It was an ill day for General Wildney when he sent his idolised little son to Roslyn; it was an ill day for Eric when Duncan first asked the child to frequent their study.

It was past nine at night, and the lower school had gone to bed, but there was Wildney quietly sitting on Eric’s knee by the study fire, while Duncan was doing some Arnold’s verses for him to be shown up next day.

“Bother these verses,” said Duncan, “I shall have a whiff.  Do you mind, Eric?”

“No; not at all.”

“Give me a weed, too,” said Wildney.

“What! young un—­you don’t mean to say you smoke?” asked Eric in surprise.

“Don’t I, though? let me show you.  Why, a whole lot of us went and smoked two or three pipes by Riverbend only yesterday.”

“Phew!” said Eric, “then I suppose I must smoke too to keep you in countenance;” and he took a cigar.  It was the first time he had touched one since the day at the Stack.  The remembrance made him gloomy and silent.  “Tempora mutantur,” thought he, “nos et mutamur in illis.”

“Why, how glum you are,” said Wildney, patting him on the head.

“O no!” said Eric, shaking off unpleasant memories.  “Look,” he continued, pointing out of the window to change the subject, “what a glorious night it is!  Nothing but stars, stars, stars.”

“Yes,” said Duncan, yawning; “this smoking makes one very thirsty.  I wish I’d some beer.”

“Well, why shouldn’t we get some?” said Wildney “it would he very jolly.”

“Get some!  What! at this time of night?”

“Yes; I’ll go now, if you like, to Ellan, and be back before ten.”

“Nonsense,” said Eric; “it aint worth while.”

“I believe you think I’m afraid,” said Wildney, laughing, and looking at Eric with his dark eyes; “and what’s more, I believe you’re afraid.”

“Little whippersnapper!” said Eric, coloring, “as if I was afraid to do anything you dare do.  I’ll go with you at once, if you like.”

“What are you thinking of?” asked Duncan.  “I don’t care twopence about the beer, and I hope you won’t go.”

“But I will, though,” said Eric, a little nettled that Wildney, of all people, should think him wanting in pluck.

“But how will you get out?”

“Oh, I’ll show you a dodge there,” said Wildney.  “Come along.  Have you a dark lantern?”

“No, but I’ll get Llewellyn’s.”

“Come along then.”

So the little boy of twelve took the initiative, and, carrying the dark lantern, instructed the two study-boys of sixteen in a secret which had long been known to the lower part of the school.

“Ibant obscuri dubia sub luce.”  He led them quietly down stairs, stole with them noiselessly past the library door, and took them to a window in the passage, where a pane was broken.

“Could you get through that?” he whispered to Eric, “if we broke away the rest of the glass?”