They had often stood by that library fire on far different terms.
"Forgive me, sir," was all Eric could say, as the tears rushed to his eyes.
"Freely, my boy," said Mr.Rose, sadly.

"I wish you could feel how fully I forgive you; but," he added, laying his hand for the last time on Eric's head, "you have far more, Eric, to forgive yourself.

I will not talk to you, Eric; it would be little good, I fear; but you little know how much I pity and tremble for you." While these scenes were being enacted with Eric, a large group was collected round the fire-place in the boarders' room, and many tongues were loudly discussing the recent events.
Alas for gratitude! there was not a boy in that group to whom Mr.Rose had not done many an act of kindness; and to most of them far more than they ever knew.

Many a weary hour had he toiled for them in private, when his weak frame was harassed by suffering; many a sleepless night had he wrestled for them in prayer, when, for their sakes, his own many troubles were laid aside.

Work on, Walter Rose, and He who seeth in secret will reward you openly! but expect no gratitude from those for whose salvation you, like the great tenderhearted apostle, would almost be ready to wish yourself accursed.
Nearly every one in that noisy group was abusing Mr.Rose.It had long been Brigson's cue to do so; he derided him on every opportunity, and delighted to represent him as hypocritical and insincere.