“Well, then,” he said, “I will tell you all. But I can only tell it to you, Monty. Duncan, indeed you mustn’t be angry; you are my friend, but not so much as Monty. I can tell him, and him only.” Duncan left the room, and Montagu sat down beside Eric on the bed, and put his arm round him to support him, for he shook violently. There, with deep and wild emotion, and many interruptions of passionate silence, Eric told to Montagu his miserable tale. “I am the most wretched fellow living,” he said; “there must be some fiend that hates me, and drives me to ruin. But let it all come; I care nothing, nothing, what happens to me now. Only, dear, dear Monty, forgive me, and love me still.” “O Eric, it is not for one like me to talk of forgiveness; you were sorely tempted. Yet God will forgive you if you ask him. Won’t you pray to him to-night? I love you, Eric, still, with all my heart, and do you think God can be less kind than man? And _I_, too, will pray for you, Eric. Good night, and God bless you” He gently disengaged himself--for Eric clung to him, and seemed unwilling to lose sight of him--and a moment after he was gone. Eric felt terribly alone. He knelt down and tried to pray, but somehow it didn’t seem as if the prayer came from his heart, and his thoughts began instantly to wander far away. Still he knelt--knelt even until his candle had gone out, and he had nearly fallen asleep, thought-wearied, on his knees. And then he got into bed still dressed. He had been making up his mind that he could bear it no longer, and would run away to sea that night. He waited till eleven, when Dr. Rowlands took his rounds. The Doctor had been told all the circumstances of suspicion, and they amounted in his mind to certainty. It made him very sad, and he stopped to look at the boy from whom he had parted on such friendly terms so short a time before. Eric did not pretend to be asleep, but opened his eyes, and looked at the head-master. Very sorrowfully Dr. Rowlands shook his head, and went away. Eric never saw him again. The moment he was gone Eric got up. He meant to go to his study, collect the few presents, which were his dearest mementos of Russell, Wildney, and his other friends--above all, Vernon’s likeness--and then make his escape from the building, using for the last time the broken pane and loosened bar in the corridor, with which past temptations had made him so familiar. He turned the handle of the door and pushed, but it did not yield. Half contemplating the possibility of such an intention on Eric’s part, Dr. Rowlands had locked it behind him when he went out. “Ha!” thought the boy, “then he, too, knows and suspects. Never mind. I must give up my treasures--yes, even poor Verny’s picture; perhaps it is best I should, for I’m only disgracing his noble memory. But they shan’t prevent me from running away.”