CHAPTER V
As early as six o'clock the next morning Innocent was up and dressed,and, hastening down to the kitchen, busied herself, as was her usualdaily custom, in assisting Priscilla with the housework and thepreparation for breakfast. There was always plenty to do, and as shemoved quickly to and fro, fulfilling the various duties she had takenupon herself and which she performed with unobtrusive care andexactitude, the melancholy forebodings of the past night partiallycleared away from her mind. Yet there was a new expression on herface--one of sadness and seriousness unfamiliar to its almostchild-like features, and it was not easy for her to smile in herordinary bright way at the round of scolding which Priscillaadministered every morning to the maids who swept and scrubbed anddusted and scoured the kitchen till no speck of dirt was anywherevisible, till the copper shone like mirrors, and the tables were nearlyas smooth as polished silver or ivory. Going into the dairy where pansof new milk stood ready for skimming, and looking out for a momentthrough the lattice window, she saw old Hugo Jocelyn and Robin Cliffordwalking together across the garden, engaged in close and earnestconversation. A little sigh escaped her as she thought: "They aretalking about me!"--then, on a sudden impulse, she went back into thekitchen where Priscilla was for the moment alone, the other servantshaving dispersed into various quarters of the house, and going straightup to her said, simply--
"Priscilla dear, why did you never tell me that I wasn't Dad's owndaughter?"
Priscilla started violently, and her always red face turnedredder,--then, with an effort to recover herself, she answered--
"Lord, lovey! How you frightened me! Why didn't I tell you? Well, inthe first place, 'twasn't none of my business, and in the second,'twouldn't have done any good if I had."
Innocent was silent, looking at her with a piteous intensity.
"And who is it that's told you now?" went on Priscilla,nervously--"some meddlin' old fool--"
Innocent raised her hand, warningly.
"Hush, Priscilla! Dad himself told me--"
"Well, he might just as well have kept a still tongue in his head,"retorted Priscilla, sharply. "He's kept it for eighteen years, an' whyhe should let it go wagging loose now, the Lord only knows! There's nomaking out the ways of men,--they first plays the wise and silent gamelike barn-door owls,--then all on a suddint-like they starts cawinggossip for all they're worth, like crows. And what's the good oftellin' ye, anyway?"
"No good, perhaps," answered Innocent, sorrowfully--"but it's right Ishould know. You see, I'm not a child any more--I'm eighteen--that's awoman--and a woman ought to know what she must expect more or less inher life--"
Priscilla leaned on the newly scrubbed kitchen table and looked acrossat the girl with a compassionate expression.
"What a woman must expect in life is good 'ard knocks and blows," shesaid--"unless she can get a man to look arter her what's not of thegeneral kicking spirit. Take my advice, dearie! You marry Mr.Robin!--as good a boy as ever breathed--he'll be a kind fond 'usband toye, and arter all that's what a woman thrives best on--kindness--an'you've 'ad it all your life up to now--"
"Priscilla," interrupted Innocent, decidedly--"I cannot marry Robin!You know I cannot! A poor nameless girl like me!--why, it would be ashame to him in after-years. Besides, I don't love him--and it'swicked to marry a man you don't love."
Priscilla smothered a sound between a grunt and a sigh.
"You talks a lot about love, child," she said--"but I'm thinkin' youdon't know much about it. Them old books an' papers you found up in thesecret room are full of nonsense, I'm pretty sure--an' if you believesthat men are always sighin' an' dyin' for a woman, you'remistaken--yes, you are, lovey! They goes where they can be made mostcomfortable--an' it don't matter what sort o' woman gives the comfortso long as they gits it."
Innocent smiled, faintly.
"You don't know anything about it, Priscilla," she answered--"You werenever married."
"Thank the Lord and His goodness, no!" said Priscilla, with an emphaticsniff--"I've never been troubled with the whimsies of a man, which isworse than all the megrims of a woman any day. I've looked arter Mr.Jocelyn in a way--but he's no sort of a man to worry about--he justgoes reglar to the farmin'--an' that's all--a decent creature always,an' steady as his own oxen what pulls the plough. An' when he's gone,if go he must, I'll look arter you an' Mr. Robin, an' please God, I'lldance your babies on my old knees--" Here she broke off and turned herhead away. Innocent ran to her, surprised.
"Why, Priscilla, you're crying!" she exclaimed--"Don't do that! Whyshould you cry?"
"Why indeed!" blubbered Priscilla--"Except that I'm a doiterin' fool! Ican't abear the thoughts of you turnin' yer back on the good that Godgives ye, an' floutin' Mr. Robin, who's the best sort o' man that evercould fall to the lot of a little tender maid like you--why, lovey, youdon't know the wickedness o' this world, nor the ways of it--an' youtalks about love as if it was somethin' wonderful an' far away, whenhere it is at yer very feet for the pickin' up! What's the good of allthey books ye've bin readin' if they don't teach ye that the old knightyou're fond of got so weary of the world that arter tryin' everythin'in turn he found nothin' better than to marry a plain, straight countrywench and settle down in Briar Farm for all his days? Ain't that thelesson he's taught ye?"
She paused, looking hopefully at the girl through her tears--butInnocent's small fair face was pale and calm, though her eyes shonewith a brilliancy as of suppressed excitement.
"No," she said--"He has not taught me that at all. He came here to'seek forgetfulness'--so it is said in the words he carved on the panelin his study,--but we do not know that he ever really forgot. He only'found peace,' and peace is not happiness--except for the very old."
"Peace is not happiness!" re-echoed Priscilla, staring--"That's a queerthing to say, lovey! What do you call being happy?"
"It is difficult to explain"--and a swift warm colour flew over thegirl's cheeks, expressing some wave of hidden feeling--"Your idea ofhappiness and mine must be so different!" She smiled--"Dear, goodPriscilla! You are so much more easily contented than I am!"
Priscilla looked at her with a great tenderness in her dim old greyeyes.
"See here, lovey!" she said--"You're just like a young bird on the edgeof a nest ready to fly. You don't know the world nor the ways of it.Oh, my dear, it ain't all gold harvests and apples ripening rosy in thesun! You've lived all your life in the open country, and so you'vealways had the good God near you,--but there's places where the housesstand so close together that the sky can hardly make a patch of bluebetween the smoking chimneys--like London, for instance--ah!--that'swhere you'd find what the world's like, lovey!--where you feels solonesome that you wonders why you ever were born--"
"I wonder that already," interrupted the girl, quickly. "Don't worryme, dear! I have so much to think about--my life seems so altered andstrange--I hardly understand myself--and I don't know what I shall dowith my future--but I cannot--I will not marry Robin!"
She turned away quickly then, to avoid further discussion.
A little later she went into the quaint oak-panelled room where thefateful disclosures of the past night had been revealed to her. Herebreakfast was laid, and the latticed window was set wide open,admitting the sweet scent of stocks and mignonette with every breath ofthe morning air. She stood awhile looking out on the gay beauty of thegarden, and her eyes unconsciously filled with tears.
"Dear home!" she murmured--"Home that is not mine--that never will bemine! How I have loved you!--how I shall always love you!"
A slow step behind her interrupted her meditations--and she lookedaround with a smile as timid as it was tender. There was her "Dad"--thesame as ever,--yet now to her mind so far removed from her that shehesitated a moment before giving him her customary good-morninggreeting. A pained contraction of his brow showed her that he felt thislittle difference, and she hastened to make instant amends.
"Dear Dad!" she said, softly,--and she put her soft arms about him andkis
sed his cheek--"How are you this morning? Did you sleep well?"
He took her arms from his shoulders, and held her for a moment, lookingat her scrutinisingly from under his shaggy brows.
"I did not sleep at all," he answered her--"I lay broad awake, thinkingof you. Thinking of you, my little innocent, fatherless, motherlesslamb! And you, child!--you did not sleep so well as you should havedone, talking with Robin half the night out of window!"
She coloured deeply. He smiled and pinched her crimsoning cheek,apparently well pleased.
"No harm, no harm!" he said--"Just two young doves cooing among theleaves at mating time! Robin has told me all about it. Now listen,child!--I'm away to-day to the market town--there's seed to buy andcrops to sell--I'll take Ned Landon with me--" he paused, and an oddexpression of sternness and resolve clouded his features--"Yes!--I'lltake Ned Landon with me--he's shrewd enough when he's sober--and he'scunning enough, too, for that matter!--yes, I'll take him with me.We'll be off in the dog-cart as soon as breakfast's done. My time'sgetting short, but I'll attend to my own business as long as Ican--I'll look after Briar Farm till I die--and I'll die in harness.There's plenty of work to do yet--plenty of work; and while I'm awayyou can settle up things--"
Here he broke off, and his eyes grew fixed in a sudden vacant stare.Innocent, frightened at his unnatural look, laid her hand caressinglyon his arm.
"Yes, dear Dad!" she said, soothingly--"What is it you wish me to do?"
The stare faded from his eyeballs, and his face softened.
"Settle up things," he repeated, slowly, and with emphasis--"Settle upthings with Robin. No more beating about the bush! You talked to himlong enough out of window last night, and mind you!--somebody waslistening! That means mischief! _I_ don't blame you, poor wilding!--butremember, SOMEBODY WAS LISTENING! Now think of that and of your goodname, child!--settle with Robin and we'll have the banns put up nextSunday."
While he thus spoke the warm rose of her cheeks faded to an extremepallor,--her very lips grew white and set. Her hurrying thoughtsclamoured for utterance,--she could have expressed in passionate termsher own bitter sense of wrong and unmerited shame, but pity for the oldman's worn and haggard look of pain held her silent. She saw and feltthat he was not strong enough to bear any argument or opposition in hispresent mood, so she made no sort of reply, not even by a look or asmile. Quietly she went to the breakfast table, and busied herself inpreparing his morning meal. He followed her and sat heavily down in hisusual chair, watching her furtively as she poured out the tea.
"Such little white hands, aren't they?" he said, coaxingly, touchingher small fingers when she gave him his cup--"Eh, wilding? Theprettiest lily flowers I ever saw! And one of them will look all theprettier for a gold wedding-ring upon it! Ay, ay! We'll have the bannsput up on Sunday."
Still she did not speak; once she turned away her head to hide thetears that involuntarily rose to her eyes. Old Hugo, meanwhile, beganto eat his breakfast with the nervous haste of a man who takes his foodmore out of custom than necessity. Presently he became irritated at hercontinued silence.
"You heard what I said, didn't you?" he demanded--"And you understood?"
She looked full at him with sorrowful, earnest eyes.
"Yes, Dad. I heard. And I understood."
He nodded and smiled, and appeared to take it for granted that she hadreceived an order which it was her bounden duty to obey. The sun shonebrilliantly in upon the beautiful old room, and through the open windowcame a pleasant murmuring of bees among the mignonette, and the whistleof a thrush in an elm-tree sounded with clear and cheerful persistence.Hugo Jocelyn looked at the fair view of the flowering garden and drewhis breath hard in a quick sigh.
"It's a fine day," he said--"and it's a fine world! Ay, that it is! I'mnot sure there's a better anywhere! And it's a bit difficult to thinkof going down for ever into the dark and the cold, away from thesunshine and the sky--but it's got to be done!"--here he clenched hisfist and brought it down on the table with a defiant blow--"It's got tobe done, and I've got to do it! But not yet--not quite yet!--I'veplenty of time and chance to stop mischief!"
He rose, and drawing himself up to his full height looked for themoment strong and resolute. Taking one or two slow turns up and downthe room, he suddenly stopped in front of Innocent.
"We shall be away all day," he said--"I and Ned Landon. Do you hear?"
There was something not quite natural in the tone of his voice, and sheglanced up at him in a little surprise.
"Well, what are you wondering at?" he demanded, a trifle testily--"Youneed not open your eyes at me like that!"
She smiled faintly.
"Did I open my eyes, Dad?" she said--"I did not mean to be curious. Ionly thought--"
"You only thought what?" he asked, with sudden heat--"What did youthink?"
"Oh, just about your being away all day in the town--you will be sotired--"
"Tired? Not I!--not when there's work to do and business to settle!" Herubbed his hands together with a kind of energetic expectancy. "Work todo and business to settle!" he repeated--"Yes, little girl! There's notmuch time before me, and I must leave everything in good order for youand Robin."
She dropped her head, and the expression of her face was hidden fromhim.
"You and Robin!" he said, again. "Ay, ay! Briar Farm will be in thebest of care when I'm dead, and it'll thrive well with young love andhope to keep it going!" He came up to her and took one of her littlehands in his own. "There, there!" he went on, patting it gently--"We'llthink no more of trouble and folly and mistakes in life; it'll be alljoy and peace for you, child! Take God's good blessing of an honestlad's love and be happy with it! And when I come home to-night,"--hepaused and appeared to think for a moment--"yes!--when I come home, letme hear that it's all clear and straight between you--and we'll havethe banns put up on Sunday!"
She said not a word in answer. Her hand slid passively from hishold,--and she never looked up. He hesitated for a moment--then walkedtowards the door.
"You'll have all the day to yourself with Robin," he added, glancingback at her--"There'll be no spies about the place, and no onelistening, as there was last night!"
She sprang up from her chair, moved at last by an impulse ofindignation.
"Who was it?" she asked--"I said nothing wrong--and I do not care!--butwho was it?"
A curious strained look came into old Hugo's eyes as he answered--
"Ned Landon."
She looked amazed,--then scared.
"Ned Landon?"
"Ay! Ned Landon. He hasn't the sweetest of tempers and he isn't alwayssober. He's a bit in the way sometimes,--ay, ay!--a bit in the way! Buthe's a good farm hand for all that,--and his word stands for something!I'd rather he hadn't heard you and Robin talking last night--but what'sdone is done, and it's a mischief easy mended--"
"Why, what mischief can there be?" the girl demanded, her colour comingand going quickly--"And why should he have listened? It's a mean trickto spy upon others!"
He smiled indulgently.
"Of course it's a mean trick, child!--but there's a good many men--andwomen too--who are just made up of mean tricks and nothing more. Theyspend their lives in spying upon their neighbours and interfering ineverybody's business. You'd soon find that out, my girl, if you livedin the big world that lies outside Briar Farm! Ay!--and that remindsme--" Here he came from the door back into the room again, and going toa quaint old upright oaken press that stood in one corner, he unlockedit and took out a roll of bank-notes. These he counted carefully overto himself, and folding them up put them away in his breast pocket."Now I'm ready!" he said--"Ready for all I've got to do! Good-bye, mywilding!" He approached her, and lifting her small face between hishands, kissed it tenderly. "Bless thee! No child of my own could bedearer than thou art! All I want now is to leave thee in safe andgentle keeping when I die. Think of this and be good to Robin!"
She trembled under his caress, and her heart was full of speechlesssorrow. She longe
d to yield to his wishes,--she knew that if she did soshe would give him happiness and greater resignation to the death whichconfronted him; and she also knew that if she could make up her mind tomarry Robin Clifford she would have the best and the tenderest ofhusbands. And Briar Farm,--the beloved old home--would be hers!--hervery own! Her children would inherit it and play about the fair andfruitful fields as she had done--they, too, could be taught to love thememory of the old knight, the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin--ah!--but surelyit was the spirit of the Sieur Amadis himself that held her back andprevented her from doing his name and memory grievous wrong! She wasnot of his blood or race--she was nameless and illegitimate,--no goodcould come of her engrafting herself like a weed upon a branch of theold noble stock--the farm would cease to prosper.
So she thought and so she felt, in her dreamy imaginative way, andthough she allowed old Hugo to leave her without vexing him by anydecided opposition to his plans, she was more than ever firmly resolvedto abide by her own interior sense of what was right and fitting. Sheheard the wheels of the dog-cart grating the gravel outside the gardengate, and an affectionate impulse moved her to go and see her "Dad"off. As she made her appearance under the rose-covered porch of thefarm-house door, she perceived Landon, who at once pulled off his capwith an elaborate and exaggerated show of respect.
"Good-morning, Miss Jocelyn!"
He emphasized the surname with a touch of malice. She coloured, butreplied "Good-morning" with a sweet composure. He eyed her askance, buthad no opportunity for more words, as old Hugo just then clambered upinto the dog-cart, and took the reins of the rather skittish young marewhich was harnessed to it.
"Come on, Landon!" he shouted, impatiently--"No time for farewells!"Then, as Landon jumped up beside him, he smiled, seeing the soft,wistful face of the girl watching him from beneath a canopy of roses.
"Take care of the house while I'm gone!" he called to her;--"You'llfind Robin in the orchard."
He laid the lightest flick of the whip on the mare's ears, and shetrotted rapidly away.
Innocent stood a moment gazing after the retreating vehicle till itdisappeared,--then she went slowly into the house. Robin was in theorchard, was he? Well!--he had plenty of work to do there, and shewould not disturb him. She turned away from the sunshine and flowersand made her way upstairs to her own room. How quiet and reposeful itlooked! It was a beloved shrine, full of sweet memories anddreams,--there would never be any room like it in the world for her,she well knew. Listlessly she sat down at the table, and turned overthe pages of an old book she had been reading, but her eyes were notupon it.
"I wonder!" she said, half aloud--then paused.
The thought in her mind was too daring for utterance. She was picturingthe possibility of going quietly away from Briar Farm all alone, andtrying to make a name and career for herself through the one naturalgift she fancied she might possess, a gift which nowadays is consideredalmost as common as it was once admired and rare. To be a poet andromancist,--a weaver of wonderful thoughts into musical language,--thisseemed to her the highest of all attainment; the proudest emperor ofthe most powerful nation on earth was, to her mind, far less thanShakespeare,--and inferior to the simplest French lyrist of old timethat ever wrote a "chanson d'amour." But the doubt in her mind waswhether she, personally, had any thoughts worth expressing,--any ideaswhich the world might be the happier or the better for knowing andsharing? She drew a long breath,--the warm colour flushed her cheeksand then faded, leaving her very pale,--the whole outlook of her lifewas so barren of hope or promise that she dared not indulge in anydream of brighter days. On the face of it, there seemed no possiblechance of leaving Briar Farm without some outside assistance--she hadno money, and no means of obtaining any. Then,--even supposing shecould get to London, she knew no one there,--she had no friends.Sighing wearily, she opened a deep drawer in the table at which shesat, and took out a manuscript--every page of it so neatly written asto be almost like copper-plate--and set herself to reading it steadily.There were enough written sheets to make a good-sized printedvolume--and she read on for more than an hour. When she lifted her eyesat last they were eager and luminous.
"Perhaps," she half whispered--"perhaps there is something in it afterall!--something just a little new and out of the ordinary--but--howshall I ever know!"
Putting the manuscript by with a lingering care, she went to the windowand looked out. The peaceful scene was dear and familiar--and shealready felt a premonition of the pain she would have to endure inleaving so sweet and safe a home. Her thoughts gradually recurred tothe old trouble--Robin, and Robin's love for her,--Robin, who, if shemarried him, would spend his life gladly in the effort to make herhappy,--where in the wide world would she find a better, truer-heartedman? And yet--a curious reluctance had held her back from him, evenwhen she had believed herself to be the actual daughter of HugoJocelyn,--and now--now, when she knew she was nothing but a strayfoundling, deserted by her own parents and left to the care ofstrangers, she considered it would be nothing short of shame anddisgrace to him, were she to become his wife.
"I can always be his friend," she said to herself--"And if I once makehim understand clearly how much better it is for us to be like brotherand sister, he will see things in the right way. And when he marries Iam sure to be fond of his wife and children--and--and--it will be everso much happier for us all! I'll go and talk to him now."
She ran downstairs and out across the garden, and presently made asudden appearance in the orchard--a little vision of white among therusset-coloured trees with their burden of reddening apples. Robin wasthere alone--he was busied in putting up a sturdy prop under one of thelonger branches of a tree heavily laden with fruit. He saw her andsmiled--but went on with his work.
"Are you very busy?" she asked, approaching him almost timidly.
"Just now, yes! In a moment, no! We shall lose this big bough in thenext high wind if I don't take care."
She waited--watching the strength and dexterity of his hands and arms,and the movements of his light muscular figure. In a little while hehad finished all he had to do--and turning to her said, laughingly--
"Now I am at your service! You look very serious!--grave as a littlejudge, and quite reproachful! What have I done?--or what has anybodydone that you should almost frown at me on this bright sun-shinymorning?"
She smiled in response to his gay, questioning look.
"I'm sorry I have such a depressing aspect," she said--"I don't feelvery happy, and I suppose my face shows it."
He was silent for a minute or two, watching her with a grave tendernessin his eyes.
By and by he spoke, gently--
"Come and stroll about a bit with me through the orchard,--it willcheer you to see the apples hanging in such rosy clusters among thegrey-green leaves. Nothing prettier in all the world, I think!--andthey are just ripening enough to be fragrant. Come, dear! Let us talkour troubles out!"
She walked by his side, mutely--and they moved slowly together underthe warm scented boughs, through which the sunlight fell in broadstreams of gold, making the interlacing shadows darker by contrast.There was a painful throbbing in her throat,--the tension of strugglingtears which strove for an outlet,--but gradually the sweet influencesof the air and sunshine did good work in calming her nerves, and shewas quite composed when Robin spoke again.
"You see, dear, I know quite well what is worrying you. I'm worriedmyself--and I'd better tell you all about it. Last night--" he paused.
She looked up at him, quickly.
"Last night?--Well?"
"Well--Ned Landon was in hiding in the bushes under your window--and hemust have been there all the time we were talking together. How or whyhe came there I cannot imagine. But he heard a good deal--and when youshut your window he was waiting for me. Directly I got down he pouncedon me like a tramp-thief, and--now there!--don't look sofrightened!--he said something that I couldn't stand, so we had a jollygood fight. He got the worst of it, I can tell you! He's stiff andunfit t
o work to-day--that's why Uncle Hugo has taken him to the town.I told the whole story to Uncle Hugo this morning--and he says I didquite right. But it's a bore to have to go on 'bossing' Landon--hebears me a grudge, of course--and I foresee it will be difficult tomanage him. He can hardly be dismissed--the other hands would want toknow why; no man has ever been dismissed from Briar Farm without goodand fully explained reasons. This time no reasons could be given,because your name might come in, and I won't have that--"
"Oh, Robin, it's all my fault!" she exclaimed. "If you would only letme go away! Help me--do help me to go away!"
He stared at her, amazed.
"Go away!" he echoed--"You! Why, Innocent, how can you think of such athing! You are the very life and soul of the place--how can you talk ofgoing away! No, no!--not unless"--here he drew nearer and looked at hersteadily and tenderly in the eyes--"not unless you will let me take youaway!--just for a little while!--as a bridegroom takes a bride--on ahoneymoon of love and sunshine and roses--"
He stopped, deterred by her look of sadness.
"Dear Robin," she said, very gently--"would you marry a girl who cannotlove you as a wife should love? Won't you understand that if I couldand did love you I should be happier than I am?--though now, even if Iloved you with all my heart, I would not marry you. How could I? I amnothing--I have no name--no family--and can you think that I wouldbring shame upon you? No, Robin!--never! I know what your Uncle Hugowishes--and oh!--if I could only make him happy I would do it!--but Icannot--it would be wrong of me--and you would regret it--"
"I should never regret it," he interrupted her, quickly. "If you wouldbe my wife, Innocent, I should be the proudest, gladdest man alive! Ah,dear!--do put all your fancies aside and try to realise what good youwould be doing to the old man if he felt quite certain that you wouldbe the little mistress of the old farm he loves so much--I will notspeak of myself--you do not care for me!--but for him--"
She looked up at him with a sudden light in her eyes.
"Could we not pretend?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, pretend that we're engaged--just to satisfy him. Couldn't youmake things easy for me that way?"
"I don't quite understand," he said, with a puzzled air--"How would itmake things easy?"
"Why, don't you see?" and she spoke with hurried eagerness--"When hecomes home to-night let him think it's all right--and then--then I'llrun away by myself--and it will be my fault--"
"Innocent! What are you talking about?"--and he flushed with vexation."My dear girl, if you dislike me so much that you would rather run awaythan marry me, I won't say another word about it. I'll manage to smooththings over with my uncle for the present--just to prevent his frettinghimself--and you shall not be worried--"
"You must not be worried either," she said. "You will not understand,and you do not think!--but just suppose it possible that, after all, myown parents did remember me at last and came to look after me--and thatthey were perhaps dreadful wicked people--"
Robin smiled.
"The man who brought you here was a gentleman," he said--"Uncle Hugotold me so this morning, and said he was the finest-looking man he hadever seen."
Innocent was silent a moment.
"You think he was a 'gentleman' to desert his own child?" she asked.
Robin hesitated.
"Dear, you don't know the world," he said--"There may have been allsorts of dangers and difficulties--anyhow, _I_ don't bear him anygrudge! He gave you to Briar Farm!"
She sighed, and made no response. Inadvertently they had walked beyondthe orchard and were now on the very edge of the little thicket wherethe tomb of the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin glimmered pallidly through theshadow of the leaves. Innocent quickened her steps.
"Come!" she said.
He followed her reluctantly. Almost he hated the old stone knight whichserved her as a subject for so many fancies and feelings, and when shebeckoned him to the spot where she stood beside the recumbent effigy,he showed a certain irritation of manner which did not escape her.
"You are cross with him!" she said, reproachfully. "You must not be so.He is the founder of your family--"
"And the finish of it, I suppose!" he answered, abruptly. "He standsbetween us two, Innocent!--a cold stone creature with no heart--and youprefer him to me! Oh, the folly of it all! How can you be so cruel!"
She looked at him wistfully--almost her resolution failed her. He sawher momentary hesitation and came close up to her.
"You do not know what love is!" he said, catching her hand in hisown--"Innocent, you do not know! If you did!--if I might teach you--!"
She drew her hand away very quickly and decidedly.
"Love does not want teaching," she said--"it comes--when it will, andwhere it will! It has not come to me, and you cannot force it, Robin!If I were your wife--your wife without any wife's love for you--Ishould grow to hate Briar Farm!--yes, I should!--I should pine and diein the very place where I have been so happy!--and I should feel thatHE"--here she pointed to the sculptured Sieur Amadis--"would almostrise from this tomb and curse me!"
She spoke with sudden, almost dramatic vehemence, and he gazed at herin mute amazement. Her eyes flashed, and her face was lit up by a glowof inspiration and resolve.
"You take me just for the ordinary sort of girl," she went on--"A girlto caress and fondle and marry and make the mother of yourchildren,--now for that you might choose among the girls about here,any of whom would be glad to have you for a husband. But, Robin, do youthink I am really fit for that sort of life always?--can't you believein anything else but marriage for a woman?"
As she thus spoke, she unconsciously created a new impression on hismind,--a veil seemed to be suddenly lifted, and he saw her as he hadnever before seen her--a creature removed, isolated and unattainablethrough the force of some inceptive intellectual quality which he hadnot previously suspected. He answered her, very gently--
"Dear, I cannot believe in anything else but love for a woman," hesaid--"She was created and intended for love, and without love she mustsurely be unhappy."
"Love!--ah yes!" she responded, quickly--"But marriage is not love!"
His brows contracted.
"You must not speak in that way, Innocent," he said, seriously--"It iswrong--people would misunderstand you--"
Her eyes lightened, and she smiled.
"Yes!--I'm sure 'people' would!" she answered--"But 'people' don'tmatter--to ME. It is truth that matters,--truth,--and love!"
He looked at her, perplexed.
"Why should you think marriage is not love?" he asked--"It is the onething all lovers wish for--to be married and to live together always--"
"Oh, they wish for it, yes, poor things!" she said, with a littleuplifting of her brows--"And when their wishes are gratified, theyoften wish they had not wished!" She laughed. "Robin, this talk of oursis making me feel quite merry! I am amused!"
"I am not!" he replied, irritably--"You are much too young a girl tothink these things--"
She nodded, gravely.
"I know! And I ought to get married while young, before I learn toomany of 'these things,'" she said--"Isn't that so? Don't frown, Robin!Look at the Sieur Amadis! How peacefully he sleeps! He knew all aboutlove!"
"Of course he did!" retorted Robin--"He was a perfectly sensibleman--he married and had six children."
Innocent nodded again, and a little smile made two fascinating dimplesin her soft cheeks.
"Yes! But he said good-bye to love first!"
He looked at her in visible annoyance.
"How can you tell?--what do you know about it?" he demanded.
She lifted her eyes to the glimpses of blue sky that showed in deepclear purity between the over-arching boughs,--a shaft of sunlightstruck on her fair hair and illumined its pale brown to gold, so thatfor a moment she looked like the picture of a young rapt saint, lost inheavenly musing.
Then a smile, wonderfully sweet and provocative, parted her lips, andshe beckoned
him to a grassy slope beneath one of the oldest trees,where little tufts of wild thyme grew thickly, filling the air withfragrance.
"Come and sit beside me here," she said--"We have the day toourselves--Dad said so,--and we can talk as long as we like. You ask mewhat I know?--not much indeed! But I'll tell you what the Sieur Amadishas told me!--if you care to hear it!"
"I'm not sure that I do," he answered, dubiously.
She laughed.
"Oh, Robin!--how ungrateful you are! You ought to be so pleased! If youreally loved me as much as you say, the mere sound of my voice ought tofill you with ecstasy! Yes, really! Come, be good!" And she sat down onthe grass, glancing up at him invitingly. He flung himself beside her,and she extended her little white hand to him with a prettycondescension.
"There!--you may hold it!" she said, as he eagerly clasped it--"Yes,you may! Now, if the Sieur Amadis had been allowed to hold the hand ofthe lady he loved he would have gone mad with joy!"
"Much good he'd have done by going mad!" growled Robin, with anaffectation of ill-humour--"I'd rather be sane,--sane and normal."
She bent her smiling eyes upon him.
"Would you? Poor Robin! Well, you will be--when you settle down--"
"Settle down?" he echoed--"How? What do you mean?"
"Why, when you settle down with a wife, and--shall we say sixchildren?" she queried, merrily--"Yes, I think it must be six! Like theSieur Amadis! And when you forget that you ever sat with me under thetrees, holding my hand--so!"
The lovely, half-laughing compassion of her look nearly upset hisself-possession. He drew closer to her side.
"Innocent!" he exclaimed, passionately--"if you would only listen toreason--"
She shook her head.
"I never could!" she declared, with an odd little air of penitentself-depreciation--"People who ask you to listen to reason are alwaysso desperately dull! Even Priscilla!--when she asks you to 'listen toreason,' she's in the worst of tempers! Besides, Robin, dear, we shallhave plenty of chances to 'listen to reason' when we grow older,--we'reboth young just now, and a little folly won't hurt us. Have patiencewith me!--I want to tell you some quite unreasonable--quite abnormalthings about love! May I?"
"Yes--if _I_ may too!" he answered, kissing the hand he held, withlingering tenderness.
The soft colour flew over her cheeks,--she smiled.
"Poor Robin!" she said--"You deserve to be happy and you will be!--notwith me, but with some one much better, and ever so much prettier! Ican see you as the master of Briar Farm--such a sweet home for you andyour wife, and all your little children running about in the fieldsamong the buttercups and daisies--a pretty sight, Robin!--I shall thinkof it often when--when I am far away!"
He was about to utter a protest,--she stopped him by a gesture.
"Hush!" she said.
And there was a moment's silence.