They had no time to talk, but with, a speed winged by fear got to the school, sprang on the b.u.t.tress 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 a.s.sociates in that way," said Eric, now thoroughly angry.

"a.s.sociates!" retorted Montagu, hotly; "pretty a.s.sociates! 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 m.u.f.fs," 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 pa.s.sion 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 gla.s.s in that particular window, which, as it was in the pa.s.sage, 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 a.s.sociate 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