ll very fond of you?" asked Pledge.

"No. I hardly ever saw him."

"Why do you suppose he sent you that message, then?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he's got a spite against you."

The boy was fairly out of his depth now, and gave up trying to recover
his feet.

"Would you like to know why; or don't you care?"

"I would like to know, please."

"I daresay you've heard of a fellow called Forbes?"

Heathcote had, from twenty different fellows.

"Forbes was a fag of mine last year--a nice boy, but dreadfully weak-
minded. Any one could twist him round his thumb. As long as I kept my
eye on him he was steady enough; but if ever I let him slide he got into
trouble. I was laid up a month last autumn with scarlet fever, and, of
course, Forbes was on the loose, and spent most of his time with
Cresswell and his set. As soon as I got back I noticed a change in him.
He had got into bad ways, and talked like a fellow who was proud of
what he had learned. He used to swear and tell lies, and other things a
great deal worse. I did all I could to pull him up, and before
Christmas I fancied he was rather steadier. But last term he broke out
again as bad as ever. I could keep no hold of him. He was constantly
cutting me for his other friend; and all the time I, as his senior, got
the credit of his ruin. He was expelled in February for some
disgraceful row he got into, and, because I stuck to him to the end, his
other friend gets up a report that I was to blame for it all. I don't
profess to be better than I ought to be, youngster; I know I should be
better than I am; but I'm not a blackguard."

Heathcote was greatly impressed by this narrative. It cleared up, to
his mind, a great deal of the mystery that had been tormenting him the
last few days, and accounted for most of the stories and rumours which
he had heard. The manner, too, in which Pledge defended himself, taking
no undue credit for virtue, and showing such little bitterness towards
his traducers, went far to win him over.

"It's hard lines on you," he said.

"You see, even a ghost can be wrong sometimes."

"Yes, he can," said Heathcote, resolutely.

"I should like to see the letter, if you have it."

And he did see it, and Heathcote watched the two red spots kindle on his
cheeks as he read it and then crushed it up in his hand.

"You don't want it back, I suppose? You're not going to frame it?"

"No," replied the boy, watching the ghost's letter, r