"The truth is," said Mr. Forester, laughing, "that I've been out with the keepers after poachers, and this," pointing to Marjory, "is the only one we've found."
"But what was she doing out by herself at this time of night?" asked the doctor.
Marjory said nothing. Her uncle looked at her, and Mr. Forester, thinking that he had better leave them together, passed on into the dining-room.
"I should like to know," said the doctor sternly.
Marjory, pale and tearful, remained silent.
"Did you go out to see after Brownie, or any of the animals?"
"No."
"Come, Marjory, I insist upon knowing the reason for this freak. The truth is, I have let you have too much liberty to come and go, and now you will not give an account of yourself."
Marjory raised her head, and looking at her uncle with fearless eyes, she said,—
"I would rather not tell you why I went, but I don't think you would be angry if you knew; it wasn't anything wrong."