There came a loud, delighted bellow from the nearest group and it was too late for escape. Rouse darted frantically to a flank, but he was held by a high wall and he turned and waited for them helplessly. From every possible direction his beloved followers bore down. They closed in and would not be denied. There came a scuffle in the dark, then he was lifted up and at last he could be seen in his rightful place, perched upon the shoulders of those nearest to him and clutching a tuft of hair in each hand for support. A stately concourse formed up on either side and slowly surged forward, taking new shape as they ranged themselves formally outside the stained-glass windows and broke into song. They had hoped that the Head would presently appear. No sound that he could even hear their chanting of allegiance was forthcoming. Finally it occurred to them that he might not be there and the next best thing was clearly a grand procession round the school. The bearers turned unsteadily about and moved away. As they went, to the crashing music of the Harley song, watching them go stood Terence, still where Rouse had left him, with a smile of satisfaction about his lips. There also watched the new Headmaster, who, unknown to any, had been peering crossly at them with one straining eye through a chink in the heavy curtains. CHAPTER XII CIRCUMSTANCES HAVE ARISEN Christopher Woolf Roe was painfully surprised. He had arrived at Harley by a train previously notified to his father in bold and legible handwriting and not a soul had met him. He had not exactly expected an ornamental awning over the station exit, but he had presumed that somebody of standing in the school would have been waiting upon the platform keenly peering into the carriages as the train came in; somebody who would escort him to the school and introduce him to its leading lights, who would converse with him amiably as they went along the highroad, congratulating him repeatedly upon his delightful father. There had, as a matter of fact, been a suggestion made that he should be received by a comb-and-paper band comprised of school prefects who would march funereally in front of him all the way from the station to the school, but word from Terence Nicholson had gone forth that this would not be in keeping with school dignity. Hence he had come unwelcomed and unsung. Arrived at the school, he had sought out his father. His father had been out. This had put the finishing touch to his complete depression. So far, all he knew was that, according to his father’s letter, circumstances had arisen which made it advisable that he should come to Harley. Another letter to the new Head of Wilton had intimated, possibly in more detail, that he should do so as soon as possible, and this had turned out to be in three days’ time. But as to the real why and wherefore, and as to what the circumstances were he was still completely in the dark.