Eric, or Little by Little Part 40

"Unless you gives me five pound, anyhow, I knows where to get 'em. I know who them evil-disposed persons be! So I'll give ye another week to decide."

Billy shambled off in high spirits; but Eric sank back into his chair.

Five pounds! The idea haunted him. How could he ever get them? To write home again was out of the question. The Trevors, though liberal, were not rich, and after just sending him so large a sum, it was impossible, he thought, that they should send him five pounds more at his mere request. Besides, how could he be sure that Billy would not play upon his fears to extort further sums? And to explain the matter to them fully was more than he could endure. He remembered now how easily his want of caution might have put Billy in possession of the secret, and he knew enough of the fellow's character to feel quite sure of the use he would be inclined to make of it. Oh, how he cursed that hour of folly!

Five pounds! He began to think of what money he could procure. He thought again and again, but it was no use; only one thing was clear--he _had_ not the money and could not get it. Miserable boy! It was too late then? for him repentance was to be made impossible; every time he attempted it he was to be thwarted by some fresh discovery. And, leaning his 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.

Suddenly 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 pa.s.sed 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.

"Oh, 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 gravel playground was deserted, he noticed, for the cricket-field. n.o.body was near therefore. Well, what of that? he was doing no harm.

"Nonsense! I _will_ just look and see if there's five pounds in the cricket-box." Slowly at first he put out his hand, and then, hastily turning the key, opened the box. It contained three pounds in gold, and a quant.i.ty of silver. He began to count the silver, putting it on the table, and found that it made up three pounds ten more. "So that, altogether, there's six pounds ten; that's thirty s.h.i.+llings more than-- and it won't be wanted till next summer term, because all the bats and b.a.l.l.s are bought now. I dare say Montagu won't even open the box again.

I know he keeps it stowed away in a corner, and hardly ever looks at it, and I can put back the five pounds the very first day of next term, and it will save me from expulsion."

Very slowly Eric took the three sovereigns and put them in his pocket, and then he took up one of the heaps of s.h.i.+llings and sixpences which he had counted, and dropped them also into his trousers; they fell into the pocket with a great jingle, "Eric, you are a thief!" He thought he heard his brother Vernon's voice utter the words thrillingly distinct, but it was conscience who had borrowed the Voice, and, sick with horror, he began to shake the money out of his pockets again into the box. He was only just in time; he had barely locked the box, and put it in its place, when he heard the sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs.

He had no time to take out the key and put it back where he found it, and hardly time-to slip into his own study again, when the boys had reached the landing.

They were Duncan and Montagu, and as they pa.s.sed the door, Eric pretended to be plunged in books.

"Hallo, Eric! grinding as usual," said Duncan good-humouredly; but he only got a sickly smile in reply.

"What! are you the only fellow in the studies?" asked Montagu. "I was nearly sure I heard some one moving about as we came upstairs."

"I don't think there's any one here but me," said Eric, "and I'm going a walk now."

He closed his books with a bang, flew down stairs, and away through the playground towards the sh.o.r.e, vaulting with one hand the playground gate. But he could not so escape his thoughts. "Eric, you are a thief!

Eric, you are a thief!" rang in his ear. "Yes," he thought; "I am even a thief. Oh, good G.o.d, yes, _even a thief_ for I _had_ actually stolen the money, until I changed my mind. What if they should have heard the jingle of money, or should discover the key in the box, knowing, that I was the only fellow up stairs? Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy!"

It was a lonely place, and he flung himself down and hid his face in the coa.r.s.e gra.s.s, trying to cool the wild burning of his brow. And as he lay he thrust his hand into the guilty pocket! Good heavens! there was something still there. He pulled it out; it was a sovereign. Then he was a thief, even actually. Oh, everything was against him; and starting to his feet, he flung the accursed gold over the rocks far into the sea.

When he got home, he felt so inconceivably wretched, that, unable to work, he begged leave to go to bed at once. It was long before he fell asleep; but when he did, the sleep was more terrible than the haunted wakefulness. For he had no rest from tormenting and horrid dreams.

Brigson and Billy, their bodies grown to gigantic proportions, and their faces fierce with demoniacal wickedness, seemed to be standing over him, and demanding five pounds on pain of death. Flights of pigeons, darkening the air, settled on him, and flapped about him. He fled from them madly through the dark midnight, but many steps pursued him. He saw Mr Rose, and running up, seized him by the hand, and implored protection. But in his dream Mr Rose turned from him with a cold look of sorrowful reproach. And then he saw Wildney, and cried out to him, "O Charlie, do speak to me!" but Charlie ran away, saying, "_You_, Eric!

what? _you_ a thief!" and then a chorus of voices took up that awful cry--voices of expostulation, voices of contempt, voices of indignation, voices of menace; they took up the cry, and repeated and re-echoed it; but most unendurable of all, there were voices of wailing and voices of gentleness among them, and his soul died within him as he caught, amid the confusion of condemning sounds, the voices of Russell and Vernon, and they, too, were saying to him, in tender pity and agonised astonishment, "Eric, Eric, you are a thief!"

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND.

For alas! alas! with me The light of life is o'er; No more--no more--no more!

(Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the sh.o.r.e) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar!

_Edgar Poe_.

The landlord of "The Jolly Herring" had observed, during his visits to Eric, that at mid-day the studies were usually deserted, and the doors for the most part left unlocked. He very soon determined to make use of this knowledge for his own purposes, and, as he was well acquainted with the building (in which for a short time he had been a servant), he laid his plans without the least dread of discovery.

There was a back entrance into Roslyn School behind the chapel, and it could be reached by a path through the fields without any chance of being seen, if a person set warily to work and watched his opportunity.

By this path Billy came, two days after his last visit, and walked straight up the great staircase, armed with the excuse of business with Eric in case any one met or questioned him. But no one was about, since between twelve and one the boys were pretty sure to be amusing themselves out of doors; and after glancing into each of the studies, Billy finally settled on searching Montagu's (which was the neatest and most tastefully furnished), to see what he could get.

The very first thing which caught his experienced eye was the cricket-fund box, with the key temptingly in the lock, just where Eric had left it when the sounds of some one coming had startled him. In a moment Billy had made a descent on the promising looking booty, and opening his treasure, saw, with lively feelings of gratification, the unexpected store of silver and gold. This he instantly transferred to his own pocket, and then, replacing the box where he had found it, decamped with the spoil unseen, leaving the study in all other respects exactly as he had found it.

Meanwhile the unhappy Eric was tossed and agitated with apprehension and suspense. Unable to endure his misery in loneliness, he had made several boys to a greater or less degree partic.i.p.ators in the knowledge of his difficult position; and in the sympathy which his danger excited, the general nature of his dilemma with Billy (though not its special circ.u.mstances) was soon known through the school.

At the very time when the money was being stolen, Eric was sitting with Wildney and Graham under the ruin by the sh.o.r.e, and the sorrow which lay at his heart was sadly visible in the anxious expression of his face, and the deep dejection of his att.i.tude and manner.

The other two were trying to console him. They suggested every possible topic of hope; but it was too plain that there was nothing to be said, and that Eric had real cause to fear the worst. Yet though their arguments were futile, he keenly felt the genuineness of their affection, and it brought a little alleviation to his heavy mood.

"Well, well; at least _do_ hope the best, Eric," said Graham.

"Yes!" urged Wildney; "only think, dear old fellow, what lots of worse sc.r.a.pes we've been in before, and how we've always managed to get out of them somehow."

"No, my boy; not worse sc.r.a.pes," answered Eric. "Depend upon it this is the last for me; I shall not have the chance of getting into another at _Roslyn_, anyhow."

"Poor Eric! what shall I do if you leave?" said Wildney, laying his arm on Eric's shoulder. "Besides it's all my fault, hang it, that you got into this cursed row."

"The curse is come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott.

"Those words keep ringing in my ears," murmured Eric.

"Well, Eric, if _you_ are sent away, I know I shall get my father to take me too, and then we'll join each other somewhere. Come, cheer up, old boy--being sent isn't such a very frightful thing after all."

"No," said Graham; "and besides the bagging of the pigeons was only a lark, when one comes to think of it. It wasn't like stealing, you know; _that'd_ be quite a different thing."

Eric winced visibly at this remark, but his companions did not notice it. "Ah," thought he, "there's _one_ pa.s.sage of my life which I never shall be able to reveal to any human soul."

"Come now, Eric," said Wildney, "I've got something to propose. You shall play cricket to-day; you haven't played for an age, and it's high time you should. If you don't, you'll go mooning about the sh.o.r.e all day, and that'll never do, for you'll come back glummer than ever."

"No," said Eric, with a heavy sigh, as the image of Vernon instantly pa.s.sed through his mind; "no more cricket for me."

"Nay, but you _must_ play to-day. Come, you shan't say no. You won't say no to me, will you, dear old fellow?" And looked up to him with that pleasant smile, and the merry light in his dark eyes, which had always been so charming to Eric's fancy.

"There's no refusing you," said Eric, with the ghost of a laugh, as he boxed Wildney's ears. "Oh, you dear little rogue, Charlie, I wish I were you."