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 pa.s.sionate 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 gra.s.s, 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 G.o.d, save my brother, save him, save him from death," cried Eric, "I cannot live without him. Oh G.o.d! Oh G.o.d! 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 G.o.d!

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 G.o.d, 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, a.s.suaged 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 n.o.ble, 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 a.s.sociates, 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 n.o.blest 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 pa.s.sionate 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 G.o.d's will that he should pa.s.s through a yet fiercer flame ere he could be purified from pride and pa.s.sion 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 th.o.r.n.y 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 pa.s.s his finger slowly along the words "Five pounds reward!"

"Well?"

"I thinks I knows who took them pigeons."

"What's that to me?"