“We never thought you’d be anxious, Dad!” Norah said.
“Not anxious!” said her father, explosively. Then he shot a glance at Jean and Wally, uncomfortably silent.
“You’ve given us a pleasant evening,” was all he said. But Jim winced as if he had been struck, and the blood surged into his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said curtly.
“It was my fault, just as much, Dad,” Norah began. But her father stopped her.
“Jim was in charge,” he said. “There isn’t any more to be said about it. We’d better hurry. Mrs. Brown is picturing all sorts of things.” He put Monarch into a canter, and they rode on in silence. Two miles further on a dim figure at the roadside turned his horse beside Wally.
“Is it all right, ye are, all of ye?” asked Murty in a hoarse whisper.
“Some one else out hunting the lost sheep?” Wally asked. “Yes, we’re all right.”
“Thin I’ll not let on to himself that I kem out,” said the Irishman. “Wisha! he was wild!” He dropped behind the riders, vanishing into the gloom.
Billabong was slow in appearing; to the silent riders the miles had never seemed longer. At last the lights came into view with Brownie’s massive figure silhouetted against the light of the doorway.