But in addition to the bonfires, great arches had been flung up across the weedy narrow path, and on these were written the well-known Irish words, "_Céad míle fáilte_," which seemed to be to right and left of little Margot; she knew well now the meaning of the generous and noble words. Tilly was wide awake with a vengeance, and the old-youngs, both boys and girls, ran down the avenue with whoops and cries and "_Céad míle fáilte_, pushkeen," sounding from their lips. At last they reached the old porch and entered by the wide double oak doors, and there, behold, stood Madam, and Fergus with his grave, still face, and in the distance The Desmond was to be seen, holding a lighted torch in his hand. Very erect indeed was The Desmond, and his beard seemed longer and whiter than ever, and his eyes blacker and more piercing, and his great stalwart form was like that of a giant. Margot flew like a little creature all on wires from Uncle Fergus to Madam. "Madam, darling Madam," she said, "that's the girl, Till. Tell the young-olds to look after her, for my heart is bursting till I get to The Desmond." But when she did get to him the torch was extinguished, and the very tall and majestic old man and the beautiful little girl entered his special sanctum side by side. They were alone, they were together once more. Little did Margot think of anyone else in that moment of glad re-union. "I said I would come back, and I've come!" she said. "Oh grand-dad, oh, grand-dad, how lovely you look! You are worth twenty of Monsieur le Comte, mon grandpère in France." "Speak not of him, my child," said The Desmond. "I hate him with a deadly hate." "Oh, no, no!" said little Margot. "He means well and he can't help being very old and feeble. You see, I had to bring Reparation with me." "Whatever does the pushkeen mean now?" said The Desmond. "That tall, ungainly English girl," said Margot. "I had to bring her, she is Reparation." "That's as queer a name as ever I heard," said The Desmond. "But, grand-dad," said Margot, "you'll have to be getting in a Reparation on your own account if you speak against _mon_ grandpère of France." "Ah, whist, let him abide," said the old man. "I care nothing so that I have ye, my push-keen alanna. Ah, but let me look at ye, let me feast my eyes on your little face! Ah, but ye are my pushkeen alanna! No doubt on that, and here comes Madam,--here comes 'herself.' Madam, we've got our child back, we've got our darling back once more!" But sweet, dainty little Madam looked disturbed. "There's a gurrl that I can't make head or tail of, she's crying out for you, Margot asthore. I have set my three young daughters in their bloom upon her, but she won't have naught to do with them. She keeps screaming and screeching. You had best speak to her for a minute or two, my little alanna."