And before Murtagh had recovered from his surprise Mr. Plunkett had wrung his hand and left the room. For a moment or two Murtagh was too much astonished to understand. Then he felt that he was forgiven, as he had never expected to be. The old life was wiped out; with a rush of happy exultation he realized that this was indeed a fresh start.
Nessa entered the room with a bunch of white crocuses and some ivy leaves that she had just brought in from the garden.
"Oh, Nessa," he exclaimed, "I am so happy!"
"Are you, dear?" she said, with a glad smile, kneeling down beside him and laying the crocuses on his knees.
"Yes," he said. "Everything seems so good and bright. Only when I look at it at all," he added slowly, "I wonder how I could ever—have thought like I used to think." Nessa did not answer. She wondered, too, as she gazed out across the sunny grass to the bridge. Winnie was standing on the ivy-covered parapet, with one hand swinging her hat, and with the other supporting a pigeon which she was feeding with bits of bread from between her lips; Jim sat patient on the gravel; the white ducks clamored round her; and another pigeon was spreading his tail and pluming himself upon the parapet at her feet. The water sparkled; the sky beyond was blue; the voices of the other children playing somewhere out of sight floated in happy bursts upon the air. It was all beautiful enough to make anybody wonder how wickedness could be.
Murtagh's eyes followed Nessa's. They both looked at Winnie in silence for a moment, and then he continued, turning to Nessa:
"But I am glad I have been ill. It has made me seem to understand things better. I have been thinking and thinking, often when you didn't think I was thinking of anything. And I seem to feel now,"—he blushed a little, but went on firmly,—"that even if people are wicked and disagreeable, it can't do one bit of good hating them. I mean," he said, fixing his eyes with a fervent, earnest look upon hers, "I feel it so that I don't think I ever can forget it."
"Yes," said Nessa, softly. "If God were to hate us even when we are wicked, what should we do? It often comes over me with a sort of rush of gladness, how that when we make mistakes, and get tired, and go wrong, He is still there watching over us, loving us all the time, never getting impatient. And you know," she added a little shyly, "we are told to try and be as like God as we can."
THE END.