“I heard more--though at the time it didn’t strike me particularly. I distinctly heard the jingle of money.” “Well, it’s no good counting up suspicious circumstances; we must _ask_ him about it, and act accordingly.’ “Will he come up to the studies again to-night?” “I think not,” said Owen; “I notice he generally goes straight to bed after he has been out to tea; that’s to say, directly after prayers.” The three sat there till prayer-time taciturn and thoughtful. Their books were open, but they did little work, and it was evident that Montagu was filled with the most touching grief. During the evening he drew out a little likeness which Eric had given him, and looked at it long and earnestly. “Is it possible?” he thought. “Oh Eric! can that face be the face of a thief?” The prayer-bell dispelled his reverie. Eric entered with the Rowlands, and sat in his accustomed place. He had spent a pleasant, quiet evening, and, little knowing what had happened, felt far more cheerful and hopeful than he had done before, although he was still ignorant how to escape the difficulty which threatened him. He couldn’t help observing that as he entered he was the object of general attention; but he attributed it either to his playing that day, or to the circumstances in which he was placed by Billy’s treachery, of which he knew that many boys were now aware. But when prayers were over, and he saw that every one shunned him, or looked and spoke in the coldest manner, his most terrible fears revived. He went off to his dormitory, and began to undress. As he sat half abstracted on his bed doing nothing Montagu and Duncan entered, and he started to see them, for they were evidently the bearers of some serious intelligence. “Eric,” said Duncan, “do you know that some one has stolen all the cricket money?” “Stolen--what--_all_?” he cried, leaping up as if he had been shot. “Oh, what new retribution is this?” and he hid his face, which had turned ashy pale, in his hands. “To cut matters short, Eric, do you know anything about it?” “If it is all gone, it is not I who stole it,” he said, not lifting his head. “Do you know anything about it?” “No!” he sobbed convulsively. “No, no, no! Yet stop; don’t let me add a lie.... Let me think. No, Duncan!” he said, looking up, “I do _not_ know who stole it.” They stood silent, and the tears were stealing down Montagu’s averted face. “O Duncan, Monty, be merciful, be merciful,” said Eric. “Don’t _yet_ condemn me. _I_ am guilty, not of _this_, but of something as bad. I admit I was tempted; but if the money really is all gone, it is _not_ I who am the thief.” “You must know, Eric, that the suspicion against you is very strong, and rests on some definite facts.” “Yes, I know it must. Yet, oh, do be merciful, and don’t yet condemn me. I have denied it. Am I a liar Monty? Oh Monty, Monty, believe me in this.” But the boys still stood silent.