"All right, here!" Murtagh replied, and he hastened after the others.
Nessa put her hand through his arm as they walked along. Murtagh knew that she meant it partly as a caress, and he almost wished she would not. He was in no mood for caresses. They spoke little. Murtagh asked what time it was, and was told it must be eleven now. They had waited till ten, Nessa said, before they started to look for him.
As they were nearing home, Murtagh roused himself with an effort from his thoughts.
"Poor Nessa!" he said; "you must be nearly dead tramping about like this. Why did you come for me?—I'd have done very well out there."
"I couldn't have you out there. I did not know where you were; I was frightened." And there was a little tremble in Nessa's voice that melted away a good deal of Murtagh's excitement.
In the schoolroom he found a little table prepared for supper.
"You have eaten nothing all day," said Nessa, and she insisted upon his sitting down and trying to eat while she made some tea from a kettle that stood boiling on the hob.
To please her he tried to eat, and under the influence of her gentle ways and little tender cares he grew quieter and quieter. At last he asked hesitatingly "if she had told Winnie yet?"
"Yes," she replied. "It was no use to keep it for the poor child to hear in the morning. When she was in bed, I told her."
Murtagh sat looking into the fire for a few minutes with tears glistening in his eyes, and then he asked: