CHAPTER IX
No more impressive scene was ever witnessed in a country village thanthe funeral of "the last of the Jocelyns,"--impressive in itssolemnity, simplicity and lack of needless ceremonial. The coffin,containing all that was mortal of the sturdy, straightforward farmer,whose "old-world" ways of work and upright dealing with his men had forso long been the wonder and envy of the district, was placed in a lowwaggon and covered with a curiously wrought, handwoven purple clothembroidered with the arms of the French knight "Amadis de Jocelin,"tradition asserting that this cloth had served as a pall for every maleJocelyn since his time. The waggon was drawn by four glossy dark browncart-horses, each animal having known its master as a friend whose callit was accustomed to obey, following him wherever he went. On thecoffin itself was laid a simple wreath of the "Glory" roses gatheredfrom the porch and walls of Briar Farm, and offered, as pencilledfaintly on a little scroll--"With a life's love and sorrow fromInnocent." A long train of mourners, including labourers, farm-lads,shepherds, cowherds, stable-men and villagers generally, followed thecorpse to the grave,--Robin Clifford, as chief mourner and next-of-kinto the dead man, walking behind the waggon with head down-bent and aface on which intense grief had stamped such an impress as to make itlook far older than his years warranted. Groups of women stood about,watching the procession with hard eager eyes, and tongues held in checkfor a while, only to wag more vigorously than ever when the ceremonyshould be over. Innocent, dressed in deep black for the first time inher life, went by herself to the churchyard, avoiding the crowd--and,hidden away among concealing shadows, she heard the service and watchedall the proceedings dry-eyed and heart-stricken. She could not weep anymore--there seemed no tears left to relieve the weight of her burningbrain. Robin had tenderly urged her to walk with him in the funeralprocession, but she refused.
"How can I!--how dare I!" she said--"I am not his daughter--I amnothing! The cruel people here know it!--and they would only say mypresence was an insult to the dead. Yes!--they would--NOW! He lovedme!--and I loved him!--but nobody outside ourselves thinks about that,or cares. You would hardly believe it, but I have already been told howwicked it was of me to be dressed in white when the clergyman called tosee me the morning after Dad's death--well, I had no other colour towear till Priscilla got me this sad black gown--it made me shudder toput it on--it is like the darkness itself!--you know Dad always made mewear white--and I feel as if I were vexing him somehow by wearingblack. Oh, Robin, be kind!--you always are!--let me go by myself andwatch Dad put to rest where nobody can see me. For after they have laidhim down and left him, they will be talking!"
She was right enough in this surmise. Not one who saw Farmer Jocelyn'scoffin lowered into the grave failed to notice the wreath of "Glory"roses that went with it--"from Innocent";--and her name was whisperedfrom mouth to mouth with meaning looks and suggestive nods. And whenRobin, with tears thick in his eyes, flung the first handfuls of earthrattling down on the coffin lid, his heart ached to see the lovelyfragrant blossoms crushed under the heavy scattered mould, for itseemed to his foreboding mind that they were like the delicate thoughtsand fancies of the girl he loved being covered by the soiling mud ofthe world's cruelty and slander, and killed in the cold and darkness ofa sunless solitude.
All was over at last,--the final prayer was said--the final benedictionwas spoken, and the mourners gradually dispersed. The Reverend Mr.Medwin, assisted by his young curate, had performed the ceremony, andbefore retiring to the vestry to take off his surplice, he paused bythe newly-made grave to offer his hand and utter suitable condolencesto Robin Clifford.
"It is a great and trying change for you," he said. "I suppose"--thistentatively--"I suppose you will go on with the farm?"
"As long as I live," answered Clifford, looking him steadily in theface, "Briar Farm will be what it has always been."
Mr. Medwin gave him a little appreciative bow.
"We are very glad of that--very glad indeed!" he said--"Briar Farm is agreat feature--a very great feature!--indeed, one may say it is anhistorical possession. Something would be lacking in the neighbourhoodif it were not kept up to its old tradition and--er--reputation. Ithink we feel that--I think we feel it, do we not, Mr. Forwood?" hereturning to his curate with affable condescension.
Mark Forwood, a clever-looking young man with kind eyes and intelligentfeatures, looked at Robin sympathetically.
"I am quite sure," he said, "that Mr. Clifford will take as much pridein the fine old place as his uncle did--but is there not MissJocelyn?--the daughter will probably inherit the farm, will she not, asnearest of kin?"
Mr. Medwin coughed obtrusively--and Clifford felt the warm bloodrushing to his brows. Yet he resolved that the truth should be told,for the honour of the dead man's name.
"She is not my uncle's daughter," he said, quietly--"My uncle nevermarried. He adopted her when she was an infant--and she was as dear tohim as if she had been his own child. Of course she will be amplyprovided for--there can be no doubt of that."
Mr. Forwood raised his eyes and eyebrows together.
"You surprise me!" he murmured. "Then--there is no Miss Jocelyn?"
Again Robin coloured. But he answered, composedly--
"There is no Miss Jocelyn."
Mr. Medwin's cough here troubled him considerably, and though it was afine day, he expressed a mild fear that he was standing too long by theopen grave in his surplice--he, therefore, retired, his curatefollowing him,--whereupon the sexton, a well-known character in thevillage, approached to finish the sad task of committing "ashes toashes, dust to dust."
"Eh, Mr. Clifford," remarked this worthy, as he stuck his spade down inthe heaped-up earth and leaned upon it,--"it's a black day, forbye thesummer sun! I never thort I'd a' thrown the mouls on the last Jocelyn.For last he is, an' there'll never be another like 'im!"
"You're right there, Wixton," said Robin, sadly--"I know the place cannever be the same without him. I shall do my best--but--"
"Ay, ye'll do your best," agreed Wixton, with a foreboding shake of hisgrizzled head--"but you're not a Jocelyn, an' your best'll be but a badcrutch, though there's Jocelyn blood in ye by ye'r mother's side.Howsomever it's not the same as the male line, do what we will an' saywhat we like! It's not your fault, no, lad!"--this with a pityinglook--"an' no one's blamin' ye for what can't be 'elped--but it's not athing to be gotten over."
Robin's grave nod of acquiescence was more eloquent than speech.
Wixton dug his spade a little deeper into the pile of earth.
"If Farmer Jocelyn 'ad been a marryin' man, why, that would a' been theright thing," he went on--"He might a' had a fine strappin' son to comearter 'im, a real born-an'-bred Jocelyn--"
Robin listened with acute interest. Why did not Wixton mentionInnocent? Did he know she was not a Jocelyn? He waited, and Wixton wenton--
"But, ye see, 'e wouldn't have none o' that. An' he took the little gelas was left with 'im the night o' the great storm nigh eighteen yearsago that blew down three of our biggest elms in the church-yard--"
"Did you know?" exclaimed Clifford, eagerly--"Did you see--?"
"I saw a man on 'orseback ride up to Briar Farm, 'oldin' a baby infront o' him with one hand, and the reins in t'other--an' he came outfrom the farm without the baby. Then one mornin' when Farmer Jocelynwas a-walkin' with the baby in the fields I said to 'im,secret-like--'That ain't your child!' an' he sez--'Ow do you know itain't?' An' I sez--' Because I saw it come with a stranger'--an' helaughed an' said--'It may be mine for all that!' But I knew it worn't!A nice little girl she is too,--Miss Innocent--poor soul! I'm downrightsorry for 'er, for she ain't got many friends in this village."
"Why?" Robin asked, half mechanically.
"Why? Well, she's a bit too dainty--like in 'er ways for onething--then there's gels who are arter YOU, Mister Clifford!--ay, ay,ye know they are!--sharp 'ussies, all of 'em!--an' they can't abide'ER, for they thinks you're a-goin' to marry 'er!--Lord forgive me thatI should be chitterin' 'er
e about marryin' over a buryin'!--but that'sthe trouble--an' it's the trouble all the world over, wimmin wantin' aman, an' mad for their lives when they thinks another woman's arter'im! Eh, eh! We should all get along better if there worn't no wimminjealousies, but bein' men we've got to put up with 'em. Are ye goin'now, Mister?--Well, the Lord love ye an' comfort ye!--ye'll never meeta finer man this side the next world than the one I'm puttin' a coldquilt on!"
Silently Clifford turned away, heavy-hearted and lost in perplexedthought. What was best to be done for Innocent? This was the chiefquestion that presented itself to his mind. He could no longer deny thefact that her position was difficult--almost untenable. Nameless, andseemingly deserted by her kindred, if any such kindred still existed,she was absolutely alone in life, now that Hugo Jocelyn was no more. Ashe realised this to its fullest intensity, the deeper and morepassionate grew his love for her.
"If she would only marry me!" he said under his breath, as he walkedhome slowly from the church-yard--"It was Uncle Hugo's last wish!"
Then across his brain flashed the memory of Ned Landon and hismalignant intention--born of baffled desire and fierce jealousy--totarnish the fair name of the girl he coveted,--then, his uncle'squixotic and costly way of ridding himself of such an enemy at anyprice. He understood now old Jocelyn's talk of his "bargain" on thelast night of his life,-and what a futile bargain it was, afterall!--for was not Jenny of the Mill-Dykes fully informed of the reasonwhy the bargain was made?--and she, the vilest-tongued woman in thewhole neighbourhood, would take delight in spreading the story far andwide. Five Hundred Pounds paid down as "hush-money"!--so she wouldreport it--thus, even if he married Innocent it would be under theshadow of a slur and slander. What was wisest to do under thecircumstances he could not decide--and he entered the smiling garden ofBriar Farm with the saddest expression on his face that anyone had everseen there. Priscilla met him as he came towards the house.
"I thought ye'd never git here, Mister Robin," she said, anxiously--"Yehaven't forgot there's folks in the hall 'avin' their 'wake' feed an'they'll be wantin' to speak wi' ye presently. Mister Bayliss, which isye'r uncle's lawyer, 'e wants to see ye mighty partikler, an' thereain't no one to say nothin' to 'em, for the dear little Innocent, she'scome back from the cold churchyard like a little image o' marble, an'she's gone an' shut 'erself up in 'er own room, sayin' 'Ask MisterRobin to excuse me'--poor child!--she's fair wore out, that she is! An'you come into the big 'all where there's the meat and the wine laidout, for funeral folk eats more than weddin' folk, bein' longer aboutit an' a bit solemner in gettin' of it down."
Robin looked at her with strained, haggard eyes.
"Priscilla," he said, huskily--"Death is a horrible thing!"
"Ay, that it is!" and Priscilla wiped the teardrops off her cheeks witha corner of her apron--"An' I've often thought it seems a silly kind o'business to bring us into the world at all for no special reason 'ceptto take us out of it again just as folks 'ave learned to know us a bitand find us useful. Howsomever, there's no arguin' wi' the Almighty,an' p'raps it's us as makes the worst o' death instead o' the best ofit. Now you go into the great hall, Mr. Robin--you're wanted there."
He went, as desired,--and was received with a murmur of sympathy bythose assembled--a gathering made up of the head men about the farm,and a few other personages less familiar to the village, but fairlywell known to him, such as corn and cattle dealers from theneighbouring town who had for many years done business with Jocelyn inpreference to any other farmer. These came forward and cordially shookhands with Robin, entering at once into conversation with himconcerning his future intentions.
"We should like things to go on the same as if th' old man were alive,"said one, a miller,--"We don't like changes after all these years. Butwhether you're up to it, my lad, or not, we don't know--and time'llprove--"
"Time WILL prove," answered Clifford, steadily. "You may rely upon itthat Briar Farm will be worked on the same methods which my unclepractised and approved--and there will be no changes, except--theinevitable one"--and he sighed,--"the want of the true master's brainand hand."
"Eh well! You'll do your best, lad!--I'm sure of that!" and the millergrasped his hand warmly--"And we'll all stick by you! There's no farmlike Briar Farm in the whole country--that's my opinion!--it gives thefinest soil and the soundest crops to be got anywhere--you just manageit as Farmer Jocelyn managed it, with men's work, and you'll come to noharm! And, as I say, we'll all stick by you!"
Robin thanked him, and then moved slowly in and out among the otherfuneral guests, saying kindly things, and in his quiet, manly waycreating a good impression among them, and making more friends than hehimself was aware of. Presently Mr. Bayliss, a mild-looking man withround spectacles fixed very closely up against his eyes, approachedhim, beckoning him with one finger.
"When you're ready, Mr. Clifford," he said, "I should like to see youin the best parlour--and the young lady--I believe she is calledInnocent?--yes, yes!--and the young lady also. Oh, there's no hurry--nohurry!--better wait till the guests have gone, as what I have to sayconcerns only yourself--and--er--yes--er, the young lady beforementioned. And also a--a"--here he pulled out a note-book from hispocket and studied it through his owl-like glasses--"yes!--er, yes!--aMiss Priscilla Priday--she must be present, if she can be found--Ibelieve she is on the premises?"
"Priscilla is our housekeeper," said Robin--"and a faithful friend."
"Yes--I--er--thought so--a devoted friend," murmured Mr. Bayliss,meditatively--"and what a thing it is to have a devoted friend, Mr.Clifford! Your uncle was a careful man!--very careful!--he knew whom totrust--he thoroughly knew! Yes--WE don't all know--but HE did!"
Robin made no comment. The murmuring talk of the funeral party went on,buzzing in his ears like the noise of an enormous swarm of bees--hewatched men eating and drinking the good things Priscilla had providedfor the "honour of the farm"--and then, on a sudden impulse he slippedout of the hall and upstairs to Innocent's room, where he knockedsoftly at the door. She opened it at once, and stood before him--herface white as a snowdrop, and her eyes heavy and strained with theweight of unshed tears.
"Dear," he said, gently--"you will be wanted downstairs in a fewminutes--Mr. Bayliss wishes you to be present when he reads UncleHugo's will."
She made a little gesture of pain and dissent.
"I do not want to hear it," she said--"but I will come."
He looked at her with anxiety and tenderness.
"You have eaten nothing since early morning; you look so pale andweak--let me get you something--a glass of wine."
"No, thank you," she answered--"I could not touch a morsel--not justyet. Oh, Robin, it hurts me to hear all those voices in the greathall!--men eating and drinking there, as if he were still alive!--andthey have only just laid him down in the cold earth--so cold and dark!"
She shuddered violently.
"I do not think it is right," she went on--"to allow people to loveeach other at all if death must separate them for ever. It seems only acruelty and wickedness. Now that I have seen what death can do, I willnever love anyone again!"
"No--I suppose you will not," he said, somewhat bitterly--"yet, youhave never known what love is--you do not understand it."
She sighed, deeply.
"Perhaps not!" she said--"And I'm not sure that I want to understandit--not now. What love I had in my heart is all buried--with Dad andthe roses. I am not the same girl any more--I feel a differentcreature--grown quite old!"
"You cannot feel older than I do," he replied--"but you do not think ofme at all,--why should you? I never used to think you selfish,Innocent!--you have always been so careful and considerate of thefeelings of others--yet now!--well!--are you not so much absorbed inyour own grief as to be forgetful of mine? For mine is a doublegrief--a double loss--I have lost my uncle and best friend--and I shalllose you because you will not love me, though I love you with all myheart and only want to make you happy!"
Her sad eyes met his with a
direct, half-reproachful gaze.
"You think me selfish?"
"No!--no, Innocent!--but--"
"I see!" she said--"You think I ought to sacrifice myself to you, andto Dad's last wish. You would expect me to spoil your life by marryingyou unwillingly and without love--"
"I tell you you know nothing about love!" he interrupted her,impatiently.
"So you imagine," she answered quietly--"but I do know one thing--andit is that no one who really loves a person wishes to see that person,unhappy. To love anybody means that above all things in the world youdesire to see the beloved one well and prosperous and full of gladness.You cannot love me or you would not wish me to do a thing that wouldmake me miserable. If I loved you, I would marry you and devote my lifeto yours--but I do not love you, and, therefore, I should only make youwretched if I became your wife. Do not let us talk of this any more--ittires me out!"
She passed her hand over her forehead with a weary gesture.
"It is wrong to talk of ourselves at all when Dad is only just buried,"she continued. "You say Mr. Bayliss wants to see me--very well!--in afew minutes I will come."
She stepped back inside her little room and shut the door. Cliffordwalked away, resentful and despairing. There was something in hermanner that struck him as new and foreign to her usual sweet andequable nature,--a grave composure, a kind of intellectual hardnessthat he had never before seen in her. And he wondered what such achange might portend.
Downstairs, the funeral party had broken up--many of the mourners hadgone, and others were going. Some lingered to the last possible momentthat their intimacy or friendship with the deceased would allow,curious to hear something of the will--what the amount of the net cashwas that had been left, and how it had been disposed. But Mr. Bayliss,the lawyer, was a cautious man, and never gave himself away at anypoint. To all suggestive hints and speculative theories he maintained adignified reserve--and it was not until the last of the guests haddeparted that he made his way to the vacant "best parlour," and satthere with his chair pulled well up to the table and one or twolegal-looking documents in front of him. Robin Clifford joined himthere, taking a seat opposite to him--and both men waited in more orless silence till the door opened softly to admit Innocent, who came inwith Priscilla.
Mr. Bayliss rose.
"I'm sorry to have to disturb you, Miss--er--Miss Innocent," he said,with some awkwardness--"on this sad occasion--"
"It is no trouble," she answered, gently--"if I can be of any use--"
Mr. Bayliss waited till she sat down,--then again seated himself.
"Well, there is really no occasion to go over legal formalities," hesaid, opening one of the documents before him--"Your uncle, Mr.Clifford, was a business man, and made his will in a business-like way.Briefly, I may tell you that Briar Farm, its lands, buildings, and allits contents are left to you--who are identified thus--'to my nephew,Robin Clifford, only son of my only sister, the late Elizabeth Jocelyn,widow of John Clifford, wholesale trader in French wines, and formerlyresident in the City of London, on condition that the said RobinClifford shall keep and maintain the farm and house as they have alwaysbeen kept and maintained. He shall not sell any part of the land forbuilding purposes, nor shall he dispose of any of the furniture,pewter, plate, china, glass, or other effects belonging to Briar FarmHouse,--but shall carefully preserve the same and hand them down to hislawful heirs in succession on the same terms as heretofore'--etc.,etc.,--yes!--well!--that is the gist of the business, and we need notgo over the details. With the farm and lands aforesaid he leaves thesum of Twenty Thousand Pounds--"
"Twenty Thousand Pounds!" ejaculated Robin, amazed--"Surely my unclewas never so rich--!"
"He was a saving man and a careful one," said Mr. Bayliss,calmly,--"You may take it for granted, Mr. Clifford, that his money wasmade through the course of his long life, in a thoroughly honest andstraightforward manner!"
"Oh--that, of course!--but--Twenty Thousand Pounds!"
"It is a nice little fortune," said Mr. Bayliss--"and you come into itat a time of life when you will be able to make good use of it.Especially if you should be inclined to marry--"
His eyes twinkled meaningly as they glanced from Clifford's face tothat of Innocent--the young man's expression was absorbed and earnest,but the girl looked lost and far away in a dream of her own.
"I shall not marry," said Robin, slowly--"I shall use the moneyentirely for the good of the farm and the work-people--"
"Then, if you do not marry, you allow the tradition of heritage tolapse?" suggested Mr. Bayliss.
"It has lapsed already," he replied--"I am not a real descendant of theJocelyns--"
"By the mother's side you are," said Mr. Bayliss--"and your motherbeing dead, it is open to you to take the name of Jocelyn by law, andcontinue the lineage. It would be entirely fair and reasonable."
Robin made no answer. Mr. Bayliss settled his glasses more firmly onhis nose, and went on with his documents.
"Mr. Jocelyn speaks in his Last Will and Testament of the 'great love'he entertained for his adopted child, known as 'Innocent'--and he givesto her all that is contained in the small oak chest in the bestparlour--this is the best parlour, I presume?"--looking round--"Can youpoint out the oak chest mentioned?"
Innocent rose, and moved to a corner, where she lifted out of a recessa small quaintly made oaken casket, brass-bound, with a heavy lock.
Mr. Bayliss looked at it with a certain amount of curiosity.
"The key?" he suggested--"I believe the late Mr. Jocelyn always wore iton his watch-chain."
Robin got up and went to the mantelpiece.
"Here is my uncle's watch and chain," he said, in a hushed voice--"Thewatch has stopped. I do not intend that it shall ever go again--I shallkeep it put by with the precious treasures of the house."
Mr. Bayliss made no remark on this utterance, which to him was one ofmere sentiment--and taking the watch and chain in his hand, detachedtherefrom a small key. With this he opened the oak casket--and lookedcarefully inside. Taking out a sealed packet, he handed it to Innocent.
"This is for you," he said--"and this also"--here he lifted from thebottom of the casket a flat jewel-case of antique leather embossed ingold.
"This," he continued, "Mr. Jocelyn explained to me, is a necklet ofpearls--traditionally believed to have been given by the founder of thehouse, Amadis de Jocelin, to his wife on their wedding-day. It has beenworn by every bride of the house since. I hope--yes--I very muchhope--it will be worn by the young lady who now inherits it."
And he passed the jewel-case over the table to Innocent, who satsilent, with the sealed packet she had just received lying before her.She took it passively, and opened it--a beautiful row of pearls, notvery large, but wonderfully perfect, lay within--clasped by a small,curiously designed diamond snap. She looked at them withhalf-wondering, half-indifferent eyes--then closed the case and gave itto Robin Clifford.
"They are for your wife when you marry," she said--"Please keep them."
Mr. Bayliss coughed--a cough of remonstrance.
"Pardon me, my dear young lady, but Mr. Jocelyn was particularlyanxious the pearls should be yours--"
She looked at him, gravely.
"Yes--I am sure he was," she said--"He was always good--too good andgenerous--but if they are mine, I give them to Mr. Clifford. There isnothing more to be said about them."
Mr. Bayliss coughed again.
"Well--that is all that is contained in this casket, with the exceptionof a paper unsealed--shall I read it?"
She bent her head.
"The paper is written in Mr. Jocelyn's own hand, and is as follows,"continued the lawyer: "I desire that my adopted child, known as'Innocent,' shall receive into her own possession the Jocelyn pearls,valued by experts at L2,500, and that she shall wear the same on hermarriage-morning. The sealed packet, placed in this casket with thepearls afore-said, contains a letter for her own personal and privateperusal, and other matter which concerns herself alone."
Mr. Bayliss here looked up, and addressed her.
"From these words it is evident that the sealed packet you have thereis an affair of confidence."
She laid her hand upon it.
"I quite understand!"
He adjusted his glasses, and turned over his documents once more.
"Then I think there is nothing more we need trouble you with--ohyes!--one thing--Miss--er--Miss Priday--?"
Priscilla, who during the whole conversation had sat bolt upright on achair in the corner of the room, neither moving nor speaking, here roseand curtsied.
The lawyer looked at her attentively.
"Priday-Miss Priscilla Priday?"
"Yes, sir--that's me," said Priscilla, briefly.
"Mr. Jocelyn thought very highly of you, Miss Friday," he said--"hementions you in the following paragraph of his will--'I give andbequeath to my faithful housekeeper and good friend, Priscilla Priday,the sum of Two Hundred Pounds for her own personal use, and I desirethat she shall remain at Briar Farm for the rest of her life. And that,if she shall find it necessary to resign her duties in the farm house,she shall possess that cottage on my estate known as Rose Cottage, freeof all charges, and be allowed to live there and be suitably andcomfortably maintained till the end of her days. And,--er--pray don'tdistress yourself, Miss Priday!"
For Priscilla was crying, and making no effort to hide her emotion.
"Bless 'is old 'art!" she sobbed--"He thort of everybody, 'e did! An'what shall I ever want o' Rose Cottage, as is the sweetest o' littleplaces, when I've got the kitchen o' Briar Farm!--an' there I'll 'opeto do my work plain an' true till I drops!--so there!--an' I'm muchobliged to ye, Mr. Bayliss, an' mebbe ye'll tell me where to put thetwo 'underd pounds so as I don't lose it, for I never 'ad so much moneyin my life, an' if any one gets to 'ear of it I'll 'ave all the 'altan' lame an' blind round me in a jiffy. An' as for keepin' money, Inever could--an' p'raps it 'ud be best for Mr. Robin to look arterit---" Here she stopped, out of breath with talk and tears.
"It will be all right," said Mr. Bayliss, soothingly, "quite all right,I assure you! Mr. Clifford will no doubt see to any little businessmatter for you with great pleasure--"
"Dear Priscilla!"--and Innocent went to her side and put an arm roundher neck--"Don't cry!--you will be so happy, living always in this dearold place!--and Robin will be so glad to have you with him."
Priscilla took the little hand that caressed her, and kissed it.
"Ah, my lovey!" she half whispered--"I should be 'appy enough if Ithought you was a-goin' to be 'appy too!--but you're flyin' in the faceo' fortune, lovey!--that's what you're a-doin'!"
Innocent silenced her with a gesture, and stood beside her, patientlylistening till Mr. Bayliss had concluded his business.
"I think, Mr. Clifford," he then said, at last--"there is no occasionto trouble you further. Everything is in perfect order--you are theinheritor of Briar Farm and all its contents, with all its adjoininglands--and the only condition attached to your inheritance is that youkeep it maintained on the same working methods by which it has alwaysbeen maintained. You will find no difficulty in doing this--and youhave plenty of money to do it on. There are a few minor detailsrespecting farm stock, etc., which we can go over together at any time.You are sole executor, of course--and--and--er--yes!--I think that isall."
"May I go now?" asked Innocent, lifting her serious blue-grey eyes tohis face--"Do you want me any more?"
Mr. Bayliss surveyed her curiously.
"No--I--er--I think not," he replied--"Of course the pearls should bein your possession--"
"I have given them away," she said, quickly--"to Robin."
"But I have not accepted them," he answered--"I will keep them if youlike--for YOU."
She gave a slight, scarcely perceptible movement of vexation, and then,taking up the sealed packet which was addressed to her personally, sheleft the room.
The lawyer looked after her in a little perplexity.
"I'm afraid she takes her loss rather badly," he said--"or--perhaps--isshe a little absent-minded?"
Robin Clifford smiled, sadly.
"I think not," he answered. "Of course she feels the death of my uncledeeply--she adored him--and then-I-suppose you know--my uncle may havetold you--"
"That he hoped and expected you to marry her?" said Mr. Bayliss,nodding his head, sagaciously--"Yes--I am aware that such was hisdearest wish. In fact he led me to believe that the matter was as goodas settled."
"She will not have me," said Clifford, gently--"and I cannot compel herto marry me against her will--indeed I would not if I could."
The lawyer was so surprised that he was obliged to take off his glassesand polish them.
"She will not have you!" he exclaimed. "Dear me! That is indeed mostunexpected and distressing! There is--there is nothing against you,surely?--you are quite a personable young man--"
Robin shrugged his shoulders, disdainfully.
"Whatever I am does not matter to her," he said--"Let us talk no moreabout it."
Priscilla looked from one to the other.
"Eh well!" she said--"If any one knows 'er at all 'tis I as 'ave 'ad'er with me night an' day when she was a baby--and 'as watched 'er growinto the little beauty she is,--an' 'er 'ed's just fair full o' strangefancies that she's got out o' the books she found in the old knight'schest years ago--we must give 'er time to think a bit an' settle. 'Tisan awful blow to 'er to lose 'er Dad, as she allus called FarmerJocelyn--she's like a little bird fallen out o' the nest with nostrength to use 'er wings an' not knowin' where to go. Let 'er settle abit!--that's what I sez--an' you'll see I'm right. You leave 'er alone,Mister Robin, an' all'll come right, never fear! She's got the queerestnotions about love--she picked 'em out o' they old books--an' she'll'ave to find out they's more lies than truth. Love's a poor 'oldin' formost folks--it don't last long enough."
Mr. Bayliss permitted himself to smile, as he took his hat, andprepared to go.
"I'm sure you're quite right, Miss Priday!" he said--"youspeak--er--most sensibly! I'm sure I hope, for the young lady's sake,that she will 'settle down'--if she does not--"
"Ay, if she does not!" echoed Clifford.
"Well! if she does not, life may be difficult for her"--and the lawyershook his head forebodingly--"A girl alone in the world--with norelatives!--ah, dear, dear me! A sad look-out!--a very sad look-out!But we must trust to her good sense that she will be wise in time!"