am, "yes, he did advise me not to be so much
with Gilks and you."

"He did?" exclaimed Silk, in a rage. "I thought so; and you--"

Fortunately at this moment Tucker and one or two other of the noisy
Welchers broke into the room; and in the diversion so created Wyndham
was thankful to slip away.

This, then, was the end of his good resolutions and the hopes they had
fostered! He was as much in the power of this bad friend as ever--nay,
more, for had he not that very evening been forced to renew the one
promise which kept him from confiding everything to Riddell?

He proceeded dejectedly to the captain's study, his cricket enthusiasm
strangely damped, and the load of his old short-comings heavy upon him.

Riddell, who was pacing the room moodily, stopped in a half-startled way
as his visitor entered.

"Do you want me?" he said.

"No," said Wyndham. "I only just came across to see you, because I
thought you'd wonder what had become of me."

"Yes," said Riddell, trying to compose himself, "with all this cricket
practice there's not been much chance of seeing one another."

"No," replied Wyndham, whom the very mention of cricket was enough to
excite. "I say, wasn't it an awfully fine licking we gave them? Our
fellows are crowing like anything, and, you know, if it hadn't been for
your catch it might have been a much more narrow affair."

"Ah, well! it's all over now," said Riddell; "so I suppose you'll come
and see me oftener?"

"I hope so. Of course, there's the second-eleven practices still going
on for the Templeton match, but I'll turn up here all the same."

Riddell took a turn or two in silence. What was he to do? A word from
him, he felt, could ruin this boy before all Willoughby, and possibly
disgrace him for life.

He, Riddell, as captain of the school, seemed to have a clear duty in
the matter. Had the culprit been any _one else_--had it been Silk, for
instance, or Gilks--would he have hung back? He knew he would not,
painful as the task would be. The honour of the school was in question,
and he had no right to palter with that.

Yet how could he deal thus with young Wyndham?--his friend's brother,
the fellow he cared for most in Willoughby, over whose struggles he had
watched so anxiously, and for whom, now, better resolves and honest
ambitions were opening up so cheery a prospect. How could he do it?

Was there no chance that after all he might be mistaken? Alas! that
cruel knife an