‘Control yourself, my dear child,’ said my aunt.
‘Oh, uncle, what can they do to him?’ I cried again.
‘They must first prove him guilty.’
‘And then—and then?’
‘The penalty is transportation.’
‘He may be sent out of the country?’
‘Yes, to Norfolk Island or Tasmania or Botany Bay,’ answered my uncle, in a voice sullen with his sympathy with my misery.
‘For how long?’
‘You’ll drive yourself mad with these questions,’ said my aunt. ‘He is not yet convicted.’
‘For how long, uncle?’