Although Marjory had said she felt all right, she found that when she tried to stand up and walk she felt strangely weak, and there was a sharp pain in her side, so that she was very glad to lean on the arm of her mysterious friend. She was too tired to be curious, and she accepted his help and kindness without question.
He and Herbert between them managed to get her home, and then handed her over to Lisbeth's care. She, poor woman, was too much taken aback to ask the stranger who he was, and he slipped away unnoticed and unthanked.
Herbert decided to wait until his father came, so that he might give him an account of the true state of affairs; and it was well that he did so, for, even had she been able, it is doubtful whether Marjory would have been willing to say much about her own part in the day's happenings.
Herbert did not spare himself to his father, but told the story as quickly as he could, and then waited anxiously for the doctor to come back from his patient.
"Well, my boy," he said, when at last he appeared, "I'm afraid she'll be worse before she's better, as the saying is. Curious thing—an old weakness of her childhood, which her uncle and I both thought she had outgrown! That swim in her clothes, straining every nerve, then rowing back, wind against her, four of you in the boat—too much—caused strain. This will mean weeks of lying up, poor child; seems worried too—wants to know if she did right. Bless her! she did more than fifty girls in her place would have done. But come along, boy. It might have been worse; she'll get over it all right. Come; you need a good square meal after all this, and a little doctoring too." And he patted his son on the shoulder affectionately, for he felt sorry for the boy's distress.
He drove him home, and then, without waiting for anything to eat himself, the good man was off again to Braeside to see if anything were wanted there. He found that the girls were not much the worse for their adventure—a little hysterical and excited, but that was all. He was pleased to find that Maud, who had been the first cause of all the mischief, had given a true and honest account of the whole thing, and was now bitterly sorry for the part she had taken.
"Promise you won't scold Herbert," she pleaded; "it was all my fault. I made him do it. He didn't want to himself; I know he didn't."
"Don't you worry about him; I've just taken him home to a good dinner," said the doctor, smiling. "And now I'm going back to dress those bruises of his. He looks more like a defeated prize-fighter than the handsome, elder son of a celebrated country practitioner that he was when he left home this morning. I must do something for him before his poor mother comes home," laughing, "or she won't recognize her son." And the genial doctor hurried off again.
Dr. Hunter was surprised and disappointed when he saw that Peter had come to the station to meet him, for he had expected Marjory; but when he learned the reason, he was very much concerned—concerned and grieved too, for he could not but gather from Peter's account that Marjory had gone on the loch in spite of his prohibition. He remembered the girl's face as she had given her promise—the dark eyes looking so honestly into his, the expression of the mouth so firm and steadfast. He sighed, and tried to make excuses for her in his own mind, but try as he would he could only feel bitterly disappointed. He went straight to her room when he arrived. Marjory met his look appealingly. "I couldn't help it," she murmured, as he sat down by the bedside and took her hand.
"Never mind to-night, child," he said gently, patting her hand; "you shall tell me all about it to-morrow."