“I spoke hastily,” he said. “But I was blind with anger at being discovered through you.”
“But I did not discover you, remember that, Charles.”
“If you had risen with the rest—”
“I would not, in word or act, tell a lie, Charles, for my right hand,” said Aiken, in an earnest voice, interrupting him. “You must not blame me for this.”
“Perhaps I ought not, but—”
Freeman left the sentence unfinished, and rising to his feet, commenced walking the floor of Aiken’s room, hurriedly. This was continued for some minutes, when he stopped suddenly, and extending his hand, said,—
“I have thought it all over, William, and I believe I have no cause of complaint against you; but I acknowledge that you have against me. I have insulted you and hated you without a cause. I wish I could act, in all things, from the high principles that govern you.”
“Try, Charles, try!” said Aiken with warmth, as he grasped the hand of his fellow-student.
“It will be no use for me to try,” returned Freeman, sadly. “I shall be expelled from the institution; my father will be angry; and I shall perhaps be driven, by my hot and hasty spirit, to say something to him that will estrange us, for he is a man of a stern temper.”
“Don’t fear such consequences,” said Aiken kindly. “Leave it to me. I think I can make such representations to the president as will induce him to let the matter drop where it is.”