head on his open palms, poor Eric sobbed like a child.

Five pounds! And all this misery was to come upon him for the want of
five pounds! Expulsion was _certain_, was _inevitable_ now, and perhaps
for Wildney too as well as for himself. After all his fine promises in
his letters home,--yes, that reminded him of Vernon. The grave had not
closed for a month over one brother, and the other would be _expelled_.
Oh misery, misery! He was sure it would break his mother's heart. Oh how
cruel everything was to him!

Five pounds--he wondered whether Montagu would lend it him, or any other
boy? But then it was late in the quarter, and all the boys would have
spent the money they brought with them from home. There was no chance of
any one having five pounds, and to a master he _dare_ not apply, not
even to Mr. Rose. The offence was too serious to be overlooked, and if
noticed at all, he fancied that, after his other delinquencies, it
_must_, as a matter of notoriety, be visited with expulsion. He could
not face that bitter thought; he could not thus bring open disgrace upon
his father's and his brother's name; this was the fear which kept
recurring to him with dreadful iteration.

By the bye, he remembered that if he had continued captain of the
school eleven, he would have had easy command of the money by being
treasurer of the cricket subscriptions. But at Vernon's death he lost
all interest in cricket for a time, and had thrown up his office, to
which Montagu had been elected by the general suffrage.

He wondered whether there was as much as five pounds of the
cricketing-money left? He knew that the box which contained it was in
Montagu's study, and he also knew where the key was kept. It was merely
a feeling of curiosity--he would go and look.

All this passed through Eric's mind as he sat in his study after Billy
had gone. It was a sultry summer day; all the study-doors were open, and
all their occupants were absent in the cricket-field, or bathing. He
stole into Montagu's study, hastily got the key, and took down the box.

"O put it down, put it down, Eric," said Conscience; "what business have
you with it?"

"Pooh! it is merely curiosity; as if I couldn't trust myself!"

"Put it down," repeated Conscience authoritatively, deigning no longer
to argue or entreat.

Eric hesitated, and did put down the box; but he did not instantly leave
the room. He began to look at Montagu's books, and then out of the
window. The g