In other respects, too, Eric seemed to be turning over a new leaf. He and Upton, by common consent, had laid aside smoking, and every bad habit or disobedient custom which would have grieved the dying boy, whom they both loved so well. And although Eric’s popularity, after the romantic Stack adventure and his chivalrous daring, was at its very zenith,--although he had received a medal and flattering letter from the Humane Society, who had been informed of the transaction by Dr. Rowlands,--although his success both physical and intellectual was higher than ever,--yet the dread of the great loss he was doomed to suffer, and the friendship which was to be snapped, overpowered every other feeling, and his heart was ennobled and purified by contact with his suffering friend. It was a June evening, and he and Russell were alone; he had drawn up the blind, and through the open window the summer breeze, pure from the sea and fragrant from the garden, was blowing refreshfully into the sick boy’s room. Russell was very, very happy. No doubt, no fear, assailed him; all was peace and trustfulness. Long and earnestly that evening did he talk to Eric, and implore him to shun evil ways, striving to lead him gently to that love of God which was his only support and refuge now. Tearfully and humbly Eric listened, and every now and then the sufferer stopped to pray aloud. “Good night, Eric,” he said, “I am tired, _so_ tired. I hope we shall meet again; I shall give you my desk and all my books, Eric, except a few for Horace, Owen, Duncan, and Monty. And my watch, that dear watch your mother, _my_ mother, gave me, I shall leave to Rose as a remembrance of us both. Good night, brother.” A little before ten that night Eric was again summoned with Upton and Montagu to Russell’s bedside. He was sinking fast; and as he had but a short time to live, he expressed a desire to see them, though he could see no others. They came, and were amazed to see how bright the dying boy looked. They received his last farewells--he would die that night. Sweetly he blessed them, and made them promise to avoid all evil, and read the Bible, and pray to God. But he had only strength to speak at intervals. Mr. Rose, too, was there; it seemed as though he held the boy by the hand, as fearlessly now, yea, joyously, he entered the waters of the dark river. “Oh, I should _so_ like to stay with you, Monty, Horace, dear, dear Eric, but God calls me. I am going--a long way--to my father and mother--and to the light. I shall not be a cripple there--nor be in pain.” His words grew slow and difficult. “God bless you, dear fellows; God bless you, dear Eric; I am going--to God.” He sighed very gently; there was a slight sound in his throat, and he was dead. A terrible scene of boyish anguish followed, as they kissed again and again the lifeless brow. But quietly, calmly, Mr. Rose checked them, and they knelt down with streaming eyes while he prayed. CHAPTER XV HOME AGAIN