Part 27 (1/2)

For one instant, boy and master--Eric Williams and Mr Rose--stood facing each other amid breathless silence, the boy panting and pa.s.sionate, 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 demeanour, 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-humouredly, ”what's the matter, Eric?”

”Matter?” answered Eric, 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 m.u.f.fs, 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 pa.s.sion which the fumes of drink had caused, and flinging himself 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?

O 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 even 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 thras.h.i.+ng I gave him for the foul 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.”

”O 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 fine 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.