"Well, good-night! and don't lose heart." Eric went back to Duncan in the study, and they finished the other bottle of beer between them, though without much enjoyment, because they were full of surmises as to the extent of the discovery, and the nature of the punishment. Eric went in to tell Montagu of their escapade. He listened very coldly, and said, "Well, Eric, it would serve you right to be caught. What business have you to be going out at night at the invitation of contemptible small fry, like this little Wildney?" "I beg you won't speak of any friend of mine in those terms," said Eric, drawing up haughtily. "I hope you don't call a bad little boy like Wildney, who'd be no credit to any one, _your_ friend, Eric?" "Yes, I do though. He's one of the pluckiest, finest, most promising fellows in the lower-school." "How I begin to hate that word plucky," said Montagu; "it's made the excuse here for everything that's wrong, base, and unmanly. It seems to me it's infinitely more `plucky' just now to do your duty and not be ashamed of it." "You've certainly required _that_ kind of pluck to bear you up lately, Monty," said Owen, looking up from his books. "Pluck!" said Montagu scornfully; "you seem to me to think it consists in lowering yourself down to the level of that odious Brigson, and joining hand and glove with the dregs of the school." "Dregs of the school! Upon my word, you're cool, to speak of any of my associates in that way," said Eric, now thoroughly angry. "Associates!" retorted Montagu hotly; "pretty associates! How do you expect anything good to go on, when fellows high in the school like you have such dealings with the refined honourable Brigson, and the exemplary intellectual Wildney?" "You're a couple of confounded muffs!" shouted Eric, banging the door and flinging into his own study again without further reply. "Haven't you been a little hard on him, considering the row he's in?" asked Owen. Montagu's head was resting on his hand as he bent over the table. "Perhaps I have, indeed. But who could help it, Owen, in the present state of things? Yes, you're right," he said, after a pause; "_this_ wasn't the time to speak. I'll go and talk to him again. But how utterly changed he is!" He found Eric on the stairs going down to bed with an affectation of noise and gaiety. He ran after him, and said-- "Forgive me my passion and sarcasm, Williams. You know I am apt to express myself strongly." He could not trust himself to say more, but held out his hand. Eric got red, and hesitated for a moment. "Come, Eric, it isn't _wholly_ my fault, is it, that we are not so warm to each other as we were when--" "O Monty, Monty!" said Eric, softened by the allusion; and he warmly grasped his friend's proffered hand. "O Eric!" The two shook hands in silence, and as they left each other they felt that while things continued thus their friendship could not last. It was a sad thought for both.