What spirit of infatuation possessed Tom Drift, that he did not spring for very life at the proffered help, that he did not besiege this friend, however blunt and outspoken, and compel his timely aid? Alas, for his blindness and folly!

Scowling round at the speaker, he muttered an oath, and said, "What on earth concern is it of yours who my friends are and where I go? Mind your own business."

And so, thrusting rudely away the hand that might, by G.o.d's grace, have saved him, he swept farther and farther out towards the dark waters.

One final and great hope was still reserved for him, and that was Charlie's visit. But to Tom that prospect was becoming day by day mere distasteful. As the days wore on, and Tom sunk deeper and deeper into the snare prepared for him, the thought of a week in the society of one so upright and pure as Charlie became positively odious. The effort to conceal his new condition would be almost impossible, and yet to admit it to him would be, he felt, to shatter for ever the only friendship he really prized. He racked his brain for expedients and excuses to avert the visit, but without avail. If he pleaded illness Charlie would be the first to rush to his bedside; if he pleaded hard work Charlie would insist on sharing it, or improving its few intervals of rest; if he pleaded disinclination Charlie would devise a hundred other plans to please him. In short, Charlie's visit was inevitable, and as he looked forward to it he writhed in misgiving and anxiety.

His visits to the music-hall were meanwhile continuing, and his circle of acquaintance at that evil haunt enlarging. He was duly installed as one of the "fast set" at Saint Elizabeth's, and under its auspices had already made his _debut_ at other scenes and places than that of his first transgression. He was known by sight to a score of billiard- markers, potmen, blacklegs, and lower characters still, and was on nodding terms with fully half of them. He had lost considerably more than he had gained at billiards, and was still further emptying his purse at cards. Quick work for a few weeks! So quickly and fatally, alas! Will the infection, once admitted, spread, especially in a patient whose moral const.i.tution has undergone so long a course of slow preparation as Tom's had.

The day came at last. Tom had carefully hidden away his worst books and his spirits; he had bathed his face half a dozen times, to remove the traces of last night's intemperance he had gathered together from the corners where they had for so long lain neglected the books and relics of his Randlebury days, and restored them to their old places; he had brightened me up, and he had taken pains to purify his room from the smell of rank tobacco; and then he sauntered down to the station.

How my heart beat as the train came into the platform! _His_ head was out of the window, and _his_ hand was waving to us a hundred yards off; and the next minute he had burst from the carriage, and seized Tom by the hands.

"How are you, old Tom? I thought we'd never get here; how glad I am to set eyes on you! Isn't this a spree?" And not waiting for Tom's answer he hauled his traps out of the carriage in a transport of delight.

Still the same jovial, honest, fine-hearted boy.

"Hi! here! some of you," he shouted to a porter, "look after these things, will you, and get us a cab. I tell you what, Tom, you've got to come up home with me first, and we can have dinner there; then I'll come on to your den, and we can pack our knapsacks and sleep, and then start by the five train to-morrow morning."

Thus he bustled, and thus he brought back the old times on poor Tom Drift. Without the heart to speak, he helped his friend to collect his luggage, and when they were fairly started in the cab he even smiled feebly in reply to the boy's sallies.

"Tom, you rascal, didn't I tell you you weren't to knock yourself up, eh? Why can't you do what you're told? Why, I declare you're as thin as a hurdle, and as black under the eyes as if you had been fighting with a collier. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Look at me; do all I can I can't get up an interesting pallor like you, and I've fretted enough over those conic sections (comic sections Jim always calls them). Never mind! Wait till I get you down to the sea."

And so he rattled on, while Tom leaned back in his seat and winced at every word.

When they reached Mr Newcome's of course there was a scene of eager welcome on one side and boisterous glee on the other. Tom, as he looked on, sighed, as well he might, and wished he could have been spared the torture of this day.

Charlie tore himself away from his mother, to drag his friend into the house.

"Look at this object!" he cried; "did you ever see such a caution to students? If we do nothing else in Kent we shall scare the crows, eh, Tom?"

"Charlie!" exclaimed his mother; "you have come home quite rude! I hope you'll excuse him, Mr Drift."

Mr Drift said nothing, and looked and felt extremely miserable.

"He looks really ill, poor fellow!" said Mrs Newcome to her husband.

"I wonder they allow the students to overwork themselves in that way."

And then they sat down to dinner--a meal as distasteful to Tom as it was joyful to Charlie and his parents.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HOW TOM DRIFT PARTED WITH HIS BEST FRIEND.

Charlie could not fail to discover before long that there was something wrong with my master.

Never before had he known him so silent, so spiritless, so mysterious.

No effort could rouse him into cheerfulness or conversation, and for the first time for three years Charlie felt that Tom was sorry to see him.

Naturally, he put it all down to the results of overwork. Tom in his letters had always represented himself as engrossed in study. Even the few hurried scrawls of the past few weeks he had excused on the same ground. It never once occurred to the simple-minded schoolboy that a chum of his could possibly be struggling in the agonies of shame and temptation and he know nothing of it; he who knew so little of evil himself, was not the one to think or imagine evil where any other explanation was possible.

And yet Tom's manner was so strange and altered, that he determined, as soon as they should find themselves alone, to make an effort to ascertain its cause.

The opportunity came when the two youths, having bid farewell to Mr and Mrs Newcome, found themselves at last in Tom's lodgings in Grime Street.

"Well," said Charlie, with all the show of cheerfulness he could muster, for his spirits had been strangely damped by the irresponsive gloom of his old schoolfellow--"well! here's the den at last. Upon my word, old man, I've seen livelier holes! Why don't you explore and find some place a trifle less dead-alive? But I dare say it's convenient to be near the Hospital, and when a fellow's working, it doesn't much matter what sort of a place he's in, as long as there's not a row going on under his window--and I don't suppose there's much chance of that here,"

said Charlie, looking out into the black street with a kind of shudder.

Tom said nothing; he wished his friend would not everlastingly be talking of hard work and study in the way he did. However Charlie intended it, it was neither more nor less than a talking at him, and that he could not stand.

Charlie took no notice of his silence, but continued his inspection of the dismal apartment, lighting up with pleasure at the sight of the old Randlebury relics.

"My old rod!" exclaimed he, taking down the very rod with the lance-wood top which had figured so conspicuously in a certain adventure three years ago; "how jolly to see it again! I'm afraid you don't get much use for it here. And our fencing-sticks, too; see, Tom, here's the very place where you got under my guard and snipped a bit out of the basket.

Ha, ha! what a crack that was! And here's the picture of old Randlebury, with you at your window, and me lying on the gra.s.s (and looking uncommonly like a recently felled tree). Look here, Tom, this window here is where Jim and I hang out now. It used to be Callaghan's.

By the way, do you ever see Call? He's in London, articled to a solicitor. A pretty lawyer he'll make! Have you seen him yet, Tom?"

Tom, during this rattle, had been looking listlessly out of the window.

He now turned round with a start and said--

"Eh? what did you say?"

The look which accompanied the words was so haggard and miserable, that Charlie's pity was instantly touched. He stepped across the room and put his arm in Tom's as he stood, and said,--

"Tom, old boy, what's wrong?"

Tom said nothing, but walked away and leaned against the mantelpiece.

"What is it, Tom? Are you ill, or in trouble? You'll tell me, won't you?"

Tom still remained silent, but his flushing face and restless lips showed that the appeal had at least been heard.

"Old boy," continued Charlie, venturing again nearer, "we never used to have secrets. I'm sure something's the matter. Mayn't I know what it is? Very likely I can't help you; but I could try."

Tom's lips quivered. The old influence was fast coming back. Already in his mind he was picturing himself telling Charlie all and with his help extricating himself from the slough into which he had sunk. How _could_ he stand unmoved with that voice, familiar by many a memory of simple courageous goodness, again falling on his ear; and that appealing face, one so loved and delighted in, again turned to his?

"I'm afraid it's something more than ill health, old boy. You've something on your mind. Oh! why won't you at least tell me what it is?"

Tom could stand it no longer. He _must_ speak. Whatever the confession cost him, whatever its effect would be on his old schoolfellow's friendship, Charlie must know all. To him at least he could not play the hypocrite or the deceiver. He had turned from the mantelpiece, his hand was held out to take that of his friend's, he was just about to speak, when the door of his room opened, and there entered Gus, Mortimer, and two companions.

"Here he is!" cried Gus, not noticing that Tom had company. "Tommy, old man, you're in luck. Old Owl has got a supper on to-night, no end of punch, my boy, and he's expecting you; and afterwards we're going for a regular night of it to the-- Hullo! who's your friend?"

He caught sight of Charlie at this moment, and for an instant failed to recognise in Tom's companion the boy whom he had treated so shamefully at Gurley races. But he remembered him in a moment.

"What, surely--yet upon my honour so it is, our young sporting friend.

How are you, Charlie, my boy? Here's a game! You'll come too, of course? Mortimer, this fellow is Drift's special--up to all the wrinkles, no end of a knowing blade."

During this brief and rapid salutation Tom and Charlie, I need hardly say, were speechless. One in utter despair, the other in utter rage and astonishment. In both the revulsion of feeling caused by the interruption was almost stupefying, and they stood for a moment staring at the intruders in simple bewilderment.