“He must have got out. He must be somewhere in the garden;” and he turned round to go and search for him. As he did so, he saw a small dejected figure coming down the path towards him with downcast face and lagging step. It was Nancy—grief in every feature, and guilt in every movement. One glance was enough for David; he understood it all now, and he flushed angrily, and turned his back upon her, clenching his fists tightly. She came slowly up and stood close to him; she was crying.
“Oh, Davie,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
“Where’s Antony?” said David in a muffled voice without looking at her.
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
“Back to the farm.”
“Why?”
“Andrew took him. He found him eating the spinach, and he said he must obey orders. And I asked Miss Grey to stop him, and she said she couldn’t interfere—”
Nancy stopped and gasped.
“Then,” said David sternly, “you didn’t fasten his gate.”