When Mr. Wilberforce came to know of the refused holiday, his consternation nearly equalled Aultane's. _What_ could the school have been doing that had come to the ears of the judges? He questioned sharply the senior boy, and it was as much as Prattleton's king's scholarship was worth to attempt to disguise by so much as a word, or to soften down, the message sent out from the judges. But the closer the master questioned the rest of the boys, the less information he could get; and all he finally obtained was, that some quarrel had taken place between the two head choristers, Arkell and Aultane, on the Sunday afternoon, and that the judges overheard it. Early school was excused that morning, as a matter of necessity; for the master--relying upon the holiday--did not emerge from his bed-chamber until between eight and nine; and you may be very sure that the boys did not proceed to the college hall of their own accord. But after breakfast they assembled as usual at half-past nine, and the master, uneasy and angry, went in also to the minute. Henry Arkell failed to make his appearance, and it was remarked upon by the masters. "By the way," said Mr. Wilberforce, "how came he to fall down in college yesterday? Does anybody know?" "Please, sir, he trod upon a surplice," said Vaughan the bright. "Lewis junior says so." "Trod upon a surplice!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce. "How could he do that? You were standing. Your surplices are not long enough to be trodden upon. What do you mean by saying that, Lewis junior?" Lewis junior's face turned red, and he mentally vowed a licking to Bright Vaughan, for being so free with his tongue; but he looked up at the master with an expression as innocent as a lamb's. "I only said he might have trodden on a surplice, sir. Perhaps he was giddy yesterday afternoon, as he fainted afterwards." The subject dropped. The choristers went into college for service at ten o'clock, but the master remained in his place. It was not his week for chanting. Before eleven they were back again; and the master had called up the head class, and was again remarking on the absence of Henry Arkell, when the dean and Mr. St. John walked into the hall. Mr. Wilberforce rose, and pushed his spectacles to the top of his brow in his astonishment. "Have the goodness to call up Aultane," said the dean, after a few words of courtesy, as he stood by the master's desk. "Senior, or junior, Mr. Dean?" "The chorister." "Aultane, junior, walk up," cried the master. And Aultane, junior, walked up, wishing himself and his tongue and the dean, and all the rest of the world within sight and hearing, were safely boxed up in the coffins in the cathedral crypt.