“Why?”
“Because everything looks so beautiful, and makes you long to be out of doors.”
We relapsed into silence again, with our punishment growing more painful every moment, till our thoughts were chased away by the ringing of the breakfast-bell.
“Ah, at last!” cried Mercer, and he turned to listen for footsteps.
“I say,” he cried crossly, “ain’t they going to let us go down to breakfast?”
“No; we’re prisoners,” I said bitterly.
“Yes; but they don’t starve prisoners to death,” cried Mercer; “and I want something to eat.”
In spite of my misery, I too felt very hungry, for we had gone through a great deal since our evening meal on the previous day, and I was standing watching my companion as he marched up and down the bedroom like an animal in a cage, when we heard steps on the stairs.
“Here’s breakfast,” cried Mercer joyfully, but his face changed as the door was opened, and Mr Rebble appeared, followed by one of the maids bearing a tray, which she set down on a little table and went away, leaving Mr Rebble looking at us grimly, but with the suggestion of a sneering laugh at the corners of his cleanly-shaven lips.
We both glanced at the tray, which bore a jug and two mugs and a plate with a couple of big hunches of bread. Then Mercer looked up half reproachfully at Mr Rebble, who was moving toward the door.