They seemed horribly close, right under the jutting cliff; and their laughter and volleys of chaff had the jeering note he knew too well.  Presently his ear caught a high-pitched voice of defiance, that broke off and fell to whimpering—­a sound that made Roy’s heart beat in quick jerks.  He could not catch what they were saying, nor see what they were doing.  He did not want to see.  He hated them all.

Listening—­yet dreading to hear—­he recognised the voice of Bennet Ma., known—­strictly out of earshot—­as Scab Major.  Is any school, at any period, quite free of the type?  It sounded more like a rough than an ill-natured rag; but the whimpering unseen victim seemed to have no kick in him:  and Roy could only sit there wondering helplessly what people were made of who found it amusing to hurt and frighten other people, who had done them no harm....

And now the voice of Scab Major rang out distinctly:  “After that exhibition, he’ll jolly well salaam to the lot of us, turn about.  If he’s never learnt, we’ll show him how.”

The word salaam enlightened Roy.  Yesterday there had been a buzz of curiosity over the belated arrival of a new boy—­an Indian—­weedy-looking and noticeably dark, with a sullen mouth and shifty eyes.  Roy, though keenly interested, had not felt drawn to him; and a new self-protective shrinking had withheld him from proferring advances that might only embroil them both.  He had never imagined the boy’s colour would tell against him.  Was that what it meant—­making him salaam?

At the bare suspicion, shrinking gave place to rage.  Beasts, they were!  If only he could take a flying leap on to them, or roll a few stones down and scare them out of their wits.  But he could not stir without giving away his secret.  And while he hesitated, his eye absently followed a moving speck far off on the shining sand.

It was a boy on a bicycle—­hatless, head in air, sitting very erect.  There was only one boy at St Rupert’s who carried his head that way and sat his bicycle just so.  From the first Roy had watched him covertly, with devout admiration; longing to know him, too shy to ask his name.  But so far the godlike one, surrounded by friends, had hardly seemed aware of his existence.

Swiftly he came nearer; and with a sudden leap of his pulses, Roy knew he had seen——­

Springing off his bicycle, he flung himself into the little group of tormentors, hitting out vigorously right and left.  Sheer surprise and the fury of his onslaught gave him the advantage; and the guilty consciences of the less aggressive were his allies....

This was not cruelty, but championship:  and Roy, determined to see all, lay flat on his front—­danger of discovery forgotten—­grabbing the edge of the cliff, that curved inward, exulting in the triumph of the deliverer and the scattering of the foe.

Bennet Major, one of the first to break away, saw and seized the prostrate bicycle.  At that Roy lost his head; leaned perilously over and shouted a warning, “Hi!  Look out!”