the sound of his voice, made Eric shudder again,
but he listened meekly, and, with no flash of scorn or horror, put out
his hand to the man to shake. There was something touching and noble in
the gesture, and thoroughly ashamed of himself for once, the fellow
shook the proffered hand, and slunk away.

They entered the broad river at Southpool.

"I must leave the ship when we get to port, Roberts," said Eric.

"I doubt whether yon'll let you," answered Roberts, jerking his finger
towards the skipper's cabin.

"Why?"

"He'll be afeared you might take the law on him."

"He needn't fear."

Roberts only shook his head.

"Then I must run away somehow. Will you help me?"

"Yes, that I will."

That very evening Eric escaped from the _Stormy Petrel_ unknown to all
but Roberts. They were in the dock, and he dropped into the water in
the evening, and swam to the pier, which was only a yard or two distant;
but the effort almost exhausted his strength, for his knee was still
painful, and he was very weak.

Wet and penniless, he knew not where to go, but spent the sleepless
night under an arch. Early the next morning he went to a pawnbroker's,
and raised 2 pounds 10 shillings on his watch, with which money he
walked straight to the railway station.

It was July, and the Roslyn summer holidays had commenced. As Eric
dragged his slow way to the station, he suddenly saw Wildney on the
other side of the street. His first impulse was to spring to meet him,
as he would have done in old times. His whole heart yearned towards
him. It was six weeks now since Eric had seen one loving face, and
during all that time he had hardly heard one kindly word. And now he
saw before him the boy with whom he had spent so many happy hours of
schoolboy friendship, with whom he had gone through so many schoolboy
adventures, and who, he believed, was still his friend.

Forgetful for the moment of his condition, Eric moved across the street.
Wildney was walking with his cousin, a beautiful girl, some four years
older than himself, whom he was evidently patronising immensely. They
were talking very merrily, and Eric overheard the word Roslyn. Like a
lightning-flash the memory of the theft, the memory of his ruin, came
upon him; he looked down at his dress--it was a coarse blue shirt, which
Roberts had given him in place of his old one, and the back of it was
stained and saturated with blood from his unhealed wounds; his trousers
were