"Did somebody say they saw one of us, papa?"
Mr. Colquhoun looked at his own son, and never doubted his innocence.
"No, my boy, but I found a pocket-knife in the skiff and a coil of gut, with two fish. I know you have both knives exactly alike, and probably only one of you can tell me to which it belongs. Geoffry, have you your knife in your pocket?"
Silence, and no movement on Jeff's part. In a moment Jeff looked up, and in his steady brown eyes there was something which Uncle Hugh could not read.
It was a bold glance, but not a defiant one; a resolute gleam, but yet a sad one. For days afterwards Mr. Colquhoun remembered that dauntless look.
"No, Uncle Hugh," he said firmly.
"Brian, where is yours?"
Obedient to his father's command Brian brought one from his pocket. That very morning, not an hour ago, he had asked Jeff to lend him his knife, and had not returned it to its rightful owner. Jeff's lips closed tightly and his eyes fell.
"Then I must believe, Geoffry, that it is you who have disobeyed me. Have you anything to say for yourself?"
"I did not go in the boat," he said doggedly, picking up some books and strapping them together, with despair at his heart. Surely this was being a hero.