"And now I'm going to take you to bed, my baby," said Madam.
"Yes, yes," said The Desmond. "Ye'll go off like a good colleen and when ye are lying between the sheets—the finest linen for that matter—— Mary, you didn't have any but the finest sheets put on the pushkeen's bed?"
"To be sure not, Fergus, why should I?"
"Well, that's all right. You run off, my colleen, and I'll come and kiss you good-night, just as I kissed my own Kathleen before the Frenchman took her."
So Margot, being very weary, obeyed. The leather portmanteau stood in a very old and bare room, and Madam herself unpacked it and took out what the child wanted for the night. At last the little tired limbs lay between the soft Irish linen sheets and Madam kissed her grandchild two or three times, whilst big tears filled her eyes.
"What are you crying for, you darling old lady?" said little Margot.
"I'm thinking of my Kathleen," said Madam.
"I'm her little girl, therefore I'm your little girl," said Margot, pressing her small lips together in ecstasy. "Kiss me, grandmother. Grandmother, you love me, too."
"I do, my best mavourneen, but now I must go and get himself up, or he'll rage at me."
Madam tripped downstairs and presently returned with The Desmond. He had evidently given her a hint to leave him alone with Margot. When they were quite alone together, he pulled the curtains across one of the windows and opened the window a little wider to let in the fresh air, then he came close to Margot's side and kneeling down by her made the following speech: