And Walter regretfully felt that he was very very nearly too late; so nearly, that perhaps in a week or two more Eden might have lost hopelessly, and for ever, all trace of self-respect--might have been benumbed into mental imbecility by the torpedo-like influence of helpless grief. Walter felt as if he had been selfishly looking on while a fellow-creature was fast sinking in the water, and as if it were only at the last possible moment that he had held out a saving hand. But, by God's grace, he _did_ hold out the saving hand at last, and it was grasped firmly, and a dear life was saved. Years after when Arthur Eden had grown into--but stop, I must not so far anticipate my story. Suffice it to say, that Walter's kindness to Eden, helped to bring about long afterwards one of the chief happinesses of his own life. "Come a stroll, Eden, before third school, and let's have a talk," he said, as they came out from dinner in hall the next day. Eden looked up happily, and he was proud to be seen by Walter's side in the throng of boys, as they passed out, and across the court, and under the shadow of the arch towards Walter's favourite haunt, the seashore. Walter never felt weak or unhappy for long together, when the sweetness of the sea-wind was on his forehead, and the song of the sea waves in his ear. A run upon the shore in all weathers, if only for five minutes, was his daily pleasure and resource. They sat down; the sea flashed before them a mirror of molten gold, except where the summits of the great mountain of Appenfell threw their deep broad shadows, which seemed purple by contrast with the brightness over which they fell. Walter sat, full of healthy enjoyment as he breathed the pure atmosphere, and felt the delicious wind upon his glowing cheeks; and Eden was happy to be with him, and to sit quietly by his side. "Eden," said Walter, after a few moments, "I'm afraid you've not been happy lately." The poor child shook his head, and answered, "No one cares for me here; every one looks down on me, and is unkind; I've no friends." "What, don't you count me as a friend, then?" "Yes, Walter, you're very kind; I'm sure I _couldn't_ have lived here if it hadn't been for you; but you're so much above me, and--" Walter would not press him to fill up the omission, he could understand the rest of the sentence for himself. "You mustn't think I don't feel how good you've been to me, Walter," said the boy, drawing near to him, and taking his hand; "but--" "Yes, yes," said Walter; "I understand it all. Well, never mind, I _will_ be a friend to you now." A tear trembled on Eden's long eyelashes as he looked up quickly into Walter's face. "Will you, Walter? thank you, I have no other friend here; and please--" "Well, what is it?" "Will you call me Arthur, as they do at home?" Walter smiled. "Well now," he said, "tell me what they were doing to you last night?"