e 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