It so happened that after his last interview with little Margot St. Juste, the Rev. John Mansfield became subject to a strange uneasiness of conscience. Never before had he attempted to do anything underhand. He was a God-fearing and excellent man and was respected and loved by all his parishioners. Mrs. Mansfield was respected and not loved, but it was impossible to see much of the Rev. John without feeling his sympathy, and acknowledging that burning love for all human souls which filled his breast. Nevertheless this most excellent man was going to act in a deceitful way. He was going to do something, and that something was to be concealed from the wife of his bosom. He had long felt the injustice of keeping little Margot apart from her relations, and when the child pleaded and pleaded as she alone knew how, and even provided means that would secure the necessary cash, he could resist her no longer. Nevertheless the good man was miserable. His sermons seemed to have lost their power. He walked with a decided stoop and a heavy expression on his face, and Mrs. Mansfield wondered if her husband, that most excellent John, was suddenly developing old age. Meanwhile little Margot was in the highest of high spirits. She was more attentive than usual to her aunt. "It is quite easy to be good when you are happy," thought little Margot, and she sang with greater spirit than ever "_When Malachi Wore His Collar of Gold_." But when she ventured to allude to the subject to Jacko, he desired her to hush. He spoke with a certain severity which she had never before noticed on his face. Nevertheless when he saw a look of distress creep into her brilliant, rosy cheeks, he took her on his knee, assured her that all was quite--quite right, that his promise was his promise--only he would rather not speak of it. The Friday so full of events drew on apace. The house was to receive a thorough spring cleaning. Mrs. Mansfield would be absent exactly a fortnight. During that time Margot was to be a very good child and look after her dear, kind uncle, without whose aid she would be nothing but a beggar maid, and Margot promised to do her very best for Uncle Jack, her black eyes twinkling as she spoke. Mrs. Mansfield left home early in the morning and, the moment she had gone, Margot danced into her uncle's study. "Jacko, Jacko," she cried, "she's gone--she's gone! Good riddance, say I. Now we are going to begin our fun." "You must not talk of your aunt like that," said Uncle John. "Are your things packed, _acushla machree_?"