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Whether it was her great fatigue or the fact that she was sleeping at last in the home of her ancestors, or the other fact that there was at least _one_ dear old man living at Desmondstown, little Margot St. Juste slept like a top during the whole of that first night in the house where her mother had been born. She slept so soundly that she was quite unconscious of the fact that The Desmond, accompanied by Madam, entered the hastily improvised bedroom at the dawn of day and bent over the child. There was a look of positive rapture on both their old faces.
"Eh, but she's our Kathleen to the life," said Madam.