent at his +heart. But that day, poor boy, in the excitement of the game he half +forgot it himself, and more and more as the game went on. + +The other side, headed by Montagu, went in first, and Eric caught out +two, and bowled several. Montagu was the only one who stayed in long, +and when at last Eric sent his middle wicket flying with a magnificent +ball, the shouts of “well bowled! well bowled _indeed_,” were universal. + +“Just listen to that, Eric,” said Montagu; “why, you’re out-doing every +body to-day, yourself included, and taking us by storm.” + +“Wait till you see me come out for a duck,” said Eric laughing. + +“Not you. You’re too much in luck to come out with a duck,” answered +Montagu. “You see I’ve already become the Homer of your triumphs, and +vaticinate in rhyme.” + +And now it was Eric’s turn to go in. It was long since he had stood +before the wicket, but now he was there, looking like a beautiful +picture as the sunlight streamed over him, and made his fair hair shine +like gold. In the triumph of success his sorrows were flung to the +winds, and his blue eyes sparkled with interest and joy. + +He contented himself with blocking Duncan’s balls until his eye was in; +but then, acquiring confidence, he sent them flying right and left. His +score rapidly mounted, and there seemed no chance of getting him out, so +that there was every probability of his carrying out his bat. + +“Oh, _well_ hit! _well_ hit! A three’r for Eric,” cried Wildney to the +scorer; and he began to clap his hands and dance about with excitement +at his friend’s success. + +“Oh, well hit! well hit in--deed!” shouted all the lookers on, as Eric +caught the next ball half-volley, and sent it whizzing over the hedge, +getting a sixer by the hit. + +At the next ball they heard a great crack, and he got no run, for the +handle of his bat broke right off. + +“How unlucky!” he said, flinging down the handle with vexation. “I +believe this was our best bat.” + +“Oh, never mind,” said Montagu; “we can soon get another; we’ve got lots +of money in the box.” + +What had come over Eric? if there had been a sudden breath of poison in +the atmosphere he could hardly have been more affected than he was by +Montagu’s simple remark. Montagu could not help noticing it, but at the +time merely attributed it to some unknown gust of feeling, and made no +comment. But Eric, hastily borrowing another bat, took his place again +quite tamely; he was trembling, and at the very next ball, he spooned a +miserable catch into Graham’s hand, and the shout of triumph from the +other side proclaimed that his innings was over. + +He walked dejectedly to the pavilion for his coat, and the boys, who +were seated in crowds about it, received him, of course, after his +brilliant score, with loud and continued plaudits. But the light had +died away from his face and figure, and he never raised his eyes from +the ground. + +“Modest Eric!” said Wildney chaffingly, “you don’t acknowledge your +honors.” + +Eric dropped his bat in the corner, put his coat across his arm, and +walked away. As he passed Wildney, he stooped down and whispered again +in a low voice-- + + “‘The curse has come upon me, cried + The Lady of Shallott.’” + +“Hush, Eric, nonsense,” whispered Wildney; “you’re not going away,” he +continued aloud, as Eric turned towards the school. “Why, there are only +two more to go in!” + +“Yes, thank you, I must go.” + +“Oh, then, I’ll come too.” + +Wildney at once joined his friend. “There’s nothing more the matter, is +there?” he asked anxiously, when they were out of hearing of the rest. + +“God only knows.” + +“Well, let’s change the subject. You’ve being playing brilliantly, old +fellow.” + +“Have I?” + +“I should just think so, only you got out in rather a stupid way.” + +“Ah well! it matters very little.” + +Just at this moment one of the servants handed Eric a kind note from +Mrs. Rowlands, with whom he was a very great favorite, asking him to tea +that night. He was not very surprised, for he had been several times +lately, and the sweet womanly kindness which she always showed him +caused him the greatest pleasure. Besides, she had known his mother. + +“Upon my word, honors _are_ being showered on you!” said Wildney. “First +to get _the_ score of the season at cricket, and bowl out about half the +other side, and then go to tea with the head-master. Upon my word! Why +any of us poor wretches would give our two ears for such distinctions. +Talk of curse indeed! Fiddlestick end!” + +But Eric’s sorrow lay too deep for chaff, and only answering with a +sigh, he went to dress for tea. + +Just before tea-time Duncan, and Montagu strolled in together. “How +splendidly Eric played,” said Duncan. + +“Yes, indeed. I’m so glad. By the bye, I must see about getting a new +bat. I don’t know exactly how much money we’ve got, but I know there’s +plenty. Let’s come and see.” + +They entered his study, and he looked about everywhere for the key. +“Hallo,” he said, “I’m nearly sure I left it in the corner of this +drawer, under some other things; but it isn’t there now. What can have +become of it?” + +“Where’s the box?” said Duncan; “let’s see if any of my keys will fit +it. Hallo! why _you’re_ a nice treasurer, Monty! here’s the key _in_ +the box!” + +“No, is it though?” asked Montagu, looking serious. “Here, give it me; I +hope nobody’s been meddling with it.” + +He opened it quickly, and stood in dumb and blank amazement to see it +empty. + +“Phew-w-w-w!” Montagu gave a long whistle. + +“By Jove!” was Duncan’s only comment. + +The boys looked at each other, but neither dared to express what was in +his thoughts. + +“A bad, bad business! what’s to be done, Monty?” + +“I’ll rush straight down to tea, and ask the fellows about it. Would you +mind requesting Rose not to come in for five minutes? Tell him there’s +a row.” + +He ran down stairs hastily and entered the tea-room, where the boys were +talking in high spirits about the match, and liberally praising +Eric’s play. + +“I’ve got something unpleasant to say,” he announced, raising his voice. + +“Hush! hush! hush! what’s the row?” asked half a dozen at once. + +“The whole of the cricket money, some six pounds at least, has vanished +from the box in my study!” + +For an instant the whole room was silent; Wildney and Graham +interchanged anxious glances. + +“Does any fellow know anything about this?” + +All, or most, had a vague suspicion, but no one spoke. + +“Where is Williams?” asked one of the sixth form casually. + +“He’s taking tea with the Doctor,” said Wildney. + +Mr. Rose came in, and there was no opportunity for more to be said, +except in confidential whispers. + +Duncan went up with Owen and Montagu to their study. “What’s to be +done?” was the general question. + +“I think we’ve all had a lesson once before not to suspect too hastily. +Still, in a matter like this,” said Montagu, “one _must_ take notice of +apparent cues.” + +“I know what you’re thinking of, Monty,” said Duncan. + +“Well, then, did you hear anything when you and I surprised Eric +suddenly two days ago?” + +“I heard some one moving about in your study, as I thought.” + +“I heard more--though at the time it didn’t strike me particularly. I +distinctly heard the jingle of money.” + +“Well, it’s no good counting up suspicious circumstances; we must _ask_ +him about it, and act accordingly.’ + +“Will he come up to the studies again to-night?” + +“I think not,” said Owen; “I notice he generally goes straight to bed +after he has been out to tea; that’s to say, directly after prayers.” + +The three sat there till prayer-time taciturn and thoughtful. Their +books were open, but they did little work, and it was evident that +Montagu was filled with the most touching grief. During the evening he +drew out a little likeness which Eric had given him, and looked at it +long and earnestly. “Is it possible?” he thought. “Oh Eric! can that +face be the face of a thief?” + +The prayer-bell dispelled his reverie. Eric entered with the Rowlands, +and sat in his accustomed place. He had spent a pleasant, quiet evening, +and, little knowing what had happened, felt far more cheerful and +hopeful than he had done before, although he was still ignorant how to +escape the difficulty which threatened him. + +He couldn’t help observing that as he entered he was the object of +general attention; but he attributed it either to his playing that day, +or to the circumstances in which he was placed by Billy’s treachery, of +which he knew that many boys were now aware. But when prayers were over, +and he saw that every one shunned him, or looked and spoke in the +coldest manner, his most terrible fears revived. + +He went off to his dormitory, and began to undress. As he sat half +abstracted on his bed doing nothing Montagu and Duncan entered, and he +started to see them, for they were evidently the bearers of some serious +intelligence. + +“Eric,” said Duncan, “do you know that some one has stolen all the +cricket money?” + +“Stolen--what--_all_?” he cried, leaping up as if he had been shot. “Oh, +what new retribution is this?” and he hid his face, which had turned +ashy pale, in his hands. + +“To cut matters short, Eric, do you know anything about it?” + +“If it is all gone, it is not I who stole it,” he said, not lifting his +head. + +“Do you know anything about it?” + +“No!” he sobbed convulsively. “No, no, no! Yet stop; don’t let me add a +lie.... Let me think. No, Duncan!” he said, looking up, “I do _not_ know +who stole it.” + +They stood silent, and the tears were stealing down Montagu’s averted +face. + +“O Duncan, Monty, be merciful, be merciful,” said Eric. “Don’t _yet_ +condemn me. _I_ am guilty, not of _this_, but of something as bad. I +admit I was tempted; but if the money really is all gone, it is _not_ I +who am the thief.” + +“You must know, Eric, that the suspicion against you is very strong, and +rests on some definite facts.” + +“Yes, I know it must. Yet, oh, do be merciful, and don’t yet condemn me. +I have denied it. Am I a liar Monty? Oh Monty, Monty, believe me +in this.” + +But the boys still stood silent. + +“Well, then,” he said, “I will tell you all. But I can only tell it to +you, Monty. Duncan, indeed you mustn’t be angry; you are my friend, but +not so much as Monty. I can tell him, and him only.” + +Duncan left the room, and Montagu sat down beside Eric on the bed, and +put his arm round him to support him, for he shook violently. There, +with deep and wild emotion, and many interruptions of passionate +silence, Eric told to Montagu his miserable tale. “I am the most +wretched fellow living,” he said; “there must be some fiend that hates +me, and drives me to ruin. But let it all come; I care nothing, nothing, +what happens to me now. Only, dear, dear Monty, forgive me, and love +me still.” + +“O Eric, it is not for one like me to talk of forgiveness; you were +sorely tempted. Yet God will forgive you if you ask him. Won’t you pray +to him to-night? I love you, Eric, still, with all my heart, and do you +think God can be less kind than man? And _I_, too, will pray for you, +Eric. Good night, and God bless you” He gently disengaged himself--for +Eric clung to him, and seemed unwilling to lose sight of him--and a +moment after he was gone. + +Eric felt terribly alone. He knelt down and tried to pray, but somehow +it didn’t seem as if the prayer came from his heart, and his thoughts +began instantly to wander far away. Still he knelt--knelt even until his +candle had gone out, and he had nearly fallen asleep, thought-wearied, +on his knees. And then he got into bed still dressed. He had been making +up his mind that he could bear it no longer, and would run away to sea +that night. + +He waited till eleven, when Dr. Rowlands took his rounds. The Doctor +had been told all the circumstances of suspicion, and they amounted in +his mind to certainty. It made him very sad, and he stopped to look at +the boy from whom he had parted on such friendly terms so short a time +before. Eric did not pretend to be asleep, but opened his eyes, and +looked at the head-master. Very sorrowfully Dr. Rowlands shook his head, +and went away. Eric never saw him again. + +The moment he was gone Eric got up. He meant to go to his study, collect +the few presents, which were his dearest mementos of Russell, Wildney, +and his other friends--above all, Vernon’s likeness--and then make his +escape from the building, using for the last time the broken pane and +loosened bar in the corridor, with which past temptations had made him +so familiar. + +He turned the handle of the door and pushed, but it did not yield. Half +contemplating the possibility of such an intention on Eric’s part, Dr. +Rowlands had locked it behind him when he went out. + +“Ha!” thought the boy, “then he, too, knows and suspects. Never mind. I +must give up my treasures--yes, even poor Verny’s picture; perhaps it is +best I should, for I’m only disgracing his noble memory. But they shan’t +prevent me from running away.” + +Once more he deliberated. Yes, there could be no doubt about the +decision. He _could_, not endure another public expulsion, or even +another birching; he _could_ not endure the cold faces of even his best +friends. No, no! he _could_ not face the horrible phantom of detection, +and exposure, and shame. Escape he must. + +After using all his strength in long-continued efforts, he succeeded in +loosening the bar of his bed-room window. He then took his two sheets, +tied them together in a firm knot, wound one end tightly round the +remaining bar, and let the other fall down the side of the building. He +took one more glance round his little room, and then let himself down by +the sheet, hand under hand, until he could drop to the ground. Once +safe, he ran towards Starhaven as fast as he could, and felt as if he +were flying for his life. But when he got to the end of the playground +he could not help stopping to take one more longing, lingering look at +the scenes he was leaving for ever. It was a chilly and overclouded +night, and by the gleams of struggling moonlight, he saw the whole +buildings standing out black in the night air. The past lay behind him +like a painting. Many and many unhappy or guilty hours had he spent in +that home, and yet those last four years had not gone by without their +own wealth of life and joy. He remembered how he had first walked across +that playground, hand in hand with his father, a little boy of twelve. +He remembered his first troubles with Barker, and how his father had at +last delivered him from the annoyances of his old enemy. He remembered +how often he and Russell had sat there, looking at the sea, in pleasant +talk, especially the evening when he had got his first prize and head +remove in the lower fourth; and how, in the night of Russell’s death, he +had gazed over that playground from the sick-room window. He remembered +how often he had got cheered there for his feats at cricket and +football, and how often he and Upton in old days, and he and Wildney +afterwards, had walked there on Sundays, arm in arm. Then the stroll to +Port Island, and Barker’s plot against him, and the evening at the Stack +passed through his mind; and the dinner at the Jolly Herring, and, above +all, Vernon’s death. Oh! how awful it seemed to him now, as he looked +through the darkness at the very road along which they had brought +Verny’s dead body. Then his thoughts turned to the theft of the pigeons, +his own drunkenness, and then his last cruel, cruel experiences, and +this dreadful end of the day which, for an hour or two, had seemed _so_ +bright on that very spot where he stood. Could it be that this (oh, how +little he had ever dreamed of it)--that this was to be the conclusion of +his school days? + +Yes, in those rooms, of which the windows fronted him, there they lay, +all his schoolfellows--Montagu, and Wildney, and Duncan, and all whom he +cared for best. And there was Mr. Rose’s light still burning in the +library window; and he was leaving the school and those who had been +with him there so long, in the dark night, by stealth, penniless and +broken-hearted, with the shameful character of a thief. + +Suddenly Mr. Rose’s light moved, and, fearing discovery or interception, +he roused himself from the bitter reverie and fled to Starhaven through +the darkness. There was still a light in the little sailors’ tavern; +and, entering, he asked the woman who kept it, “if she knew of any ship +which was going to sail next morning?” + +“Why, your’n is, bean’t it, Maister Davey!” she asked, turning to a +rough-looking sailor, who sat smoking in the bar. + +“Ees,” grunted the man. + +“Will you take me on board?” said Eric. + +“You be a runaway, I’m thinking?” + +“Never mind. I’ll come as cabin-boy--anything.” + +The sailor glanced at his striking appearance and neat dress. “Hardly in +the cabun-buoy line I should say.” + +“Will you take me?” said Eric. “You’ll find me strong and willing +enough.” + +“Well--if the skipper don’t say no. Come along.” + +They went down to a boat, and “Maister Davey” rowed to a schooner in the +harbor, and took Eric on board. + +“There,” he said, “you may sleep there for to-night,” and he pointed to +a great heap of sailcloth beside the mast. + +Weary to death, Eric flung himself down, and slept deep and sound till +the morning, on board the “Stormy Petrel.” + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE STORMY PETREL + + “They hadna sailed a league, a league, + A league, but barely three, + When the lift grew dark, and the wind grew high, + And gurly grew the sea.” + +SIR PATRICK SPENS. + +“Hilloa!” exclaimed the skipper with a sudden start, next morning, as he +saw Eric’s recumbent figure on the ratlin-stuff, “Who be this +young varmint!” + +“Oh, I brought him aboord last night,” said Davey; “he wanted to be +cabun-buoy.” + +“Precious like un _he_ looks. Never mind, we’ve got him and we’ll use +him.” + +The vessel was under way when Eric woke, and collected his scattered +thoughts to a remembrance of his new position. At first, as the Stormy +Petrel dashed its way gallantly through the blue sea, he felt one +absorbing sense of joy to have escaped from Roslyn. But before he had +been three hours on board, his eyes were opened to the trying nature of +his circumstances, which were, indeed, _so_ trying that _anything_ in +the world seemed preferable to enduring them. He had not been three +hours on board when he would have given everything in his power to be +back again; but such regrets were useless, for the vessel was now +fairly on her way for Corunna, where she was to take in a cargo +of cattle. + +There were eight men belonging to the crew; and as the ship was only a +little trading schooner, these were sailors of the lowest and meanest +grade. They all seemed to take their cue from the captain, who was a +drunken, blaspheming, and cruel vagabond. + +This man from the first took a savage hatred to Eric, partly because he +was annoyed with Davey for bringing him on board. The first words he +addressed to him were-- + +“I say, you young lubber, you must pay your footing.” + +“I’ve got nothing to pay with. I brought no money with me.” + +“Well, then, you shall give us your gran’ clothes. Them things isn’t fit +for a cabin-boy.” + +Eric saw no remedy, and making a virtue of necessity, exchanged his good +cloth suit for a rough sailor’s shirt and trowsers, not over clean, +which the captain gave him. His own clothes were at once appropriated by +that functionary, who carried them into his cabin. But it was lucky for +Eric that, seeing how matters were likely to go, he had succeeded in +secreting his watch. + +The day grew misty and comfortless, and towards evening the wind rose to +a storm. Eric soon began to feel very sick, and, to make his case worse, +could not endure either the taste, smell, or sight of such coarse food +as was contemptuously flung to him. + +“Where am I to sleep?” he asked, “I feel very sick.” + +“Babby,” said one of the sailors, “what’s your name?” + +“Williams.” + +“Well, Bill, you’ll have to get over your sickness pretty soon, _I_ can +tell ye. Here,” he added, relenting a little, “Davey’s slung ye a +hammock in the forecastle.” + +He showed the way, but poor Eric in the dark, and amid the lurches of +the vessel, could hardly steady himself down the companion-ladder, much +less get into his hammock. The man saw his condition, and, sulkily +enough, hove him into his place. + +And there, in that swinging bed, where sleep seemed impossible, and out +of which, he was often thrown, when the ship rolled and pitched through +the dark, heaving, discolored waves, and with dirty men sleeping round +him at night, until the atmosphere of the forecastle became like poison, +hopelessly and helplessly sick, and half-starved, the boy lay for two +days. The crew neglected him shamefully. It was nobody’s business to +wait on him, and he could procure neither sufficient food, nor any +water; they only brought him some grog to drink, which in his weakness +and sickness was nauseous to him as medicine. + +“I say, you young cub down there,” shouted the skipper to him from the +hatchway, “come up and swab this deck.” + +He got up, and after bruising himself severely, as he stumbled about to +find the ladder, made an effort to obey the command. But he staggered +from feebleness when he reached the deck, and had to grasp for some +fresh support at every step. + +“None of that ’ere slobbering and shamming, Bill. Why, d---- you, what +d’ye think you’re here for, eh? You swab the deck, and in five minutes, +or I’ll teach you, and be d----d.” + +Sick as death, Eric slowly obeyed, but did not get through his task +without many blows and curses. He felt very ill--he had no means of +washing or cleaning himself; no brush, or comb, or soap, or clean linen; +and even his sleep seemed unrefreshful when the waking brought no change +in his condition. And then the whole life of the ship was odious to him. +His sense of refinement was exquisitely keen, and now to be called Bill, +and kicked and cuffed about by these gross-minded men, and to hear their +rough, coarse, drunken talk, and sometimes endure their still, more +intolerable familiarities, filled him with deeply-seated loathing. + +His whole soul rebelled and revolted from them all, and, seeing his +fastidious pride, not one of them showed him the least glimpse of open +kindness, though he observed that one of them did seem to pity him +in heart. + +Things grew worse and worse. The perils which he had to endure at first, +when ordered about the rigging, were what affected him least; he longed +for death, and often contemplated flinging himself into those cold deep +waves which he gazed on daily over the vessel’s side. Hope was the only +thing which supported him. He had heard from one of the crew that the +vessel would be back in not more than six weeks, and he made a deeply +seated resolve to escape the very first day that they again anchored in +an English harbor. + +The homeward voyage was even more intolerable, for the cattle on board +greatly increased the amount of necessary menial and disgusting work +which fell to his snare, as well as made the atmosphere of the close +little schooner twice as poisonous as before. And to add to his +miseries, his relations with the crew got more and more unfavorable, and +began to reach their climax. + +One night the sailor who occupied the hammock next to his heard him +winding up his watch. This he always did in the dark, as secretly and +silently as he could, and never looked at it, except when no one could +observe him; while, during the day, he kept both watch and chain +concealed in his trousers. + +Next morning the man made proposals to him to sell the watch, and tried +by every species of threat and promise to extort it from him. But the +watch had been his mother’s gift, and he was resolute never to part with +it into such hands. + +“Very well, you young shaver, I shall tell the skipper and he’ll soon +get it out of you as your footing, depend on it.” + +The fellow was as good as his word, and the skipper demanded the watch +as pay for Eric’s feed, for he maintained that he’d done no work, and +was perfectly useless. Eric, grown desperate, still refused, and the man +struck him brutally on the face, and at the same time aimed a kick at +him, which he vainly tried to avoid. It caught him on the knee-cap, and +put it out, causing him the most excruciating agony. + +He now could do no work whatever, not even swab the deck. It was only +with difficulty that he could limp along, and every move caused him +violent pain. He grew listless and dejected, and sat all day on the +vessel’s side, eagerly straining his eyes to catch any sight of land, or +gazing vacantly into the weary sameness of sea and sky. + +Once, when it was rather gusty weather, all hands were wanted, and the +skipper ordered him to furl a sail. + +“I can’t,” said Eric, in an accent of despair, barely stirring, and not +lifting his eyes to the man’s unfeeling face. + +“Can’t, d---- you. Can’t. We’ll soon see whether you can or no! You do +it, or _I_ shall have to mend your leg for you;” and he showered down a +storm of oaths. + +Eric rose, and resolutely tried to mount the rigging, determined at +least to give no ground he could help to their wilful cruelty. But the +effort was vain, and with a sharp cry of suffering he dropped once +more on deck. + +“Cursed young brat! I suppose you think we’re going to bother ourselves +with you, and yer impudence, and get victuals for nothing. It’s all +sham. Here, Jim, tie him up.” + +A stout sailor seized the unresisting boy, tied his hands together, and +then drew them up above his head, and strung them to the rigging. + +“Why didn’t ye strip him first, d---- you?” roared the skipper. + +“He’s only got that blue shirt on, and that’s soon mended,” said the +man, taking hold of the collar of the shirt on both sides, and tearing +it open with a great rip. + +Eric’s white back was bare, his hands tied up, his head hanging, and his +injured leg slightly lifted from the ground. “And now for some rope-pie +for the stubborn young lubber,” said the skipper, lifting a bit of rope +as he spoke. + +Eric, with a shudder, heard it whistle through the air, and the next +instant it had descended on his back with a dull thump, rasping away a +red line of flesh. Now Eric knew for the first time the awful reality of +intense pain; he had determined to utter no sound, to give no sign; but +when the horrible rope fell on him, griding across his back, and making +his body literally creak under the blow, he quivered like an aspen-leaf +in every limb, and could not suppress the harrowing murmur, “Oh God, +help me, help me.” + +Again the rope whistled in the air, again it grided across the boy’s +naked back, and once more the crimson furrow bore witness to the violent +laceration. A sharp shriek of inexpressible agony rang from his lips, so +shrill, so heart-rending, that it sounded long in the memory of all who +heard it. But the brute who administered the torture was untouched. Once +more, and again, the rope rose and fell, and under its marks the blood +first dribbled, and then streamed from the white and tender skin. + +But Eric felt no more; that scream had been the last effort of nature; +his head had dropped on his bosom, and though his limbs still seemed to +creep at the unnatural infliction, he had fainted away. + +“Stop, master, stop, if you don’t want to kill the boy outright,” said +Roberts, one of the crew, stepping forward, while the hot flush of +indignation burned through his tanned and weather-beaten cheek. The +sailors called him “Softy Bob,” from that half-gentleness of disposition +which had made him, alone of all the men, speak one kind or consoling +word for the proud and lonely cabin-boy. + +“Undo him then, and be--,” growled the skipper and rolled off to drink +himself drunk. + +“I doubt he’s well-nigh done for him already,” said Roberts, quickly +untying Eric’s hands, round which the cords had been pulled so tight as +to leave two blue rings round his wrists. “Poor fellow, poor fellow! +it’s all over now,” he murmured soothingly, as the boy’s body fell +motionless into his arms, which he hastily stretched to prevent him from +tumbling on the deck. + +But Eric heard not; and the man, touched with the deepest pity, carried +him down tenderly into his hammock, and wrapped him up in a clean +blanket, and sat by him till the swoon should be over. + +It lasted very long, and the sailor began to fear that his words had +been prophetic. + +“How is the young varmint?” shouted the skipper, looking into the +forecastle. + +“You’ve killed him, I think.” + +The only answer was a volley of oaths; but the fellow was sufficiently +frightened to order Roberts to do all he could for his patient. + +At last Eric woke with a moan. To think was too painful, but the raw +state of his back, ulcerated with the cruelty he had undergone, reminded +him too bitterly of his situation. Roberts did for him all that could be +done, but for a week Eric lay in that dark and fetid place, in the +languishing of absolute despair. Often and often the unbidden tears +flowed from very weakness from his eyes, and in the sickness of his +heart, and the torment of his wounded body, he thought that he +should die. + +But youth is very strong, and it wrestled with despair, and agony, and +death, and, after a time, Eric could rise from his comfortless hammock. +The news that land was in sight first roused him, and with the help of +Roberts, he was carried on deck, thankful, with childlike gratitude, +that God suffered him to breathe once more the pure air of heaven, and +sit under the canopy of its gold-pervaded blue. The breeze and the +sunlight refreshed him, as they might a broken flower; and, with eyes +upraised, he poured from his heart a prayer of deep unspeakable +thankfulness to a Father in Heaven. + +Yes! at last he had remembered his Father’s home. There, in the dark +berth, where every move caused irritation, and the unclean atmosphere +brooded over his senses like lead; when his forehead burned, and his +heart melted within him, and he had felt almost inclined to curse his +life, or even to end it by crawling up and committing himself to the +deep cold water which, he heard rippling on the vessel’s side; then, +even then, in that valley of the shadow of death, a Voice had come to +him--a still small Voice--at whose holy and healing utterance Eric had +bowed his head, and listened to the messages of God, and learnt his +will; and now, in humble resignation, in touching penitence with solemn +self-devotion, he had cast himself at the feet of Jesus, and prayed to +be helped, and guided, and forgiven. One little star of hope rose in the +darkness of his solitude, and its rays grew brighter and brighter, till +they were glorious now. Yes, for Jesus’ sake he was washed, he was +cleansed, he was sanctified, he was justified; he would fear no evil, +for God was with him and underneath were the everlasting arms. + +And while he sat there, undisturbed at last, and unmolested by harsh +word or savage blow, recovering health with every breath of the sea +wind, the skipper came up to him, and muttered something half-like +an apology. + +The sight of him, and the sound of his voice, made Eric shudder again, +but he listened meekly, and, with no flash of scorn or horror, put out +his hand to the man to shake. There was something touching and noble in +the gesture, and, thoroughly ashamed of himself for once, the fellow +shook the proffered hand, and slunk away. + +They entered the broad river at Southpool. + +“I must leave the ship when we get to port, Roberts,” said Eric. + +“I doubt whether you’ll let you,” answered Roberts, jerking his finger +towards the skipper’s cabin. + +“Why?” + +“He’ll be afeard you might take the law on him.” + +“He needn’t fear.” + +Roberts only shook his head. + +“Then I must run away somehow. Will you help me?” + +“Yes, that I will.” + +That very evening Eric escaped from the Stormy Petrel, unknown to all +but Roberts. They were in the dock, and he dropped into the water in the +evening, and swam to the pier, which was only a yard or two distant; but +the effort almost exhausted his strength, for his knee was still +painful, and he was very weak. + +Wet and penniless, he knew not where to go, but spent the sleepless +night under an arch. Early the next morning he went to a pawnbroker’s, +and raised £2:10s. on his watch, with which money he walked straight to +the railway station. + +It was July, and the Roslyn summer holidays had commenced. As Eric +dragged his slow way to the station, he suddenly saw Wildney on the +other side of the street. His first impulse was to spring to meet him, +as he would have done in old times. His whole heart yearned towards him. +It was six weeks now since Eric had seen one loving face, and during all +that time he had hardly heard one kindly word. And now he saw before him +the boy whom he loved so fondly, with whom he had spent so many happy +hours of school-boy friendship, with whom he had gone through so many +schoolboy adventures, and who, he believed, loved him fondly still. + +Forgetful for the moment of his condition, Eric moved across the street. +Wildney was walking with his cousin, a beautiful girl, some four years +older than himself, whom he was evidently patronising immensely. They +were talking very merrily, and Eric overheard the word Roslyn. Like a +lightning-flash the memory of the theft, the memory of his ruin came +upon him; he looked down at his dress--it was a coarse blue shirt, which +Roberts had given him in place of his old one, and the back of it was +stained and saturated with blood from his unhealed wounds; his trousers +were dirty, tarred, and ragged, and his shoes, full of holes, barely +covered his feet. He remembered too that for weeks he had not been able +to wash, and that very morning, as he saw himself in a looking-glass at +a shop-window, he had been deeply shocked at his own appearance. His +face was white as a sheet, the fair hair matted and tangled, the eyes +sunken and surrounded with a dark color, and dead and lustreless. No! he +could not meet Wildney as a sick and ragged sailor-boy; perhaps even he +might not be recognised if he did. He drew back, and hid himself till +the merry-hearted pair had passed, and it was almost with a pang of +jealousy that he saw how happy Wildney could be, while _he_ was thus; +but he cast aside the unworthy thought at once. “After all, how is poor +Charlie to know what has happened to me?” + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +HOME AT LAST + + “I will arise and go to my father.” + + “Ach! ein Schicksal droht, + Und es droht nicht lange! + Auf der holden Wange + Brennt ein böses Roth!”--TIEDGE. + +Eric Williams pursued his disconsolate way to the station, and found +that his money only just sufficed to get him something to eat during the +day, and carry him third class by the parliamentary train to +Charlesbury, the little station where he had to take the branch line +to Ayrton. + +He got into the carriage, and sat in the far corner, hiding himself from +notice as well as he could. The weary train--(it carried poor people for +the most part, so, of course it could matter but little how tedious or +slow it was!)--the weary train, stopping at every station, and often +waiting on the rail until it had been passed by trains that started four +or five hours after it,--dragged its slow course through the fair +counties of England. Many people got in and out of the carriage, which +was generally full, and some of them tried occasionally to enter into +conversation with him. But poor Eric was too sick and tired, and his +heart was too full to talk much, and he contented himself with civil +answers to the questions put to him, dropping the conversation as soon +as he could. + +At six in the evening the train stopped at Charlesbury, and he got down. + +“Ticket,” said the station-man. + +Eric gave it, turning his head away, for the man knew him well from +having often seen him there. It was no use; the man looked hard at him, +and then, opening his eyes wide, exclaimed, + +“Well, I never! what, Master Williams of Fairholm, can that be you?” + +“Hush, John, hush! yes, I am Eric Williams. But don’t say a word, that’s +a good fellow; I’m going on to Ayrton this evening.” + +“Well, sir, I _am_, hurt like to see you looking so ragged and poorly. +Let me give you a bed to-night, and send you on by first train +to-morrow.” + +“O no, thank you, John. I’ve got no money, and--” + +“Tut, tut, sir; I thought you’d know me better nor that. Proud I’d be +any day to do anything for Mrs. Trevor’s nephew, let alone a young +gentleman like you. Well, then, let me drive you, sir, in my little cart +this evening.” + +“No, thank you, John, never mind; you are very, very good, but,” he +said, and the tears were in his eyes, “I want to walk in alone +to-night.” + +“Well, God keep and bless you, sir,” said the man, “for you look to need +it;” and touching his cap, he watched the boy’s painful walk across some +fields to the main road. + +“Who’d ha’ thought it, Jenny?” he said to his wife. “There’s that young +Master Williams, whom we’ve always thought so noble like, just been +here as ragged as ragged, and with a face the color o’ my white +signal flag.” + +“Lawks!” said the woman; “well, well! poor young gentleman, I’m afeard +he’s been doing something bad.” + +Balmily and beautiful the evening fell, as Eric, not without toil, made +his way along the road towards Ayrton, which was ten miles off. The road +wound through the valley, across the low hills that encircled it, +sometimes spanning or running parallel to the bright stream that had +been the delight of Eric’s innocent childhood. There was something +enjoyable at first to the poor boy’s eyes, so long accustomed to the +barren sea, in resting once more on the soft undulating green of the +summer fields, which were intertissued with white and yellow flowers, +like a broidery of pearls and gold. The whole scene was bathed in the +exquisite light, and rich with the delicate perfumes of a glorious +evening, which filled the sky over his head with every perfect gradation +of rose and amber and amethyst, and breathed over the quiet landscape a +sensation of unbroken peace. But peace did not remain long in Eric’s +heart; each well-remembered landmark filled his soul with recollections +of the days when he had returned from school, oh! how differently; and +of the last time when he had come home with Vernon by his side. “Oh +Verny, Verny, noble little Verny, would to God that I were with you now. +But you are resting, Verny, in the green grave by Russell’s side, and +I--oh God, be merciful to me now!” + +It was evening, and the stars came out and shone by hundreds, and Eric +walked on by the moonlight. But the exertion had brought on the pain in +his knee, and he had to sit down a long time by the road-side to rest. +He reached Ayrton at ten o’clock, but even then he could not summon up +courage to pass through the town where he was so well known, lest any +straggler should recognise him,--and he took a detour in order to get to +Fairholm. He did not arrive there till eleven o’clock; and then he could +not venture into the grounds, for he saw through the trees of the +shrubbery that there was no light in any of the windows, and it was +clear that they were all gone to bed. + +What was he to do? He durst not disturb them so late at night. He +remembered that they would not have heard a syllable of or from him +since he had run away from Roslyn, and he feared the effect of so sudden +an emotion as his appearance at that hour might excite. + +So under the star-light he lay down to sleep on a cold bank beside the +gate, determining to enter early in the morning. It was long before he +slept, but at last weary nature demanded her privilege with importunity, +and gentle sleep floated over him like a dark dewy cloud, and the sun +was high in heaven before he woke. + +It was about half-past nine in the morning, and Mrs. Trevor, with Fanny, +was starting to visit some of her poor neighbors, an occupation full of +holy pleasure to her kind heart, and in which she had found more than +usual consolation during the heavy trials which she had recently +suffered; for she had loved Eric and Vernon as a mother does her own +children, and now Vernon, the little cherished jewel of her heart, was +dead--Vernon was dead, and Eric, she feared, not dead but worse than +dead, guilty, stained, dishonored. Often had she thought to herself, in +deep anguish of heart, “Our darling little Vernon dead--and Eric fallen +and ruined!” + +“Look at that poor fellow asleep on the grass,” said Fanny, pointing to +a sailor boy, who lay coiled up on the bank beside the gate. “He has had +a rough bed, mother, if he has spent the night there, as I fear.” + +Mrs. Trevor had grasped her arm. “What is Flo’ doing?” she said, +stopping, as the pretty little spaniel trotted up to the boy’s reclining +figure, and began snuffing about it, and then broke into a quick short +bark of pleasure, and fawned and frisked about him, and leapt upon him, +joyously wagging his tail. + +The boy rose with the dew wet from the flowers upon his hair; he saw the +dog, and at once began playfully to fondle it, and hold its little +silken head between his hands; but as yet he had not caught sight of +the Trevors. + +“It is--oh, good heavens! it is Eric,” cried Mrs. Trevor, as she flew +towards him. Another moment and he was in her arms, silent, speechless, +with long arrears of pent-up emotion. + +“O my Eric, our poor, lost, wandering Eric--come home; you are forgiven, +more than forgiven, my own darling boy. Yes, I knew that my prayers +would be answered; this is as though we received you from the dead.” And +the noble lady wept upon his neck, and Eric, his heart shaken with +accumulated feelings, clung to her and wept. + +Deeply did that loving household rejoice to receive back their lost +child. At once they procured him a proper dress, and a warm bath, and +tended him with every gentle office of female ministering hands. And in +the evening, when he told them his story in a broken voice of penitence +and remorse, their love came to him like a sweet balsam, and he rested +by them, “seated, and clothed, and in his right mind.” + +The pretty little room, fragrant with sweet flowers from the greenhouse, +was decorated with all the refinement of womanly taste, and its glass +doors opened on the pleasant garden. It was long, long since Eric had +ever seen anything like it, and he had never hoped to see it again. “Oh +dearest aunty,” he murmured, as he rested his weary head upon her lap, +while he sat on a low stool at her feet, “Oh aunty, you will never know +how different this is from the foul, horrible hold of the ‘Stormy +Petrel,’ and its detestable inmates.” + +When Eric was dressed once more as a gentleman, and once more fed on +nourishing and wholesome food, and was able to move once more about the +garden by Fanny’s side, he began to recover his old appearance, and the +soft bloom came back to his cheek again, and the light to his blue eye. +But still his health gave most serious cause for apprehension; weeks of +semi-starvation, bad air, sickness, and neglect, followed by two nights +of exposure and wet, had at last undermined the remarkable strength of +his constitution, and the Trevors soon became aware of the painful fact +that he was sinking to the grave, and had come home only to die. + +Above all, there seemed to be some great load at his heart which he +could not remove; a sense of shame, the memory of his disgrace at +Roslyn, and of the dark suspicion that rested on his name. He avoided +the subject, and they were too kind to force it on him, especially as he +had taken away the bitterest part of their trial in remembering it, by +explaining to them that he was far from being so wicked in the matter of +the theft as they had at first been (how slowly and reluctantly!) almost +forced to believe. + +“Have you ever heard--oh, how shall I put it?--have you ever heard, +aunty, how things went on at Roslyn after I ran away?” he asked, one +evening, with evident effort. + +“No, love, I have not. After they had sent home your things, I heard no +more; only two most kind and excellent letters--one from Dr. Rowlands, +and one from your friend, Mr. Rose--informed me of what had happened +about you.” + +“O, have they sent home my things?” he asked, eagerly. “There are very +few among them that I care about, but there is just one----” + +“I guessed it, my Eric, and, but that I feared to agitate you, should +have given it you before;” and she drew out of a drawer the little +likeness of Vernon’s sweet childish face. + +Eric gazed at it till the sobs shook him, and tears blinded his eyes. + +“Do not weep, my boy,” said Mrs. Trevor, kissing his forehead. “Dear +little Verny, remember, is in a land where God himself wipes away all +tears from off all eyes.” + +“Is there anything else you would like?” asked Fanny, to divert his +painful thoughts. “I will get you anything in a moment.” + +“Yes, Fanny, dear, there is the medal I got for saving Russell’s life, +and one or two things which he gave me;--ah, poor Edwin, you never +knew him!” + +He told her what to fetch, and when she brought them it seemed to give +him great pleasure to recall his friends to mind by name, and speak of +them--especially of Montagu and Wildney. + +“I have a plan to please you, Eric,” said Mrs. Tremor. “Shall I ask +Montagu and Wildney here? we have plenty of room for them.” + +“O, thank you,” he said, with the utmost eagerness. “Thank you, dearest +aunt.” Then suddenly his countenance fell. “Stop--shall we?--yes, yes, I +am going to die soon, I know; let me see them before I die.” + +The Trevors did not know that he was aware of the precarious tenure of +his life, but they listened to him in silence, and did not contradict +him; and Mrs. Trevor wrote to both the boys (whose directions Eric +knew), telling them what had happened, and begging them, simply for his +sake, to come and stay with her for a time. She hinted clearly that it +might be the last opportunity they would ever have of seeing him. + +Wildney and Montagu accepted the invitation; and they arrived together +at Fairholm on one of the early autumn evenings. They both greeted Eric +with the utmost affection; and he seemed never tired of pressing their +hands, and looking at them again. Yet every now and then a memory of +sadness would pass over his face, like a dark ripple on the clear +surface of a lake. + +“Tell me, Monty,” he said one evening, “all about what happened after I +left Roslyn.” + +“Gladly, Eric; now that your name is cleared, there is--” + +“My name cleared!” said Eric, leaning forward eagerly. “Did you say +that?” + +“Yes, Eric. Didn’t you know, then, that the thief had been discovered?” + +“No,” he murmured faintly, leaning back; “O thank God, thank God! Do +tell me all about it, Monty.” + +“Well, Eric, I will tell you all from the beginning. You may guess how +utterly astonished we were in the morning, when we heard that you had +run away. Wildney here was the first to discover it, for he went early +to your bed-room----” + +“Dear little Sunbeam,” interrupted Eric, resting his hand against +Wildney’s cheek; but Wildney shook his fist at him when he heard the +forbidden name. + +“He found the door locked,” continued Montagu, “and called to you, but +there came no answer; this made us suspect the truth, and we were +certain, of it when some one caught sight of the pendent sheet. The +masters soon heard the report, and sent Carter to make inquiries, but +they did not succeed in discovering anything definite about you. Then, +of course, everybody assumed as a certainty that you were guilty, and I +fear that my bare assertion on the other side had little weight.” + +Eric’s eyes glistened as he drank in his friend’s story. + +“But, about a fortnight after, _more_ money and several other articles +disappeared from the studies, and all suspicion as to the perpetrator +was baffled; only now the boys began to admit that, after all, they had +been premature in condemning you. It was a miserable time; for every one +was full of distrust, and the more nervous boys were always afraid lest +any one should on some slight grounds suspect _them. Still_, things kept +disappearing. + +“We found out at length that the time when the robberies were effected +must be between twelve and one, and it was secretly agreed that some one +should be concealed in the studies for a day or two during those hours. +Carter undertook the office, and was ensconced in one of the big +cupboards in a study which had not yet been touched. On the third day he +heard some one stealthily mount the stairs. The fellows were more +careful now, and used to keep their doors shut, but the person was +provided with keys, and opened the study in which Carter was. He moved +about for a little time--Carter watching him through the key-hole, and +prepared to spring on him before he could make his escape. Not getting +much, the man at last opened the cup-board door, where Carter had just +time to conceal himself behind a great-coat. The great-coat took the +plunderer’s fancy; he took it down off the peg, and there stood Carter +before him! Billy--for it was he--stood absolutely confounded, as though +a ghost had suddenly appeared; and Carter, after enjoying his +unconcealed terror, collared him, and hauled him off to the police +station. He was tried soon after, and finally confessed that it was he +who had taken the cricket-money too; for which offences he was sentenced +to transportation. So Eric, dear Eric, at last your name was cleared.” + +“As I always knew it would be, dear old boy,” said Wildney. + +Montagu and Wildney found plenty to make them happy at Fairholm, and +were never tired of Eric’s society, and of his stories about all that +befell him on board the “Stormy Petrel.” They perceived a marvellous +change in him. Every trace of recklessness and arrogance had passed +away; every stain of passion had been removed; every particle of +hardness had been calcined in the flame of trial. All was gentleness, +love, and dependence, in the once bright, impetuous, self-willed boy; it +seemed as though the lightning of God’s anger had shattered and swept +away all that was evil in his heart and life, and left all his true +excellence, all the royal prerogatives of his character, pure and +unscathed Eric, even in his worst days, was, as I well remember, a +lovable and noble boy; but at this period there must have been something +about him for which to thank God, something unspeakably winning, and +irresistibly attractive. During the day, as Eric was too weak to walk +with them, Montagu and Wildney used to take boating and fishing +excursions by themselves, but in the evening the whole party would sit +out reading and talking in the garden till twilight fell. The two +visitors began to hope that Mrs. Trevor had been mistaken, and that +Eric’s health would still recover; but Mrs. Trevor would not deceive +herself with a vain hope, and the boy himself shook his head when they +called him convalescent. + +Their hopes were never higher than one evening about a week after their +arrival, when they were all seated, as usual, in the open air, under a +lime-tree on the lawn. The sun was beginning to set, and the rain of +golden sunlight fell over them through the green ambrosial foliage of +the tree whose pale blossoms were still murmurous with bees. Eric was +leaning back in an easy chair, with Wildney sitting on the grass, +cross-legged at his feet, while Montagu, resting on one of the mossy +roots, read to them the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” and the ladies were +busy with their work. + +“There--stop now,” said Eric, “and let’s sit out and talk until we see +some of ‘the fiery a’es and o’es of light’ which he talks of.” + +“I’d no idea Shakspeare was such immensely jolly reading,” remarked +Wildney naïvely. “I shall take to reading him through when I get home.” + +“Do you remember, Eric,” said Montagu, “how Rose used to chaff us in old +days for our ignorance of literature, and how indignant we used to be +when he asked if we’d ever heard of an obscure person called William +Shakspeare?” + +“Yes, very well,” answered Eric, laughing heartily. And in this strain +they continued to chat merrily, while the ladies enjoyed listening to +their school-boy mirth. + +“What a perfectly delicious evening. It’s almost enough to make me wish +to live,” said Eric. + +He did not often speak thus; and it made them sad. But Eric half sang, +half murmured to himself, a hymn with which his mother’s sweet voice had +made him familiar in their cottage-home at Ellan:-- + + “There is a calm for those who weep, + A rest for weary pilgrims found; + They softly lie, and sweetly sleep, + Low in the ground. + + “The storm that wrecks the winter sky, + No more disturbs their deep repose, + Than summer evening’s latest sigh + That shuts the rose.” + +The two last lines lingered pleasantly in his fancy and he murmured to +himself again, in low tones-- + + “Than summer evening’s latest sigh + That shuts the rose.” + +“Oh hush, hush, Eric!” said Wildney, laying his hand upon his friend’s +lips; “don’t let’s spoil to-night by forebodings.” + +It seemed, indeed, a shame to do so, for it was almost an awful thing to +be breathing the splendor of the transparent air, as the sun broadened +and fell, and a faint violet glow floated over soft meadow and silver +stream. One might have fancied that the last rays of sunshine loved to +linger over Eric’s face, now flushed with a hectic tinge of pleasure, +and to light up sudden glories in his bright hair, which the wind just +fanned off his forehead as he leaned back and inhaled the luxury of +evening perfume, which the flowers of the garden poured on the gentle +breeze. Ah, how sad that such scenes should be so rare and so +short-lived! + +“Hark--tirra-la-lirra-lirra!” said Wildney; “there goes the postman’s +horn! Shall I run and get the letter-bag as he passes the gate?” + +“Yes, do,” they all cried; and the boy bounded off full of fun, greeting +the postman with such a burst of merry apostrophe, that the man shook +with laughing at him. + +“Here it is at last,” said Wildney. “Now, then, for the key. Here’s a +letter for me, hurrah!--two for you, Miss Trevor--_what_ people you +young ladies are for writing to each other! None for you, Monty--Oh, +yes! I’m wrong, here’s one; but none for Eric.” + +“I expected none,” said Eric sighing; but his eye was fixed earnestly +on one of Mrs. Trevor’s letters. He saw that it was from India, and +directed in his father’s hand. + +Mrs. Trevor caught his look. “Shall I read it aloud to you, dear I Do +you think you can stand it? Remember it will be in answer to ours, +telling them of--” + +“Oh, yes, yes,” he said, eagerly, “do let me hear it.” + +With instinctive delicacy Montagu and Wildney rose, but Eric pressed +them to stay. “It will help me to bear what mother says, if I see you by +me,” he pleaded. + +God forbid that I should transcribe that letter. It was written from the +depths of such sorrow as He only can fully sympathise with, who for +thirty years pitched his tent in the valley of human misery. By the +former mail Mrs. Williams had heard of Verny’s melancholy death; by the +next she had been told that her only other child, Eric, was not dead +indeed, but a wandering outcast, marked with the brand of terrible +suspicion. Let her agony be sacred; it was God who sent it, and he only +enabled her to endure it. With bent head, and streaming eyes, and a +breast that heaved involuntarily with fitful sobs, Eric listened as +though to his mother’s voice, and only now and then he murmured low to +himself, “O mother, mother, mother--but I am forgiven now. O mother, God +and man have forgiven me, and we shall be at peace again once more.” + +Mrs. Trevor’s eyes grew too dim with weeping, to read it all, and Fanny +finished it. “Here is a little note from your father, Eric, which +dropped out when we opened dear aunt’s letter. Shall I read it, too?” + +“Perhaps not now, love,” said Mrs. Trevor. “Poor Eric is too tired and +excited already.” + +“Well, then, let me glance it myself, aunty,” he said. He opened it, +read a line or two, and then, with a scream, fell back swooning, while +it dropped out of his hands. + +Terrified, they picked up the fallen paper; it told briefly, in a few +heartrending words, that, after writing the letter, Mrs. Williams had +been taken ill; that her life was absolutely despaired of, and that, +before the letter reached England, she would, in all human probability, +be dead. It conveyed the impression of a soul resigned indeed, and +humble, but crushed down to the very earth with the load of mysterious +bereavement, and irretrievable sorrow. + +“Oh, I have killed her, I have killed my mother!” said Eric, in a hollow +voice, when he came to himself. “O God, forgive me, forgive me!” + +They gathered round him; they soothed, and comforted, and prayed for +him; but his soul refused comfort, and all his strength appeared to have +been broken down at once like a feeble reed. At last a momentary energy +returned; his eyes were lifted to the gloaming heaven where a few stars +had already begun to shine, and a bright look illuminated his +countenance. They listened deeply--“Yes, mother,” he murmured, in broken +tones, “forgiven now, for Christ’s dear sake. O thou merciful God! Yes, +there they are, and we shall meet again. Verny--oh, happy, happy at +last--too happy!” + +The sounds died away, and his head fell back; for a transient moment +more the smile and the brightness played over his fair features like a +lambent flame. It passed away, and Eric was with those he dearliest +loved, in the land where there is no more curse. + +“Yes, dearest Eric, forgiven and happy now,” sobbed Mrs. Trevor; and her +tears fell fast upon the dead boy’s face, as she pressed upon it a long, +last kiss. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +CONCLUSION + + “And hath that early hope been blessed with truth? + Hath he fulfilled the promise of his youth? + And borne unscathed through danger’s stormy field + Honor’s white wreath and virtue’s stainless shield?” + + HARROW. A Prize Poem. + +The other day I was staying with Montagu. He has succeeded to his +father’s estate, and is the best-loved landlord for miles around. He +intends to stand for the county at the next general election, and I +haven’t the shadow of a doubt that he will succeed. If he does, +Parliament will have gained a worthy addition. Montagu has the very soul +of honor, and he can set off the conclusions of his vigorous judgment, +and the treasures of his cultivated taste, with an eloquence that rises +to extraordinary grandeur when he is fulminating his scorn at any +species of tyranny or meanness. + +It was very pleasant to talk with him about our old school days in his +charming home. We sate by the open window (which looks over his grounds, +and then across one of the richest plains in England) one long summer +evening, recalling all the vanished scenes and figures of the past, +until we almost felt ourselves boys again. + +“I have just been staying at Trinity,” said I, “and Owen, as I suppose +you know, is doing brilliantly. He has taken a high first class, and +they have already elected him fellow and assistant tutor.” + +“Is he liked?” + +“Yes, very much. He always used to strike me at school as one of those +fellows who are much more likely to be happy and successful as men, than +they had ever any chance of being as boys. I hope the _greatest_ things +of him; but have you heard anything of Duncan lately?” + +“Yes, he’s just been gazetted as lieutenant. I had a letter from him the +other day. He’s met two old Roslyn fellows, Wildney and Upton, the +latter of whom is now Captain Upton; he says that there are not two +finer or manlier officers in the whole service, and Wildney, as you may +easily guess, is the favorite of the mess-room. You know, I suppose, +that Graham is making a great start at the bar.” + +“Is he? I’m delighted to hear it.” + +“Yes. He had a ‘mauvais sujet’ to defend the other day, in the person of +our old enemy, Brigson, who, having been at last disowned by his +relations, is at present a policeman in London.” + +“On the principle, I suppose, of ‘Set a thief to catch a thief,’” said +Montagu, with a smile. + +“Yes; but he exemplifies the truth ‘chassez le naturel, il revient au +galop’ for he was charged with abetting a street fight between two boys, +which very nearly ended fatally. However, he was penitent, and Graham +got him off with wonderful cleverness.” + +“Ah!” said Montagu, sighing, “there was _one_ who would have been the +pride of Roslyn had he lived Poor, poor Eric!” + +We talked long of our loved friend; his bright face, his winning words, +his merry smile, came back to us with the memory of his melancholy fate, +and a deep sadness fell over us. + +“Poor boy, he is at peace now,” said Montagu; and he told me once more +the sorrowful particulars of his death. “Shall I read you some verses?” +he asked, “which he must have composed, poor fellow, on board the +‘Stormy Petrel,’ though he probably wrote them at Fairholm afterwards.” + +“Yes, do.” + +And Montagu, in his pleasant musical voice, read me, with much feeling, +these lines, written in Eric’s boyish hand, and signed with his name. + +ALONE, YET NOT ALONE. + + Alone, alone! ah, weary soul, + In all the world alone I stand, + With none to wed their hearts to mine, + Or link in mine a loving hand. + + Ah! I tell me not that I have those + Who owe the ties of blood and name, + Or pitying friends who love me well, + And dear returns of friendship claim. + + I have, I have! but none can heal, + And none shall see my inward woe, + And the deep thoughts within me veiled + No other heart but mine shall know. + + And yet amid my sins and shames + The shield of God is o’er me thrown + And, ’neath its awful shade I feel + Alone,--yet, ah, not all alone! + + Not all alone! and though my life + Be dragged along the stained earth, + O God! I feel thee near me still, + And thank thee for my birth! + + E.W. + +Montagu gave me the paper, and I cherish it as my dearest memorial of my +erring but noble schoolboy friend. + +Knowing how strong an interest Mr. Rose always took in Eric, I gave him +a copy of these verses when last I visited him at his pleasant vicarage +of Seaford, to which he was presented a year or two ago by Dr. Rowlands, +now Bishop of Roslyn, who has also appointed him examining chaplain. I +sat and watched Mr. Rose while he read them. A mournful interest was +depicted on his face, his hand trembled a little, and I fancied that he +bent his grey hair over the paper to hide a tear. We always knew at +school that Eric was one of his greatest favorites, as indeed he and +Vernon were with all of us; and when the unhappy boy had run away +without even having the opportunity for bidding any one farewell, Mr. +Rose displayed such real grief, that for weeks he was like a man who +went mourning for a son. After those summer holidays, when we returned +to school, Montagu and Wildney brought back with them the intelligence +of Eric’s return to Fairholm, and of his death. The news plunged many of +us in sorrow, and when, on the first Sunday in chapel, Mr. Rose alluded +to this sad tale, there were few dry eyes among those who listened to +him. I shall never forget that Sunday afternoon. A deep hush brooded +over us, and before the sermon was over, many a face was hidden to +conceal the emotion which could not be suppressed. + +“I speak,” said Mr. Rose, “to a congregation of mourners, for one who +but a few weeks back was sitting among you as one of yourselves. But, +for myself, I do _not_ mourn over his death. Many a time have I mourned +for him in past days, when I marked how widely he went astray,--but I do +not mourn now; for after his fiery trials he died penitent and happy, +and at last his sorrows are over for ever, and the dreams of ambition +have vanished, and the fires of passion have been quenched, and for all +eternity the young soul is in the presence of its God. Let none of you +think that his life has been wasted. Possibly, had it pleased heaven to +spare him, he might have found great works to do among his fellow-men, +and he would have done them as few else could. But do not let us fancy +that our work must cease of necessity with our lives. Not so; far rather +must we believe that it will continue for ever; seeing that we are all +partakers of God’s unspeakable blessing, the common mystery of +immortality. Perhaps it may be the glorious destiny of very many here to +recognise that truth, more fully when we meet and converse with our dear +departed brother in a holier and happier world.” + +I have preserved some faint echo of the words he used, but I can give no +conception of the dignity and earnestness of his manner, or the intense +pathos of his tones. + +The scene passed before me again as I looked at him, while he lingered +over Eric’s verses, and seemed lost in a reverie of thought. + +At last he looked up and sighed. “Poor Eric!--But no, I will not call +him poor; after all he is happier now than we. You loved him well,” he +continued; “why do you not try and preserve some records of his life?” + +The suggestion took me by surprise, but I thought over it, and at once +began to accomplish it. My own reminiscences of Eric were numerous and +vivid, and several of my old schoolfellows and friends gladly supplied +me with other particulars, especially the Bishop of Roslyn, Mr. Rose, +Montagu, and Wildney. So the story of Eric’s ruin has been told, and +told as he would have wished it done, with simple truth. Noble Eric! I +do not fear that I have wronged your memory, and you I know would +rejoice to think how sorrowful hours have lost something of their +sorrow, as I wrote the scenes in so many of which we were engaged +together in our school-boy days. + +I visited Roslyn a short time ago, and walked for hours along the sands, +picturing in my memory the pleasant faces, and recalling the joyous +tones of the many whom I had known and loved. Other boys were playing by +the sea-side, who were strangers to me and I to them; and as I marked +how wave after wave rolled up the shore, with its murmur and its foam, +each sweeping farther than the other, each effacing the traces of the +last, I saw an emblem of the passing generations, and was content to +find that my place knew me no more. + + Ah me the golden time!-- + But its hours have passed away, + With the pure and bracing clime, + And the bright and merry day. + +And the sea still laughs to the rosy shells ashore, + And the shore still shines in the lustre of the wave; + But the joyaunce and the beauty of the boyish days is o’er, + And many of the beautiful lie quiet in the grave;-- + And he who comes again + Wears a brow of toil and pain, + And wanders sad and silent by the melancholy main. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERIC *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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