CHAPTER VI.
Punishment and Escape.
It was ten o'clock when we were driven through the gates of our home. Father had only just returned from London, so he had been spared the long hours of agony which mother had passed after missing us at the usual tea hour.
What a miserable party we must have looked as one by one we got out of the cart. Of course, I was last; and as father lifted me in his arms, he caught sight of my hand, which had been bandaged by the doctor at Craigstown, and was now in a sling.
"It's only my little finger, father," I said; "I shan't miss it." Then I remembered that, of course, he knew nothing that had happened, and said no more. No prisoners in the dock ever felt more wretched than we did, as we stood in the dining-room wondering what would be our fate. My gentle mother came to the rescue.
"I'm sure you must all be starved; eat your supper first, and then tell us what you have been doing."
I tried to eat; but every mouthful seemed to choke me, and mother's sorrowful look at my maimed hand, and tenderly whispered words of love were almost too much for me to bear. I felt how wicked I had been to give her such pain as she must have borne since she went upstairs and found our den empty, then heard from one of the farm labourers that he had seen us in the boat.
My cousins were stronger in mind and body than I was; and although they looked conscience-stricken enough, they managed to eat a hearty supper. When the things were cleared away, father put down his newspaper, and called us to account.
"Now, what have you to say for yourselves?" he asked, in a stern voice.
I looked up and began to speak, but Rupert stepped forward and silenced me.