Ferrars, was kind to me; he alone loved me,
and he alone was loved in return. Loved—
as you may well believe a boy of warm
affections, such as I was, in spite of all my
intemperance of passion, isolated from all
and shunned by all —would love any one such
as Herbert! He was the Royal Boy of the
school; the noblest; the loved of all—
masters and playmates alike; the chief of
all; clever; like a young Apollo among
the herdsmen; supreme in the grace and
vigour of his dawning manhood. I never
knew one so unselfish—so gifted and so
striving, so loving and so just, so gentle and
so strong.

We were friends—fast, firm friends. The
other boys and the ushers, and the
masters, too, warned Herbert against me.
They told him continually that I should
do him no good, and might harm him in
many ways. But he was faithful, and suffered
no one to come between us. I had never
been angry with Herbert. A word, or look,
joining on the humour of the moment, would
rouse me into a perfect fiend against any
one else; but Herbert's voice and manner
soothed me under every kind of excitement.
In any paroxysm of rage—the very worst
—I was gentle to him; and I had never
known yet the fit of fury which had not yielded
to his remonstrance. I had grown almost
to look on him as my good angel against that
devil whom the rod could not scourge out
of me.

We were walking on the cliffs one day,
Herbert and I, for we lived by the sea-side.
And indeed I think that wild sea makes me
fiercer than I should else have been. The
cliffs where we were that day were high
and rugged; in some places going down
sheer and smooth into the sea, in others
jagged and rough; but always dangerous.
Even the samphire gatherers dreaded them.
They were of a crumbling sandstone, that
broke away under the hands and feet; for
we had often climbed the practicable parts,
and knew that great masses would crumble
and break under our grasp, like mere
gravel heaps. Herbert and I stood for a
short time close to the edge of the highest
cliff; Haglin's Crag it was called; looking
down at the sea, which was at high tide, and
foaming wildly about the rocks. The wind
was very strong, though the sky was almost
cloudless; it roared round the cliffs, and
lashed the waves into a surging foam, that
beat furiously against the base, and brought
down showers of earth and sand with each
blow as it struck. The sight of all this life
and fury of nature fevered my blood and
excited my imagination to the highest, A
strange desire seized me. I wanted to clamber
down the face of the cliffs—to the very base
—and dip myself in the white waves foaming
round them. It was a wild fancy, but I could
not conquer it, though I tried to do so; and
I felt equal to its accomplishment.

"Herbert, I am going down the cliff;"
I said, throwing my cap on the ground.

"Nonsense, Paul," said Herbert, laughing.
He did not believe me; and thought I was
only in jest.

When, however, he saw that I was serious,
and that I did positively intend to attempt
this danger, he opposed me in his old manner
of gentleness and love; the manner which
had hitherto subdued me like a magic spell.
He told me that it was my certain death I
was rushing into, and lie asked me affectionately
to desist.

I was annoyed at his opposition. For the
first time his voice had no power over me;
for the first time his entreaties fell dead on
my ears. Scarcely hearing Herbert, scarcely
seeing him, I leant over the cliffs; the waves
singing to me as with a human voice; when
I was suddenly pulled back, Herbert saying
to me, angrily—

"Paul, are you mad? Do. you think
I will stand by and see you kill yourself!"

He tore me from the cliff. It was a
strain like physical anguish when I could no
longer see the waters. I turned against him
savagely, and tried to shake off his hand.
But he threw his arms round me, and held
me firmly, and the feeling of constraint, of
imprisonment, overcame my love. I could
not bear personal restraint even from him.
His young slight arms seemed like leaden
chains about me; he changed to the hideousness
of a jailor; his opposing love, to the
insolence of a tyrant. I called hoarsely to him
to let me free; but he still clung round me.
Again I called; again he withstood me; and
then I struggled with him. My teeth were
set fast—my hands clenched, the strength of a
strong man was in me. I seized him by the
waist as I would lift a young child, and
hurled him from me. God help me!—I did not
see in what direction.

It was as if a shadow had fallen between me
and the sun, so that I could see nothing in its
natural light. There was no light and there was
no colour. The sun was as bright overhead as
before; the grass lay at my feet as gleaming
as before; the waves flung up their sparkling
showers; the wind tossed the branches full
of leaves, like boughs of glittering gems, as it
had tossed them ten minutes ago; but I saw
them all indistinctly now, through the veil,
the mist of this darkness. The shadow was
upon me that has never left me since. Day
and night it has followed me; day and night
its chill lay on my heart. A voice sounded
unceasingly within me, "Murder and a lost
soul, for ever and ever!"

I turned from the cliff resolutely, and went
towards home. Not a limb failed me, not a
moment's weakness was on me. I went home
with the intention of denouncing myself as
the murderer of my friend; and I was calm
because I felt that his death would then be
avenged. I hoped for the most patent
degradation possible to humanity. My only