“Is Marmaduke at home?” Charles asked timidly, as Mr. Fitz-Williams opened the door.
“No, he is not,” came the answer, “and we are very uneasy about him.”
The plotters did not explain themselves, but turned away, more heart-sick than before. Suppose that he should wander off, and be found dead some time afterwards, would not they be held guilty? Would not they be goaded by remorse to the end of their days? Or suppose that he should follow the slighted schoolboy’s bent, run away to sea, and never be heard of again for twenty years.
Stephen was so distressed that he actually said to his fellow-sufferers: “Boys, if he would only come back, I wouldn’t tease him about getting married. I intended to tease him about it for months; but I won’t now, if he will only come back; I won’t, not a bit!”
Stephen was a boy of boys; and for him to say that was to express his contrition in the strongest possible terms.
Chapter XXXIX.
Repentant Plotters.—The Heroes Re-united.
The discomfited plotters were forced into a confession of all their deeds for the past few days, and a party headed by Mr. Fitz-Williams set out to scour the country for the missing boy. Then, contrite and woebegone, the evildoers slunk into their respective homes, there to receive what punishment their outraged parents should see fit to inflict.
It is not best to enter into details; it would be too harrowing. It is sufficient to say that when their weary heads at length sought their pillows, sleep refused to come to their relief, and such a night of torture few of them ever passed.
“If it wouldn’t make us appear guiltier than we are,” Henry said, with feverishly bright eyes, “you and I would pack up, too, Will, and run away, and travel all around the world.”