"Yes, I've known all about it from the first," said Fergus Desmond. "It was not our pushkeen's fault. The Comte St. Juste married beneath him and behold the result, but it must come to an end. When you start to-morrow morning for Arles with little Margot, I will go with you, Jack Mansfield, for I have a word to say to Madame la Comtesse. It is she who is doing the mischief. She is using our little one, our dear little one, for her own worldly purposes." "I have known it also all along," said Uncle Jacko, "but if we can keep the fact from the two old grandfathers, surely no harm can be done." "I don't wish it," said Fergus. "I, too, have my pride. Some day, I hope a far distant day, she will be the niece of _The_ Desmond. Understand, I choose not to have a shopkeeper as a niece." "Ah, but that matters so very, very little," said Uncle Jacko. Fergus gave him a queer smile of non-comprehension. "I have made up my mind and I go with you," he said after a long pause, and thus it was arranged. Early the next morning the pushkeen appeared in her grandfather's room, where he was seated in his high grandfather's chair by a huge fire of turf. "See, see, grand-dad!" said Margot. "See, behold, listen!" She looked wildly excited and wildly pleased. She was keeping back the sorrow that was breaking her very heart. "See, my own, own, _own_ grandfather," she said, seizing his fingers. "First, finger one; next, finger two; third, finger three--I go away for three of these fingers. I come back at the end of that time to my own darlingest grand-dad. I go at once, at once! Oh, grand-dad, kiss me, love me, love me! Oh, grand-dad, I love you too much to cry. Kiss me, my best of all grand-dads, kiss me at once." The poor astonished Desmond took the child of his heart into his strong arms. He pressed her close to his heart, he solemnly counted out the months. "You will come back," he said. "I will come back, my own, own grand-dad." "Three months," he said. "You came to me on the 6th of September, you will return on the 6th of March. Ah, but surely it is less than nothing. I do not grieve, The Desmond never grieves. It would be contrary to his high dignity." Then he kissed Margot, although his lips trembled and she ran out into the great hall, so bare, so empty, so desolate, where all the family, including Malachi and Madam, were assembled. "Don't make a fuss," said the pushkeen. "If you do, perhaps a tear might force itself out and I'm like The Desmond, I _don't_ cry. Now then, Malachi, go straight in and talk to grand-dad. Make him laugh about the horses and keep Starlight quite safe for me and--and darling grandmother, Madam, do your lovely crochet in the corner where you always sit and talk about pushkeen and say that I'm so happy and say that I'm coming back again in a twink. Now don't kiss me and sob over me, anyone, for I belong to The Desmond and he _never_ cries."