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 participators 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 circumstances) 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 shore, and the sorrow which lay at his heart was sadly visible in the anxious expression of his face, and the deep dejection of his attitude 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 scrapes we’ve been in before, and how we’ve always managed to get out of them somehow.” “No, my boy; not worse scrapes,” 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, putting his arm round Eric’s neck. “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 Shallott,’ “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_ passage of my life which I never shall be able to reveal to any human soul.”