When she did speak, she was right once more.

She turned smiling, towards the left side, pointed to him as he stood by her, and said, "Oscar!" We were all three equally surprised.

I examined Oscar's hand and Nugent's hand alternately.

Except the fatal difference in the color, they were, to all intents and purposes, the same hands--the same size, the same shape, the same texture of skin; no scar or mark on the hand of one to distinguish it from the hand of the other.

By what mysterious process of divination had she succeeded in discovering which was which?
She was unwilling, or unable, to reply to that question plainly.
"Something in me answers to one of them and not to the other," she said.
"What is it ?" I asked.
"I don't know.