“Eric,” said Duncan, “do you know that some one has stolen all the cricket money?”

“Stolen—­what—­all?” he cried, leaping up as if he had been shot.  “Oh, what new retribution is this?” and he hid his face, which had turned ashy pale, in his hands.

“To cut matters short, Eric, do you know anything about it?”

“If it is all gone, it is not I who stole it,” he said, not lifting his head.

“Do you know anything about it?”

“No!” he sobbed convulsively.  “No, no, no!  Yet stop; don’t let me add a lie....  Let me think.  No, Duncan!” he said, looking up, “I do not know who stole it.”

They stood silent, and the tears were stealing down Montagu’s averted face.

“O Duncan, Monty, be merciful, be merciful,” said Eric.  “Don’t yet condemn me. I am guilty, not of this, but of something as bad.  I admit I was tempted; but if the money really is all gone, it is not I who am the thief.”

“You must know, Eric, that the suspicion against you is very strong, and rests on some definite facts.”

“Yes, I know it must.  Yet, oh, do be merciful, and don’t yet condemn me.  I have denied it.  Am I a liar Monty?  Oh Monty, Monty, believe me in this”

But the boys still stood silent.

“Well, then,” he said, “I will tell you all.  But I can only tell it to you, Monty.  Duncan, indeed you mustn’t be angry; you are my friend, but not so much as Monty.  I can tell him, and him only.”

Duncan left the room, and Montagu sat down beside Eric on the bed, and put his arm round him to support him, for he shook violently.  There, with deep and wild emotion, and many interruptions of passionate silence, Eric told to Montagu his miserable tale.  “I am the most wretched fellow living,” he said; “there must be some fiend that hates me, and drives me to ruin.  But let it all come; I care nothing, nothing, what happens to me now.  Only, dear, dear Monty, forgive me, and love me still.”

“O Eric, it is not for one like me to talk of forgiveness; you were sorely tempted.  Yet God will forgive you if you ask him.  Won’t you pray to him to-night?  I love you, Eric, still, with all my heart, and do you think God can be less kind than man?  And I, too, will pray for you, Eric.  Good night, and God bless you” He gently disengaged himself—­for Eric clung to him, and seemed unwilling to lose sight of him—­and a moment after he was gone.

Eric felt terribly alone.  He knelt down and tried to pray, but somehow it didn’t seem as if the prayer came from his heart, and his thoughts began instantly to wander far away.  Still he knelt—­knelt even until his candle had gone out, and he had nearly fallen asleep, thought-wearied, on his knees.  And then he got into bed still dressed.  He had been making up his mind that he could bear it no longer, and would run away to sea that night.

He waited till eleven, when Dr. Rowlands took his rounds.  The Doctor had been told all the circumstances of suspicion, and they amounted in his mind to certainty.  It made him very sad, and he stopped to look at the boy from whom he had parted on such friendly terms so short a time before.  Eric did not pretend to be asleep, but opened his eyes, and looked at the head-master.  Very sorrowfully Dr. Rowlands shook his head, and went away.  Eric never saw him again.