The other side, headed by Montagu, went in first, and Eric caught out two, and bowled several.  Montagu was the only one who stayed in long, and when at last Eric sent his middle wicket flying with a magnificent ball, the shouts of “well bowled! well bowled indeed,” were universal.

“Just listen to that, Eric,” said Montagu; “why, you’re out-doing every body to-day, yourself included, and taking us by storm.”

“Wait till you see me come out for a duck,” said Eric laughing.

“Not you.  You’re too much in luck to come out with a duck,” answered Montagu.  “You see I’ve already become the Homer of your triumphs, and vaticinate in rhyme.”

And now it was Eric’s turn to go in.  It was long since he had stood before the wicket, but now he was there, looking like a beautiful picture as the sunlight streamed over him, and made his fair hair shine like gold.  In the triumph of success his sorrows were flung to the winds, and his blue eyes sparkled with interest and joy.

He contented himself with blocking Duncan’s balls until his eye was in; but then, acquiring confidence, he sent them flying right and left.  His score rapidly mounted, and there seemed no chance of getting him out, so that there was every probability of his carrying out his bat.

“Oh, well hit! well hit!  A three’r for Eric,” cried Wildney to the scorer; and he began to clap his hands and dance about with excitement at his friend’s success.

“Oh, well hit! well hit in—­deed!” shouted all the lookers on, as Eric caught the next ball half-volley, and sent it whizzing over the hedge, getting a sixer by the hit.

At the next ball they heard a great crack, and he got no run, for the handle of his bat broke right off.

“How unlucky!” he said, flinging down the handle with vexation.  “I believe this was our best bat.”

“Oh, never mind,” said Montagu; “we can soon get another; we’ve got lots of money in the box.”

What had come over Eric? if there had been a sudden breath of poison in the atmosphere he could hardly have been more affected than he was by Montagu’s simple remark.  Montagu could not help noticing it, but at the time merely attributed it to some unknown gust of feeling, and made no comment.  But Eric, hastily borrowing another bat, took his place again quite tamely; he was trembling, and at the very next ball, he spooned a miserable catch into Graham’s hand, and the shout of triumph from the other side proclaimed that his innings was over.

He walked dejectedly to the pavilion for his coat, and the boys, who were seated in crowds about it, received him, of course, after his brilliant score, with loud and continued plaudits.  But the light had died away from his face and figure, and he never raised his eyes from the ground.

“Modest Eric!” said Wildney chaffingly, “you don’t acknowledge your honors.”

Eric dropped his bat in the corner, put his coat across his arm, and walked away.  As he passed Wildney, he stooped down and whispered again in a low voice—­