“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 quantity 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 shillings more than ... and it won’t be wanted till next summer term, because all the bats and balls are bought now. I daresay 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 shillings 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 had hardly time to slip into his own study again, when the boys had reached the landing. They were Duncan and Montagu, and as they passed the door, Eric pretended to be plunged in books. “Hallo, Eric! grinding as usual,” said Duncan, good-humoredly; 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 up stairs.” “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 play-ground towards the shore 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 God, yes, _even_ a _thief_, for I _had_ actually stolen the money, until I changed my mind. What if they 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, with his face hid in the coarse grass, 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.