t young boy, and give him grace in this his hour
of trial! Open his eyes that he may see the fiery horses and the fiery
chariots of the angels who would defend him, and the dark array of
spiritual foes who throng around his bed. Point a pitying finger to the
yawning abyss of shame, ruin, and despair that even now perhaps is being
cleft under his feet. Show him the garlands of the present and the
past, withering at the touch of the Erinnys in the future. In pity, in
pity, show him the canker which he is introducing into the sap of the
tree of life, which shall cause its root to be hereafter as bitterness,
and its blossom to go up as dust.

But the sense of sin was on Eric's mind. How _could_ he speak? was not
his own language sometimes profane? How--how could he profess to
reprove another boy on the ground of morality, when he himself said and
did things less dangerous perhaps, but equally forbidden?

For half an hour, in an agony of struggle with himself, Eric lay silent.
Since Ball's last words nobody had spoken. They were going to sleep.
It was too late to speak now, Eric thought. The moment passed by for
ever; Eric had listened without objection to foul words, and the
irreparable harm was done.

How easy it would have been to speak! With the temptation, God had
provided also a way to escape. Next time it came, it was far harder to
resist, and it soon became, to men, impossible.

Ah, Eric, Eric! how little we know the moments which decide the
destinies of life. We live on as usual. The day is a common day, the
hour a common hour. We never thought twice about the change of
intention which by one of the accidents--(accidents!)--of life
determined for good or for evil, for happiness or misery, the colour of
our remaining years. The stroke of the pen was done in a moment which
led unconsciously to our ruin; the word was uttered quite heedlessly on
which turned for ever the decision of our weal or woe.

Eric lay silent. The darkness was not broken by the flashing of an
angel's wing, the stillness was not syllabled by the sound of an angel's
voice; but to his dying day Eric never forgot the moments which passed,
until, weary and self-reproachful, he fell asleep.

Next morning he awoke, restless and feverish. He at once remembered
what had passed. Ball's words haunted him; he could not forget them;
they burnt within him like the flame of a moral fever. He was moody and
petulant, and for a time could h