"I trust it is not, I trust it is not," interrupted Mr. Blair; "but if it should be so, Plunkett, remember we were fully agreed beforehand that what you have done was the right thing to do."
"It is all right," cried Murtagh; "you haven't hurt him, and here's your gun; you're quite safe now."
His arm was hurting, and his head swam, so that he staggered and almost fell as he held out the gun to Mr. Plunkett.
"And he never fired at you at all; it was when I was trying to get the gun from him that it went off. But oh, do be kinder to the people. They don't know anything about just; and he doesn't understand now; they can't understand."
And the tension of that awful day over at last, the excitement died suddenly out of Murtagh's face, and Mr. Plunkett had just time to catch him in his arms as he fell fainting to the floor.
CHAPTER XXIX.
He recovered consciousness to find himself on the drawing-room sofa, with Nessa and Mrs. Donegan anxiously applying restoratives, while Mr. Blair and the children stood round. The moment the wound in his arm had been perceived, Mr. Plunkett had himself saddled a horse and gone to fetch a doctor.
"Go away, please, all of you," said Murtagh, as soon as he could speak. "I want to speak to Uncle Blair. Nessa may stay."
Mr. Blair turned them all out except Winnie. She was sitting curled up on a footstool by the head of the sofa, and she did not stir.