"Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl
Until it does run over
Come, landlord, fill, etc."
"Now," he said, "join in the chorus!" The boys, all more or less
excited, joined in heartily and uproariously--
"For to-night we'll merry merry be!
For to-night we'll merry merry be!
For to-night we'll merry merry be!
To-morrow we'll be sober!"
While Wildney sang, Eric had time to think. As he glanced round the
room at the flushed faces of the boys, some of whom he could not
recognise in the dusky atmosphere, a qualm of disgust and shame passed
over him. Several of them were smoking, and, with Ball and Brigson
heading the line on each side of the table, he could not help observing
what a bad set they looked. The remembrance of Russell came back to
him. Oh, if Edwin could have known that he was in such company at such
a place! And by the door stood Billy, watching them all like an evil
spirit, with a leer of saturnine malice on his evil face.
But the bright little Wildney, unconscious of Eric's bitter thoughts,
sang on with overflowing mirth.
As Eric looked at him, shining out like a sunbeam among the rest, he
felt something like blood-guiltiness on his soul, when he felt that he
was sanctioning the young boy's presence in that degraded assemblage.
Wildney meanwhile was just beginning the next verse, when he was
interrupted by a general cry of "Cave, cave." In an instant the room
was in confusion; some one dashed the candles upon the floor, the table
was overturned with a mighty crash, and plates, glasses, and bottles
rushed on to the ground in shivers. Nearly every one bolted for the
door, which led through the passage into the street; and in their
headlong flight and selfishness, they stumbled over each other, and
prevented all egress, several being knocked down and bruised in the
crush. Others made for the taproom; but, as they opened the door
leading into it, there stood Mr Ready and Mr Gordon! and as it was
impossible to pass without being seen, they made no further attempt at
escape. All this was the work of a minute. Entering the back parlour,
the two masters quickly took down the names of full half the boys who,
in the suddenness of the surprise, had been unable to make their exit.
And Eric?
The instant that the candles were knocked over, he felt Wildney seize
his hand, and whisper, "This way; all serene;" following, he groped his
way in the dark to the end of the room, where Wildney, shoving aside a
green baize curtain, noiselessly opened a door, which at once led them
into a little garden. There they both crouched down under a lilac tree
beside the house, and listened intently.
There was no need for this precaution; their door remained unsuspected,
and in five minutes the coast was clear. Creeping into the house again,
they whistled, and Billy coming in, told them that the masters had gone,
and all was safe.
"Glad ye're not twigged, gen'lemen," he said; "but there'll be a pretty
sight of damage for all this glass and plates."
"Shut up with your glass and plates," said Wildney. "Here, Eric, we
must cut for it again."
It was the dusk of a winter evening when they got out from the close
room into the open-air, and they had to consider which way they would
choose to avoid discovery. They happened to choose the wrong, but
escaped by dint of hard running, and Wildney's old short cut. As they
ran they passed several boys (who, having been caught, were walking home
leisurely), and managed to get back undiscovered, when they both
answered their names quite innocently at the roll-call, immediately
after lock-up.
"What lucky dogs you are to get off," said many boys to them.
"Yes; it's precious lucky for me," said Wildney. "If I'd been caught at
this kind of thing a second time, I should have got something worse than
a swishing."
"Well it's all through you I escaped," said Eric, "you knowing little
scamp."
"I'm glad of it, Eric," said Wildney, in his fascinating way, "since it
was all through me you went. It's rather too hazardous though; we must
manage better another time."
During tea-time Eric was silent, as he felt pretty sure that none of the
sixth-form or other study-boys would particularly sympathise with his
late associates. Since the previous evening he had been cool with
Duncan, and the rest had long rather despised him as a boy who'd do
anything to be popular; so he sat there silent, looking as disdainful as
he could, and not touching the tea, for which he felt disinclined after
the recent potations. But the contemptuous exterior hid a
self-reproving heart, and he felt how far more worthy Owen and Montagu
were than he. How gladly would he have changed places with them; how
much he would have given to recover some of their forfeited esteem.
The master on duty was Mr Rose, and after tea he left the room for a
few minutes while the tables were cleared for "preparation," and the
boys were getting out their books and exercises. All the study and
classroom boys were expected to go away during this interval; but Eric,
not noticing Mr Rose's entrance, sat gossiping with Wildney about the
dinner and its possible consequences to the school.
He was sitting on the desk carelessly, with one leg over the other, and
bending down towards Wildney. He had just told him that he looked like
a regular little sunbeam in the smoking-room of "The Jolly Herring," and
Wildney was pretending to be immensely offended by the simile.
"Hush! no more talking," said Mr Rose, who did everything very gently
and quietly. Eric heard him, but he was inclined to linger, and had
always received such mild treatment from Mr Rose, that he didn't think
he would take much notice of the delay. For the moment he did not, so
Wildney began to chatter again.
"All study-boys to leave the room," said Mr Rose.
Eric just glanced round and moved slightly; he might have gone away, but
that he caught a satirical look in Wildney's eye, and besides wanted to
show off a little indifference to his old master, with whom he had had
no intercourse since their last-mentioned conversation.
"Williams, go away instantly; what do you mean by staying after I have
dismissed you?" said Mr Rose sternly.
Every one knew what a favourite Eric had once been, so this speech
created a slight titter. The boy heard it just as he was going out of
the room, and it annoyed him, and called to arms all his proud and
dogged obstinacy. Pretending to have forgotten something, he walked
conceitedly back to Wildney, and whispered to him, "I shan't go if he
chooses to speak like that."
A red flush passed over Mr Rose's cheek; he took two strides to Eric,
and laid the cane sharply once across his back.
Eric was not quite himself, or he would not have acted as he had done.
His potations, though not deep, had, with the exciting events of the
evening, made his head giddy, and the stroke of the cane, which he had
not felt now for two years, roused him to madness. He bounded up,
sprang towards Mr Rose, and almost before he knew what he was about,
had wrenched the cane out of his hands, twisted it violently in the
middle until it broke, and flung one of the pieces furiously into the
fire.
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 demeanour, 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-humouredly, "what's the matter,
Eric?"
"Matter?" answered Eric, 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 himself 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?
O 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
even alluded to him, but _I_ shall never forget those happy days."
Eric heaved a deep sigh.
"I'm not come to reproach you. You don't give me a friend's right to
reprove. But still, Eric, for your own sake, dear fellow, I can't help
being sorry for all this. I did hope you'd have broken with Brigson
after the thrashing I gave him for the foul way, in which he treated me.
I don't think you _can_ know the mischief he is doing."
The large tears began to soften the fire of Eric's eye. "Ah!" he said,
"it's all of no use; you're all giving me the cold shoulder, and I'm
going to the bad, that's the long and short of it."
"O Eric! for your own sake, for your parents' sake, for the school's
sake, for all your real friends' sake, don't talk in that bitter,
hopeless way. You are too fine a fellow to be made the tool or the
patron of the boys who lead, while they seem to follow you. I _do_ hope
you'll join us even yet in resisting them."
Eric had laid his head on the table, which shook with his emotion. "I
can't talk, Monty," he said, in an altered tone; "but leave me now; and
if you like, we will have a walk to-morrow."
"Most willingly, Eric." And, again warmly pressing his hand, Montagu
returned to his own study.
Soon after, there came a timid knock at Eric's door. He expected
Wildney as usual; a little before, he had been looking out for him, and
hoping he would come, but he didn't want to see him now, so he answered
rather peevishly, "Come in; but I don't want to be bothered to-night."
Not Wildney, but Vernon appeared at the door. "May I come in? not if it
bothers you, Eric," he said gently.
"Oh, Verny, I didn't know it was you; I thought it would be Wildney.
You _never_ come now."
The little boy came in, and his pleading look seemed to say, "Whose
fault is that?"
"Come here, Verny," and Eric drew him towards him, and put him on his
knee, while the tears trembled large and luminous in the child's eyes.
It was the first time for many a long day that the brothers had been
alone together, the first time for many a long day that any acts of
kindness had passed between them. Both seemed to remember this, and, at
the same time, to remember home, and their absent parents, and their
mother's prayers, and all the quiet half-forgotten vista of innocent
pleasures, and sacred relationships, and holy affections. And why did
they see each other so little at school? Their consciences told them
both that either wished to conceal from the other his wickedness and
forgetfulness of God.
They wept together; and once more, as they had not done since they were
children, each brother put his arm round the other's neck. And
remorseful Eric could not help being amazed, how, in his cruel,
heartless selfishness, he had let that fair child go so far far astray;
left him as a prey to such boys as were his companions in the
lower-school.
"Eric, did you know I was caught to-night at the dinner?"
"You!" said Eric, with a start and a deep blush. "Good heavens! I
didn't notice you, and should not have dreamt of coming, if I'd known
you were there. Oh, Vernon, forgive me for setting you such a bad
example."
"Yes, I was there, and I was caught."
"Poor boy! but never mind; there are such a lot that you can't get much
done to you."
"It isn't _that_ I care for; I've been flogged before, you know. But--
may I say something?"
"Yes, Vernon, anything you like."
"Well, then,--oh, Eric! I'm _so so_ sorry that you did that to Mr Rose
to-night. All the fellows are praising you up, of course; but I could
have cried to see it, and I did. I wouldn't have minded if it had been
anybody but Rose."
"But why?"
"Because, Eric, he's been so good, so kind to both of us. You've often
told me about him, you know, at Fairholm, and he's done such lots of
kind things to me. And only to-night, when he heard I was caught, he
sent for me to the library, and spoke so firmly, yet so gently, about
the wickedness of going to such low places, and about so young a boy as
I am learning to drink, and the ruin of it--and--and--" His voice was
choked by sobs for a time,--"and then he knelt down and prayed for me,
so as I have never heard any one pray but mother; and do you know, Eric,
it was strange, but I thought, I _did_ hear our mother's voice praying
for me too, while he prayed, and--" He tried in vain to go on; but
Eric's conscience continued for him; "and just as he had ceased doing
this for one brother, the other brother, for whom he has often done the
same, treated him with coarseness, violence, and insolence."
"Oh, I am utterly wretched, Verny. I hate myself. And to think that
while I'm like this they are yet loving and praising me at home. And, O
Verny, I was so sorry to hear from Duncan how you were talking the other
day."
Vernon hid his face on Eric's shoulder; and as his brother stooped over
him and folded him to his heart, they cried in silence, for there seemed
no more to say, until, wearied with sorrow, the younger fell asleep and
then Eric carried him tenderly down stairs, and laid him, still half
sleeping, upon his bed.
He laid him down, and looked at him as he slumbered. The other boys had
not been disturbed by their noiseless entrance, and he sat down on his
brother's bed to think, shading off the light of the candle with his
hand. It was rarely now that Eric's thoughts were so rich with the
memories of childhood, and sombre with the consciousness of sin, as they
were that night, while he gazed on his brother Vernon's face. He did
not know what made him look so long and earnestly; an indistinct sorrow,
an unconjectured foreboding, passed over his mind, like the shadow of a
summer cloud. Vernon was now slumbering deeply; his soft bright hair
fell over his forehead, and his head nestled in the pillow; but there
was an expression of uneasiness on his sleeping features, and the long
eyelashes were still wet with tears.
"Poor child," thought Eric; "dear little Vernon: and he is to be
flogged, perhaps birched, to-morrow."
He went off sadly to bed, and hardly once remembered that _he_ too would
come in for very severe and certain punishment the next day.