ng utter and hopeless destruction. To the little community of simple workaday folk living round Briar Fa

fundity of wisdom which is not wise till after the event,-the children were less noisy in their play, checked by the grave faces of their parents-the very dogs seemed to know that some

elyn were his mother. 'Tis the male side as tells. An' he's young, an' he'll want change an' rovin' about like all young men nowadays, an' the place'll be broke up, an' the timber

is head in a fashion which gave him the appearance of a village idiot-"Well, it's not mine! No, by no means! T

ay I met 'im drivin' along the road at a tearin' pace, with Ned Landon sittin' beside 'im-an' drivin' fine too, for the mare's a tricky one with a mouth as 'ard as iron-but 'e held 'er firm-th

don?" asked

ere about this morn

uential-looking figure, which both men recognised as that of the parson of the parish, and they touched their caps accordingly. The Reverend William Medw

id, with affable cond

ed suddenly last

nodded

-more's the pity! It

t-no doubt! But I suppose the farm will go on ju

as smoking lo

pen the place will be

or they may be given th

now, an' 'e ai

ed with the superior air of one far above all thing

There's

s looked at

e ground with the end of his walking-stick, "seems to me to be a little un

ook the pipe from his mou

as made 'er legal. An' if 'e's done that it don't alter the muddle, 'cept in the eyes o' the law which can twist ye any way-f

nterested himself

hen when we die! I'm sorry! Farmer Jocelyn was not a Churchman-no!-a regrettable circumstance!-still, I'

" chorussed h

l, well! I'll just go u

ny service, o

e men smi

be you are a-goin' to Briar Farm, Mr. Medwin!" he said-"Why

wanted." He paused, impressively,-conscious that he had "scored." "But now that trouble has vi

composed and serious demeanour. The men who had spoke

to the Farm?"

A

lared a young, rough-featured fellow in a smock-"anythi

r discussed the possibilities of emigrating to Canada or New Zealand, for-"there'll be no more farm work worth doin' round

s empty. The sunlight swept in broad slanting rays over the brilliant flower-beds which were now at their gayest and best,-the doves lay sleeping on the roofs of sheds and barns a

inute or two a maid answered the summons-her eyes were red with weeping

he enquired, softly-"I have

lied the maid, tremulously-"at least I d

win, soothingly-"I quite understand!

he interior darkness of the

id you wish to speak to me? This i

there was a strained look in his eyes of unshed tea

dly! So sudden a shock too!-I-I thought that perhaps Miss Jocelyn-a you

moment. The consolations of the Church! Woul

aid at last, abruptly-

ll her true history. He could not help being impressed by its old-world peace and beauty, furnished as it was in perfect taste, with its window-outlook on a paradise of happy flowers rejoicing

ed the clergyman, who was something of a collector-"If the pla

owners during three hundred years. And then he started, as the door opened slowly and softly and a girl stood before him, looking more like a spirit than a mortal, clad in a plain

ou to come," she

r home surroundings, and he had hardly noticed her at all when he had by chance met her in her rare walks through the

bereavement," he began, at last, in a

d at him

ally grieved-yes, I am sure you would. He was such a good man!-one of the best in all the world! I'm glad you have

olation to a sort of uneducated child or farm-girl, nervous, trembling and tearful,-instead of this he found a woman whose grief was too deep and

s beautiful world. But with Dad it is different. He was afraid-afraid of suffering and weakness-and he was taken so quickly that he could hardly have felt anything-so that his fears were all

murmured something about

sorbed in her own mental problem

d. Even Hero, our mastiff, does not believe it, for he has stayed all morning by the bedside and no one dare touch him to take him away. And just now Priscilla has been with me, crying very much-and she says I must not grieve,-because Dad is gone to a better world. Then surely he must be alive if he is able to go anywhe

moved again. He

afraid, my poor child, that you have been

led a "poor child"-and she gave

because I have never been taught religion from a Church. I have read about the Virgin and Christ and the Saints and all those pretty legends in the bo

her in blank bewilder

on, heedless of

e heard him say that God managed the farm and made it what it

interrupted her with

A dreadful thing!-a shocking attitu

d straigh

mean," she said-"He

his shallow brown eyes searchingly upon her

ur overspread h

There was never a stain on his character-though he allowed people

, waiting for

will be able to judge him better and spare his memory from foolish an

incredulity. "Adopted" is a phrase often

to live. After that Dad made up his mind that I must learn all the truth of myself-oh!-what a terrible truth it was!-I thought my heart would break! It was so strange-so cruel! I had

grasp the bearings of this new aspect of the situation thus presented to him, but could no

, at last-"Did he give you no clue

shook h

was just a little baby-and asked shelter for me, promising to come and fetch me in the morning-but he n

rs rose to her eye

ng things a little because I do want you to understand that Dad was really a good man though he did not go to C

man though

iss Jocelyn, t

ze with a sorr

. I have not eve

from his chai

that Farmer Jocelyn never attended to this imperative and sacred

unmoved by

God-as Dad believed. I'm sorry I have not been baptis

ou poor unfortunate girl, it has made all the difference in the world! You are unregene

d at him

ay-and he had no idea what name to give me-except Innocent-which is a name I suppose no girl ever had before. He used to get money from time to time in registered envelopes, bearing different foreign postmarks-an

nfidel!" declared

eyes regarded h

t it-he was only just a little afraid-and that was perfectly natural. We're all a little afraid, you know-though we pretend we're not-none of us like the idea of leaving this lovely world and the sunshine for ever. Even Hamlet was afraid,-Shakespeare makes him say

he girl's quiet demeanour that suggested a certain intellectual superiority

an be of any use-or consolation to you in the matters you have spoken of, which are quite outside my sc

e-less nobody, and have no right in this house at all. I'm sorry if I have vexed or troubled you-but as you called I thought it was right to tell you

brows and looked

ing Briar Far

have no rig

fford turni

pt round the girl's pr

It is my own wish entirely. When Dad was alive there was something for me to do in taking care of him

er to her had completely changed from the politely patron

yes to his fat,

a lady's maid, I think, I can sew very wel

d between a co

aptise

my soul is not clean, as you say, no one

simple way of putting

to be instructed for some weeks before you could be considered fit and worthy. Then,-you tell me you have no name!-Innocent is n

loured

f that," she sai

tleman took up his hat to go. "The whole business is very perplexing and difficult. However, I will see what can be

e been very happy till now-and I am gratef

garden which she herself had tended for so long-and she saw the clergyman's por

o offer up a prayer with you for the soul of the departed and for your own soul-but the sad fact of your being unbaptised plac

, quietly-and without fu

ave, gay colouring when death was in the house, and the aching sense of loss and sorrow weighted the air as with darkness. A glitter of white wings flashed before her eyes, and her dove

een washed clean!-and all your sins are on your head! Yes, Cupid!-we are very much alike!-for I don't suppose you k

ch into the garden and hurriedly interrupt the advance of a woman who just then pushed open the outer gate-a slatternly-looking crea

yn's dead!-who'd a' thought it! But I'd 'ave 'ad a bone to pick with 'im this mornin'

that had elapsed since Hugo Jocelyn's death, there had been a secret anxiety in her mind concerning Ned Landon and the various po

to be left in the ditch, with a man tumbling ye off his horse an' ridin' awa

out in sharp accents of surprise-"Ne

night and takes ship from Southampton to-day. And why? Because Farmer Joce

d Clifford-"My Uncle Hugo ga

cept a five-pun' note which he sends to me to 'keep me goin',' he says. Like his ch

d apprehensively a

aid-"don't t

old man has paid 'im to go away an' 'old his tongue! So it's all YOUR fault, after all, that I'm left with the kid to rub along anyhow;-he might ave married me in a while, if he'd stayed. I'm only Jenny o' M

quick strid

said, fiercely-"How dare yo

half choke

laughed-then snapped h

re I come here? Why, because your old uncle is stiff an' cold an' can't speak no more-an' no one would know what 'ad become o'

or rather slouch, out of the garden. He went

ord about Miss Jo

, Mr. Robin Clifford"-and she confronted him, with arms akimbo-"you're not a Jocelyn neither!-there's not a Jocelyn left o' the old stock-they're all finished with the one lyin' dead upstairs yonder-and I'll tell ye

e had been guilty of in telling his uncle about the fight between him and Landon-for he saw now that the old man had secretly worried over the possible harm that might be done to Innocent through Landon's knowledge of her re

tal of the last of the Jocelyns-"What a mistake you have made! You meant so well!-you thought you were doing a wise thing in sending Landon away-an

wiftly round and confronted Innocent-she stood like a little f

d, softly-"Don't worr

d down u

hea

Jenny of the Mill-Dykes-I know her by sight, but not to speak to-Pr

indeed! She is-Well!-I mus

she has a little child. I understood that too. And she knows everything about me-and about that night

a dirty spy in hiding

"but it can't be helped now. Poor darling Dad! He parted with all that money

ll slowly like bright raindrops on th

bear to see you weeping. All the tears in the world won't bring him back to us here,-but we can do our best to please him still, so that if his spirit has ever been troubl

ey went together side by side into the

t shall be!" answered Robin, fierc

ave and piteous appeal which smote him to the

-only through your uncle's kindness and yours. And now things have happened so cruelly for me that I am supposed to be to you-what I am not,"-and the deep colour flushed her cheeks and brow. "I have somehow-through no fault of my own-lost my name!-though I had no name to lose-except Innoc

noc

ng protest. They were in the oak parlour together, and

must let me go, Robin!-just as I have let my dov