"Oh, Mr. Murtagh!" exclaimed Theresa, piteously, "ye won't be sending me home now without the rent."
Murtagh gave no answer but a puzzled sigh, while Rose continued: "It's just every bit as unkind to Theresa keeping her here as it is to us. You can't do her one scrap of good. You'll only make her stepfather angrier and angrier when she goes home for every day you keep her here—and there isn't a bit of sense keeping her here when there's nothing to keep her for.
"Don't you see, it would be silly of us if we went on keeping her here? It would take us years and years before we saved up two pounds out of our Saturday money, and we couldn't possibly hide her for years and years. So what is the good of keeping her any longer? If her stepfather is really going to beat her, he'll only do it worse for her staying away. He daren't kill her. If he does, we'll tell the police about him; besides, I'm quite sure he won't. And then it is so dreadful hiding her. I'm quite certain the police will find out about it soon, and they'll come and take us and put us into prison, and perhaps it will be us will be killed." At the thought Rosie's tears began to flow again. "It is so dreadful going to prison. I can't bear it; and if we could get her back to Mrs. Daly's now, before the police find out anything, it would be all right."
Theresa had listened intently to every word, and now with a white face, and a wild, resolute look in her eyes, she stood up and said:
"I'm going home. Will ye let me pass, if ye please, Miss Rose?"
Rose eagerly stood on one side and held back the branches, but Winnie sprang from the seat and caught Theresa's dress, while Murtagh exclaimed:
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," said Theresa, "I'd rather go home. It don't matter what happens to the likes of me."
"It does matter," returned Murtagh, vehemently. "You shan't go home."
"I don't want to be havin' yez taken to prison for a poor omadhaun like me," repeated Theresa, trying to tear her dress away from Winnie's firm hold.