"Well, I mean—" said Murtagh. "We've got Theresa, you know."
"You have what?" exclaimed Nessa, more puzzled than ever.
"I beg your pardon. It's very stupid of me," she said apologetically; "but I really don't understand. It must be some English I don't know."
"No, no," said Murtagh. "You'll be able to understand quite well. We'll tell you how it happened, and then you'll see. It was the day after you came. We were going up the river fishing; and Ellie couldn't—Win, you tell it; you'll tell it better than me."
Nessa's amazement, when she began to understand, was unbounded. She did not know children ever did things like that. But before the end of the story her warmest sympathies were enlisted in their cause.
"You see," said Murtagh, when Winnie had described the way in which Mr. Plunkett had received their request, "we never thought about anything except that horrible stepfather, and how nice it would be taking her back with the rent and all. And you remember the way Mrs. Daly talked about her husband on Sunday. Well, of course, that only made us think of it more. But Mr. Plunkett always manages to make everything seem wicked, and he makes me wicked in reality. The very feel of him in the air makes me angry before he speaks a word. I do hate him so!"
"Yes," said Nessa, looking troubled. "It is wicked to hate. I wish you would not feel like that, because then you are wrong, too. And listen," she continued, "I am sure the reason why he is so disagreeable is only because he does not understand."
"He never does understand," returned Murtagh, vehemently. "He doesn't choose to understand; he likes to be unjust!"
With a sudden impulsive movement she threw her arms round his neck. "Don't be like that," she said in her sweet, pleading voice; "please don't. It is such a pity."
Murtagh had drawn himself up in his anger. At Nessa's caress his muscles relaxed, his face lightened with a slow trembling. Then, possessing himself of one of her hands, he kissed it without a word.