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.”