Never in his life had he been so wretched. He wandered alone to the rocks, and watched the waves dashing against them with the rising tide. The tumult of the weather seemed to relieve and console the tumult of his heart. He drank in strength and defiance from the roar of the waters, and climbed to their very edge along the rocks, where every fresh, rush of the waves enveloped him in white swirls of angry loam. The look of the green, rough, hungry sea, harmonised with his feelings, and he sat down and stared into it, to find relief from the torment of his thoughts.
At last, with a deep sigh, he turned away to go back, and meet the crowd of suspicious and unkindly companions, and brood alone over his sorrow in the midst of them. He had not gone many steps, when he caught sight of Russell in the distance. His first impulse was to run away and escape; but Russell determined to stop him, and when he came up, said, "Dear Eric, I have sought you out on purpose to tell you that I don't suspect you, and have never done so for a moment. I know you too well, my boy, and be sure that I will always stick to you, even if the whole school cut you."
"Oh, Edwin, I am so wretched. I needn't tell you that I am quite innocent of this. What have I done to be so suspected? Why, even your cousin Upton won't believe me."
"But he does, Eric," said Russell; "he told me so just now, and several others said the same thing."
A transient gleam passed over Eric's face.
"O, I do so long for home again," he said. "Except you, I have no friend."
"Don't say so, Eric. This cloud will soon blow over. Depend upon it, as the Doctor said, we shall discover the offender yet, and the fellows will soon make you reparation for their false suspicions. And you have one friend, Eric," he continued, pointing reverently upwards.
Eric was overcome; he sat down on the grass and hid his face till the tears flowed through his closed fingers. Russell sat silent and pitying beside him, and let Eric's head rest upon his shoulder.
When they got home, Eric found three notes in his drawer. One was from Mr. Gordon, and ran thus:--
"I have little doubt, Williams, that you have done this act. Believe me, I feel no anger, only pity for you. Come to me and confess, and I promise, by every means in my power, to befriend and save you."