Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling, which was like to
break his heart, was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of
all others which he loathed was brought in and burned in on his
own soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to his
God. How could he bear it? And then the poor, little, weak boy,
whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had done
that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.

The first dawn of comfort came to him in vowing to himself that
he would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him,
and help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that
night. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell his
mother all, and what a coward her son had been. And then peace
came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next
morning.

The morning would be harder than the night to begin with, but he
felt that he could not afford to let one chance slip. Several
times he faltered, for the Devil showed him, first, all his old
friends calling him "Saint," and "Squaretoes," and a dozen hard
names, and whispered to him that his motives would be
misunderstood, and he would be left alone with the new boy;
whereas, it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he
might do good to the largest number.

And then came the more subtle temptation, "shall I not be showing
myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right to
begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting
other boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it,