"I don't want you to sell her, little one," said Fergus; "nor would The Desmond hear of it. She would not be yours as long as The Desmond lives. Then, if he consents, we will settle her on you, as well as the dower."
"Not a dot; I hope not a dot," said little Margot.
"No, I said a dower."
"Well, that's all right. How I shall pet you and love you, Great-great-great-Aunt Kathleen Desmond; even up in heaven, where you are now, I'll see your face in the sky, on starlight nights, looking down at me and smiling at me."
"Do you know, Margot, why I want to give you that picture?"
"No, Uncle Fergus. You have a funny thought at the back of your head, but I don't know what it is."
"Because you are like her, very like her."
"Am I—am I truly? Why she's quite bee-uti-ful."
"Well, never mind about that, child. You asked me to meet you here and I have come. Have you anything to say?"
"They are so frightened, poor things," said Margot, suddenly restored to the present. "They haven't got my courage nor her courage nor your courage, so I thought that you and I had best help them."