Katie, still unconscious of her passion, gave way to spasmodic utterance of her own grief.
'Oh, mamma!' she said--' what can be done?
What can we do?
You will do something, mamma, won't you?
Poor Charley! Dear Charley! Harry will do something--won't he?
Won't Harry go to London, and do something ?' Mrs.Woodward did what she could to quiet her.

Something should be done, she said.

They must wait till Harry came in, and then settle what was best.

Nothing could be done till Harry came in.
'You must be patient, Katie, or else you will make yourself really ill.' Katie became afraid that she would be sent off to bed on the score of her illness before Harry had come, and thus lose the advantage of hearing what was the step decided on.

So she sat silent in the corner of her sofa feigning to be asleep, but pondering in her mind what sort of penalties were the penalties of imprisonment, how dreadful, how endurable, or how unendurable.
Would they put chains on him?
would they starve him?
would they cut off his beautiful brown hair?
Mrs.Woodward sat silent waiting for Harry's return.