"Campbell, it's your turn to tell a story, so look sharp, and begin."
"I haven't got one to tell," answered Harry, as he sat, still undressed, on his bed, unlacing his boots.
"Can't help that," said Egerton, "you must make up one. You're a good hand at that, aren't you?" he sneered, brutally.
Those few words clenched the feeling of hatred that had been gradually growing in Harry's breast towards Egerton. Then first sprang up within him a great desire of revenge, which in after years increased with Harry's growth—of revenge on one who had thus blasted his reputation, it seemed for ever. It is true, he had but shortly risen from his knees. But do not call his prayers hypocritical, because these angry, revengeful thoughts had taken such root in him so soon. If we had not these passions we should be divine. The only strange thing is, he was so young; for "vengeance" is usually only the cry of those of mature age. But a consideration of the circumstances in which he was placed, and the advanced temperament of his mind, will make the wonder vanish.
Harry took no notice of Egerton's speech as far as an answer was concerned. He went on unlacing his boots in silence; but he felt his face burn white with anger.
"Now then, Campbell," cried Egerton, "none of your sulks; it won't do. Are you going to tell a story or not?"
"No," answered Harry, bluntly and firmly.
"But it's your turn, Campbell," expostulated some of the others, wanting the story, but yet not wanting a row.
"I'd have tried to, if Egerton hadn't said that," answered Harry to the last speakers, whose tone seemed somewhat consolatory to him.
"Hadn't said what?" they asked.