"We'll talk it over to-morrow," said The Desmond.
"We will, father," said Fergus. "We'll do something fine for the pushkeen; she's worth it."
"Worth it!" cried The Desmond. "There never was her like before in the world. Good-night, Fergus. You are my heir, remember, and you'll be The Desmond after me. But listen here and now—old men die off quick sometimes, and if anything happens to me she's your charge."
"Of course, father; can you doubt it?"
"That's all right. I'm going to bed," said The Desmond. He slowly left the room. There was a great rejoicing in his heart; he saw real, true goodness when it was brought before him. The little pushkeen should not suffer for her confidence in him. He had loved her before; now his love filled his heart to the very brim.
Fergus sat for some time by the turf fire in his father's sitting-room and laughed quietly and softly to himself at the way the little pushkeen had managed The Desmond, who imagined he was the only one of all the family of Desmonds who knew the true story of the établissement at Arles.
"I never saw the old fellow so took up with anything," thought Fergus to himself. "The girls and Bruce and Malachi must never know, and of course I'll pretend never to know. It's all right—better than right—brave little pushkeen."