"But not his face," suggested Mr. Blair. "If he turned and ran away so quickly, you could hardly in that uncertain light make sure of the face."
"If I was on my dying bed, I'd swear it was Murtagh," returned Mrs. Plunkett, almost in tears.
"And this handkerchief," said Mr. Plunkett, "how did it come in such a place?"
"Yes, Murtagh," said Mr. Blair. "How do you account for this?"
Again Winnie found the temptation to speak almost too strong for her, but Murtagh's hand was holding hers like a vice. Her own sense of right told her she must not, and she only looked more blankly than ever in front of her as Murtagh answered, "I don't know."
His uncle looked puzzled and displeased. Cousin Jane exclaimed: "I told you so; the truth's plain enough to any one who chooses to see it."
Mr. Plunkett felt quietly triumphant. But Nessa had guessed the truth from the beginning, and it was now her turn to speak.
"Uncle Blair," she said, "I am quite sure Murtagh has not done this. I think it is another person."
Her uncle looked towards her with surprise. An expression of impatience crossed Mr. Plunkett's countenance.
"Why, my child," said Mr. Blair, "what can you know about it?"