Tears came to Winnie's eyes, too, as she stood and looked at her. There was no need to ask any question; but after a minute Murtagh said, half-reproachfully, "You needn't have told any lies to me, Mrs. O'Toole."
"Oh, Mr. Murtagh, asthore, don't betray us!" was her only answer. "It's my only son; the only one ever I had!"
"Where is he?" asked Murtagh, in a choked voice.
"He's gone away!" replied Mrs. O'Toole, drawing a bit of paper from her breast. "Oh, Pat, my darlint, whatever made you do it?"
Murtagh took the bit of paper in silence, and Winnie looking over his shoulder read: "Mother, I've done it, and I'm gone away for ever! Good-by; God bless ye!"
"For ever! an' he was the only one I had," repeated the poor woman. "They say he bate the boy last night. He's been a blight upon the country since the day he first set foot in it; but I pray it may come back upon his own head."
"Oh, don't," said Murtagh; "it was all us. Do you know one of Mr. Plunkett's children was hurt in the fire, too?"
"Know, ay, I know," she replied fiercely. "It's his eldest, too; the one they say he do care for; I've been prayin' ever since it may die, an' let him feel what it is to be robbed o' your child."
"Listen," said Murtagh, in the greatest distress. "Let us think what we are to do. He's going to be sent for in a minute to be examined. That's what we came down to tell him."
"Is it discovered already he is?" she cried, full of a new fear. "Oh, if they catch him and bring him back to prison! Mr. Murtagh, ye won't betray us; Miss Winnie, asthore? Ye're only children, but ye won't say a word?"