“Velut unda supervenit undam.” VIRGIL.

The Anti-muffs request the honor of Williams’ company to a spread they are going to have to-morrow evening at half-past four, in their smoking-room

A note to this effect was put into Eric’s hands by Wildney after prayers. He read it when he got into his study, and hardly knew whether to be pleased or disgusted at it.

He tossed it to Duncan, and said, “What shall I do?”

Duncan turned up his nose, and chucked the note into the fire.

“I’d give them that answer, and no other.”

“Why?”

“Because, Eric,” said Duncan, with more seriousness than was usual with him, “I can’t help thinking things have gone too far lately.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I’m no saint myself, Heaven knows; but I do think that the fellows are worse now than I have ever known them far worse. Your friend Brigson reigns supreme out of the studies; he has laid down a law that no work is to be done down stairs ever under any pretence, and it’s only by getting into one of the studies that good little chaps like Wright can get on at all. Even in the class-rooms there’s so much row and confusion that the mere thought of work is ridiculous.”

“Well, there’s no great harm in a little noise, if that’s all.”

“But it isn’t all. The talk of nearly the whole school is getting most blackguardly; shamelessly so. Only yesterday Wildney was chatting with Vernon up here (you were out, or Vernon would not have been here) while I was reading; they didn’t seem to mind me, and I’m sure you’d have been vexed to the heart if you’d heard how they talked to each other. At last I couldn’t stand it any longer, and bouncing up, I boxed both their ears smartly, and kicked them down stairs.”

As Eric said nothing, Duncan continued, “And I wish it ended in talk, but ”

“But I believe you’re turning Owenite. Why, bless me, we’re only schoolboys; it’ll be lots of time to turn saint some other day.”

Eric was talking at random, and in the spirit of opposition. “You don’t want to make the whole school such a muffish set as the rosebuds, do you?”

There was something of assumed bravado in Eric’s whole manner which jarred on Duncan exceedingly. “Do as you like,” he said, curtly, and went into another study.

Immediately after came a rap at the door, and in walked Wildney, as he often did after the rest were gone to bed, merely slipping his trousers over his nightshirt, and running up to the studies.

“Well, you’ll come to the Anti-muffs, won’t you?” he said.

“To that pestilential place again? not I.”

Wildney looked offended. “Not after we’ve all asked you? The fellows won’t half like your refusing.”

He had touched Eric’s weak point.

“Do come,” he said, looking up in Eric’s face.

“Confound it all,” answered Eric, hastily. “Yes, I’ve no friends, I’ll come, Charlie. Anything to please you, boy.”

“That’s a brick. Then I shall cut down and tell the fellows. They’ll be no end glad. No friends! why all the school like you.” And he scampered off, leaving Eric ill at ease.

Duncan didn’t re-enter the study that evening.

The next day, about half-past four, Eric found himself on the way to Ellan. As he was starting, Bull caught him up, and said

“Are you going to the Anti-muffs?”

“Yes; why? are you going too?”

“Yes; do you mind our going together?”

“Not at all.”

In fact, Eric was very glad of some one no matter who to keep him in countenance, for he felt consider ably more than half ashamed of himself.

They went to “The Jolly Herring,” as the pot-house was called, and passed through the dingy beery tap-room into the back parlor, to which Eric had already been introduced by Wildney. About a dozen boys were assembled, and there was a great clapping on the table as the two new-comers entered. A long table was laid down the room, which was regularly spread for dinner.

“Now then, Billy; make haste with the goose,” called Brigson. “I vote, boys, that Eric Williams takes the chair.”

“Hear! hear!” said half a dozen; and Eric, rather against his will, found himself ensconced at the end of the table, with Brigson and Bull on either hand. The villainous-low-foreheaded man, whom they called Billy, soon brought in a tough goose at one end of the table, and some fowls at the other; and they fell to, doing ample justice to the [Greek: daiz heisae] while Billy waited on them. There was immense uproar during the dinner, every one eating as fast, and talking as loud, as he could.

The birds soon vanished, and were succeeded by long rolly-polly puddings, which the boys called Goliahs; and they, too, rapidly disappeared. Meanwhile beer was circling only too plentifully.

“Now for the dessert, Billy,” called several voices; and that worthy proceeded to put on the table some figs, cakes, oranges, and four black bottles of wine. There was a general grab for these dainties, and one boy shouted, “I say, I’ve had no wine.”

“Well, it’s all gone. We must get some brandy it’s cheaper,” said Brigson; and accordingly some brandy was brought in, which the boys diluted with hot water, and soon despatched.

“Here! before you’re all done swilling,” said Brigson, “I’ve got a health; ‘Confound muffs and masters, and success to the anti’s.’”

“And their chairman,’ suggested Wildney.

“And their chairman, the best fellow in the school,” added Brigson.

The health was drunk with due clamor, and Eric got up to thank them.

“I’m not going to spout,” he said; “but boys must be boys, and there’s no harm in a bit of fun. I for one have enjoyed it, and am much obliged to you for asking me; and now I call for a song.”

“Wildney! Wildney’s song,” called several.

Wildney had a good voice, and struck up, without the least bashfulness

“Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl,
Until it does run overt
Come, landlord, fill,” &c

“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 Bull 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 tap-room; 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 parlor, 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 let 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’lmen,” 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 is 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 noble 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 class-room boys were expected to go away during this interval; but Eric, not noticing Mr. Rose’s entrance, sat gossipping 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 favorite 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 demeanor, 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-humoredly, “what’s the matter, Eric?”

“Matter?” answered Brie, 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 him self 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? Oh 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 eyen 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 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.”

“Oh, 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 noble 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 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 Brie, 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 am 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 am like this, they are yet loving and praising me at home. And, oh, 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, 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 childish curls fell off 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 certain punishment the next day.