"That punishment's the best to bearThat follows soonest on the sin,And guilt's a game where losers fareBetter 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 thinkingwhyhe 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 believeyou'reafraid."
"Little whippersnapper!" said Eric, coloring, "as if I was afraid to do anythingyoudare 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'llshow 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! thenIwill," 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 goingthere" 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,yourfriend, 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 requiredthatkind 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; "thiswasn'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'twhollymy 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 Idosuspect 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 doyourself, Williams"--(it was the first time for two years that Mr. Rose had called him "Williams," and he winced a little)--"whatever you doyourself, Williams, rests withyou; 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 havesomefriends 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.
"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 thatno workis 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 overtCome, 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, butIshall 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 youcanknow 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. Idohope 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. Younevercome 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'tthatI 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 Ididhear 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, thathetoo would come in for certain punishment the next day.