He expected Wildney as usual; a little before, he had been looking out for him, and hoping he would come, but he didn't want to see him now, so he answered rather peevishly, "Come in; but I don't want to be bothered to-night." Not Wildney, but Vernon appeared at the door.

"May I come in?
not if it bothers you, Eric," he said, gently.
"Oh, Verny, I didn't know it was you; I thought it would be Wildney.

You _never_ come now." The little boy came in, and his pleading look seemed to say, "Whose fault is that ?" "Come here, Verny;" and Eric drew him towards him, and put him on his knee, while the tears trembled large and luminous in the child's eyes.
It was the first time for many a long day that the brothers had been alone together, the first time for many a long day that any acts of kindness had passed between them.

Both seemed to remember this, and, at the same time, to remember home, and their absent parents, and their mother's prayers, and all the quiet half-forgotten vista of innocent pleasures, and sacred relationships, and holy affections.

And why did they see each other so little at school?
Their consciences told them both, that either wished to conceal from the other his wickedness and forgetfulness of God.
They wept together; and once more, as they had not done since they were children, each brother put his arm round the other's neck, and remorseful Eric could not help being amazed, how, in his cruel heartless selfishness, he had let that fair child go so far astray; left him as a prey to such boys as were his companions in the lower school.
"Eric, did you know I was caught to-night at the dinner ?" "You!" said Brie, with a start and a deep blush.