In the evening Brigson went up to Eric and hissed in his ear, "You cut me, curse you; but, _never fear, I'll be revenged on you yet_." "Do your worst," answered Eric contemptuously; "and never speak to me again." VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FIVE. RIPPLES. Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And live for ever and for ever. _Tennyson_. Owen and Montagu were walking by Silverburn, and talking over the affairs of the school. During their walk they saw Wright and Vernon Williams in front of them. "I am so glad to see those two together," said Montagu; "I really think Wright is one of the best little fellows in the school, and he'll be the saving of Vernon. He's already persuaded him to leave off smoking and other bad things, and has got him to work a little harder, and turn over a new leaf altogether." "Yes," answered Owen; "I've seen a marvellous improvement in little Williams lately. I think that Duncan gave him a rough lesson the other night which did him good, and dear old Rose too has been leading him by the hand; but the best thing is that, through Wright, he sees less of Eric's _friend_, that young scapegrace Wildney." "Yes; that little wretch has a good deal to answer for. What a pity that Eric spoils him so, or rather suffers himself to be spoilt by him. I'm glad Vernon's escaped his influence now: he's too fine a nature to be made as bad as the general run of them. What a brilliant little fellow he is; just like his brother." "Just like what his brother _was_," said Owen; "his face, like his mind, has suffered lately." "Too true," answered Montagu, with a sigh; "and yet, cool as we now are in our outward intercourse, he little knows how I love him, and yearn for the Eric I once knew--Eric the fair-haired, as Russell and I used sometimes to call him in fun. Would to God poor Russell had lived, and then I believe that he wouldn't have gone so far wrong." "Well, I think there's another chance for him now that--that--what name is bad enough for that Brigson?--is gone." "I hope so. But,"--he added after a pause--"his works do follow him. Look there!" He took a large stone and threw it into the Silverburn stream; there was a great splash, and the ever-widening circles of blue ripple broke the surface of the water, dying away one by one in the sedges on the bank. "There," he said, "see how long those ripples last, and how numerous they are." Owen understood him. "Poor Eric! What a gleam of new hope there was in him after Russell's death!" "Yes, for a time," said Montagu; "heigh ho! I fear we shall never be warm friends again. We can't be while he goes on as he is doing. And yet I love him." A sudden turn of the stream brought them to the place called Riverbend. "If you want a practical comment on what we've been talking about, you'll see it there," said Montagu.