ising 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, t