They reached the school-door, and Eric went straight to the library.  Mr. Rose was there alone.  He received him kindly, as usual, and Eric went up to the fire-place where he was standing.  They had often stood by that library fire on far different terms.

“Forgive me, sir,” was all Eric could say, as the tears rushed to his eyes.

“Freely, my boy,” said Mr. Rose, sadly.  “I wish you could feel how fully I forgive you; but,” he added, laying his hand for the last time on Eric’s head, “you have far more, Eric, to forgive yourself.  I will not talk to you, Eric; it would be little good, I fear; but you little know how much I pity and tremble for you.”

While these scenes were being enacted with Eric, a large group was collected round the fire-place in the boarders’ room, and many tongues were loudly discussing the recent events.

Alas for gratitude! there was not a boy in that group to whom Mr. Rose had not done many an act of kindness; and to most of them far more than they ever knew.  Many a weary hour had he toiled for them in private, when his weak frame was harassed by suffering; many a sleepless night had he wrestled for them in prayer, when, for their sakes, his own many troubles were laid aside.  Work on, Walter Rose, and He who seeth in secret will reward you openly! but expect no gratitude from those for whose salvation you, like the great tenderhearted apostle, would almost be ready to wish yourself accursed.

Nearly every one in that noisy group was abusing Mr. Rose.  It had long been Brigson’s cue to do so; he derided him on every opportunity, and delighted to represent him as hypocritical and insincere.  Even his weak health was the subject of Brigson’s coarse ridicule, and the bad boy paid, in deep hatred, the natural tribute which vice must ever accord to excellence.

“You see how he turns on his pets if they offend him,” said Brigson; “why, even that old beast Gordon isn’t as bad.”

“Yes; while poor Eric was reading, Rose reminded me of Milton’s serpent,” drawled Bull;

     “Hope elevates and joy brightens his crest.”

“He-e-ar!  He-e-ar!” said Pietrie; “vide the last fifth form Rep.”

“I expect Eric won’t see everything so much couleur de Rose now, as the French frog hath it,” remarked Graham.

“It was too bad to stand by and triumph, certainly,” observed Wildney.

“I say, you fellows,” remonstrated Wright, who, with Vernon, was sitting reading a book at one of the desks, “all that isn’t fair.  I’m sure you all saw how really sorry Rose looked about it; and he said, you know, that it was merely for the sake of school discipline that he put the matter in Rowlands’ hands.”

“Discipline be hanged,” shouted Brigson; “we’ll have our revenge on him yet, discipline or no.”

“I hope you won’t, though,” said Vernon; “I know Eric will be sorry if you do.”

“The more muff he.  We shall do as we like.”