Cousin Jane had intended to punish Murtagh, not Frankie, and it had seemed to her quite simple to take Bobbo in Murtagh's place. But Bobbo and Winnie declared at once that they would not go anywhere with people who said Murtagh told stories, and when Cousin Jane appealed to Mr. Blair, he replied that he thought they had a right to decide for themselves.
In despair at her son's trouble, Cousin Jane would have been glad to change her mind and say that Murtagh might come, but Mr. Plunkett and Emma both urged her to be firm. Mr. Plunkett alone would not perhaps have had sufficient influence, but she was accustomed to be ruled by Emma, and Emma was very determined.
Frankie locked himself into his room and would not see anybody. His poor bewildered mother made herself wretched with thinking how ill he would be after such excitement, and finally retired, almost in tears, to her own room, declaring that she had never met such children, and that she wished she had never come to Castle Blair to be mixed up in all this trouble. Every one felt dreary and uncomfortable, and the children wandered disconsolately about the house, muttering their opinions of Mr. Plunkett, and wishing aloud that it wasn't Sunday, till Nessa suggested that they should go and pay their weekly visit to Mrs. Daly.
Nessa and Mrs. Donegan had been concocting certain plans for the benefit of Mrs. Daly and one or two other people in the village, and Nessa communicated them to the children. Falling readily into their notion of being bound up into a tribe, she suggested how nice it would be if the tribe could be of real use in the village, and the children, delighted to see a grown-up person entering seriously into a project which they had tried hard to persuade themselves was serious, were hearty in their acceptance of her proposals.
Wild, fierce little things as they seemed, they were something like lambs in lion's clothing. They were up in arms directly, and stormed like stanch little Home Rulers, as they were, at anything they considered unjust, but the slightest appeal to their sympathy was enough to make them forget all about themselves.
The walk was quite pleasant, and it was delightful to find Mrs. Daly sitting up, looking already much better for the wholesome dinner with which Nessa and Donnie provided her every day. After that, they went to see Mrs. O'Toole. The poor woman was in bitter grief, and she could not be comforted. An inadvertent mention of Mr. Plunkett's name suddenly roused a storm of rage that made Nessa turn pale and tremble, but the passionate abandonment of grief that followed would have moved to tears a harder heart than hers. Her sweet words of comfort were of little use. When the children spoke hopefully of Pat being found and coming back, the poor mother cried out with a despairing wail, "An' that'll be the worst of all; oh, my heart's broken! my heart's broken!"
They had forgotten for the moment that if he came back, it would be to go to prison. So they had to leave her in her desolation, and very sadly, very wearily the children went back to the house. How much of it all was their fault?
But Nessa had promised Mrs. Plunkett to go to the Red House that afternoon to see little Marion, so she left them to pay her visit.
She was not the only visitor. Cousin Jane was there, and for no less a purpose than to see with Mr. Plunkett whether after all she could not take Murtagh with her.
Her mind was so divided between two opinions that she could not remain firm in either. Accustomed for years to use Emma as her brain, she was in the habit of taking for granted that Emma's opinion was right, and with a simplicity and abnegation of self that would have been touching had they not been so fraught with mischief, she did always what Emma told her.