no longer on
speaking terms, and miserable as poor Eric felt when he saw how his blow
had bruised and disfigured his friend's face, he made no advances. He
longed, indeed, from his inmost heart, to be reconciled to him; but
feeling that he had done grievous wrong, he dreaded a repulse, and his
pride would not suffer him to run the risk. So he pretended to feel no
regret, and, supported by his late boon companions, represented the
matter as occurring in the defence of Wildney, whom Montagu was
bullying.

Montagu, too, was very miserable; but he felt that, although ready to
forgive Eric, he could not, in common self-respect, take the first step
to a reconciliation; indeed, he rightly thought that it was not for
Eric's good that he should do so.

"You and Williams appear never to speak to each other now," said Mr
Rose. "I am sorry for it, Monty; I think you are the only boy who has
any influence over him."

"I fear you are mistaken, sir, in that. Little Wildney has much more."

"Wildney?" asked Mr Rose, in sorrowful surprise. "Wildney more
influence than _you_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, that our poor Edwin had lived!"

So, with a sigh, Walter Rose and Harry Montagu buried their friendship
for Eric until happier days.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SIX.

ERIC AND MONTAGU.

And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.

Each spoke words of high disdain,
And insult to his heart's best brother.
_Coleridge's Christabel_.

Wright had not forgotten Montagu's advice, and had endeavoured to get
the names of boys who weren't afraid to scout publicly the disgrace of
cheating in form. But he could only get one name promised him--the name
of Vernon Williams; and feeling how little could be gained by using it,
he determined to spare Vernon the trial, and speak, if he spoke at all,
on his own responsibility.

As usual, the cribbing at the next weekly examination was well-nigh
universal, and when Mr Gordon went out to fetch something he had
forgotten, merely saying, "I trust to your honour not to abuse my
absence," books and papers were immediately pulled out with the coolest
and most unblushing indifference.

This was the time for Wright to deliver his conscience; he had counted
the cost, and, rightly or wrongly, considering it to be his duty, he had
decided that speak he would. He well knew that his interfer