so startled that he could not answer at first: at last
he replied,

"Go and tell the doctor yourself--that will be much the best way."

"Listen to me a moment--just listen a moment--as soon as Dr. Wilkinson
knows it, I shall be expelled, and I shall be ruined for life. What I
have suffered, Louis! Oh--you see how it was; I dared not tell about
it--how can I hope you can forgive me?"

"I think you must have seen that I forgave you long ago," replied
Louis; "I wish I could do any thing for you, Ferrers, but you cannot
expect me to bear the blame of this any longer. I think if you tell
it to the doctor yourself, he will, perhaps, overlook it, and I will
beg for you."

"Oh, Louis!" said Ferrers, seizing the passive hand, and speaking more
vehemently; "you heard what the doctor said, and he will do it--and
for one fault to lose all my prospects in life! I shall leave at the
holidays, and then I will tell Dr. Wilkinson; will you--can you--to
save a fellow from such disgrace, spare me a little longer? There are
only four weeks--oh, Louis! I shall be eternally obliged--but if you
could tell--I have a father--just think how yours would feel. Louis,
will you, can you do this very great favor for me? I don't deserve any
mercy from you, I know; but you are better than I am."

All the bright visions of acknowledged innocence fled, and a blank
seemed to come over poor Louis' soul. The sacrifice seemed far too
great, and he felt as if he were not called to make it; and yet--a
glance at Ferrers' face--his distress, but not his meanness, struck
him. A minute before, he had indulged in bright dreams of more than
restoration to favor--of his brother's delight--of his father's and
mother's approbation--of his grandfather's satisfaction--and Hamilton's
friendly congratulations. And to give up this! it was surely too much
to expect.

During his silence, Ferrers kept squeezing, and even kissing, his now
cold hand, and repeating,

"Dear Louis--be merciful--will you pity me?--think of all--I don't
deserve it, I know." And though the meanness and cowardliness were
apparent, Louis looked at little else than the extreme agony of the
suppliant.

"Don't kiss my hand, Ferrers--I can't bear it," he said at length,
drawing his hand quickly away; and there was something akin to disgust
mingled with the sorrowful look he gave to his companion.

"But Louis, will you?"

"Oh Ferrers! it is a hard thing to ask of me," said Louis, bitterly.

"J