“I cannot defend myself, sir.  I was excited, and could not control my passion.”

“Then you must sit down here, and write an apology, which I shall make you read aloud before the whole school at twelve to-day.”

Eric, with trembling hand, wrote his apology, and Dr Rowlands glanced at it.  “Come to me again at twelve,” he said.

At twelve all the school were assembled, and Eric, pale and miserable, followed the Doctor into the great school-room.  The masters stood at one end of the room, and among them Mr. Rose, who, however, appeared an indifferent and uninterested spectator of the transaction.  Every eye was fixed on Eric, and every one pitied him.

“We are assembled,” said Dr. Rowlands, “for an act of justice.  One of your number has insulted a master publicly, and is ashamed of his conduct, and has himself written the apology which he will read.  I had intended to add a still severer punishment, but Mr. Rose has earnestly begged me not to do so, and I have succumbed to his wishes.  Williams, read your apology.”

There was a dead hush, and Eric tried once or twice in vain to utter a word.  At last, by a spasmodic effort, he regained his voice, and read, but in so low and nervous a tone, that not even those nearest him heard what he was saying.

Dr. Rowlands took the paper from him.  “Owing,” he said, “to a very natural and pardonable emotion, the apology has been read in such a way that you could not have understood it.  I will therefore read it myself.  It is to this effect—­

“’I, Eric Williams, beg humbly and sincerely to apologise for my passionate and ungrateful insult to Mr. Rose.’

“You will understand that he was left quite free to choose his own expressions; and as he has acknowledged his shame and compunction for the act, I trust that none of you will be tempted to elevate him into a hero, for a folly which he himself so much regrets.  This affair,—­as I should wish all bad deeds to be after they have once been punished,—­will now be forgiven, and I hope forgotten.”

They left the room and dispersed, and Eric fancied that all shunned and looked coldly on his degradation But not so:  Montagu came, and taking his arm in the old friendly way, went a walk with him.  It was a constrained and silent walk, and they were both glad when it was over, although Montagu did all he could to show that he loved Eric no less than before.  Still it was weeks since they had been much together, and they had far fewer things in common now than they used to have.

“I’m so wretched, Monty,” said Eric at last; “do you think Rose despises me?”

“I am sure of the contrary.  Won’t you go to him, Eric, and say all you feel?”

“Heigh ho!  I shall never get right again.  Oh, to recover the last two years!”

“You can redeem them, Eric, by a nobler present.  Let the same words comfort you that have often brought hope to me—­’I will restore the years which the locust hath eaten.’”