Samuel Flannigan was forbidden the house. He was told that his case was hopeless. Aunt Norah, in terror, did appear and was assured by her father that she was nothing but a blessed bit of a fool and mighty old at that, and that she must immediately promise him that she would never speak to that low-down fellow, Samuel Flannigan, again. Norah cried, sobbed, even screamed, and was finally locked up in her room by The Desmond himself. Then little Margot came in and tried to smooth matters and comfort the distracted old man. He looked at her bonny face; at her glowing, rosy cheeks; at her wonderful, soft, black eyes; at her thick, curling, black hair; and held out his arms to her. She crept into his embrace and sat there very quiet, without speaking. Margot was singularly wise for her age, and she knew that the time to speak had not come yet. Presently, however, as the old man was feeling the comfort of her presence, he was startled by one great tear splashing on his hand. "Why, my pushkeen, alanna," he said. "I thought for sure that the Desmonds never cried--those that are true Desmonds, I mean." "It was only _one_ tear, granddad," said little Margot. "I don't like anybody to be unhappy." "Eh, now, to be sure, nor do I," said The Desmond. "But there's Aunt Norah, granddad. She is very mis'rable; she _is_ fond of Samuel." "Don't ye dare," said the old man. His whole manner changed; he pushed her off his knee. She looked at him without reproach, but with intense sadness, and then slowly, very slowly left the room. He was so wretched after she had gone that he felt inclined to call her back, and to tell her that all the foolish Norah Desmonds in the wide world and all the ridiculous, low-born Samuel Flannigans might marry, if only she would stay with him and comfort him. Madam came in presently and found him alone. The one tear that Margot had shed had dried on his horny old hand, but he kept on looking at the hand. He did not attempt to wipe that tear--that pearl of all price--away. It had dried itself. He thought his hand a sort of sacred thing because it held one tear from the little pushkeen. "What ails your hand, Fergus?" asked Mary, his wife. "Oh, nothing," he replied. "Why shouldn't I have a hand in all conscience, and why shouldn't I look at it? Where on earth is the pushkeen?" "Why, didn't you know?" said Madam. "No; what should I know? For goodness' sake, woman, speak out!" "Well, I'm thinking you won't see her for a bit," said Madam; "but she'll come back by-and-bye--very soon, most like." As a matter of fact Margot had taken up the cause of Aunt Norah and Mr. Flannigan; and for her to take up any cause meant far more than the people who benefited by her counsel and advice had any idea of. Now, having left her grandfather, she tried to find Uncle Fergus; but he was nowhere in the house. Then she went up to Aunt Norah's room. She knocked at the door. She heard sobbing and moaning within.