of regret. She was not sure of her own mind--and she had no
control over her own fancies. Every now and then a wave of
conviction came over her that after all tender-hearted old
Priscilla might be right--that it would be best to marry Robin and
help him to hold and keep Briar Farm as it had ever been kept and
held since the days of the Sieur Amadis. Perhaps, had she never
heard the story of her actual condition, as told her by Farmer
Jocelyn on the previous night, she might have consented to what
seemed so easy and pleasant a lot in life; but now it seemed to
her more than impossible. She no longer had any link with the far-
away ancestor who had served her so long as a sort of ideal--she
was a mere foundling without any name save the unbaptised
appellation of Innocent. And she regarded herself as a sort of
castaway.

She went into the house soon after Robin had left her, and busied
herself with sorting the linen and looking over what had to be
mended. "For when I go," she said to herself, "they must find
everything in order." She dined alone with Priscilla--Robin sent
word that he was too busy to come in. She was a little piqued at
this--and almost cross when he sent the same message at tea-time,
--but she was proud in her way and would not go out to see if she
could persuade him to leave his work for half-an-hour. The sun was
slowly declining when she suddenly put down her sewing, struck by
a thought which had not previously occurred to her--and ran
fleetly across the garden to the orchard, where she found Robin
lying on his back under the trees with closed eyes. He opened
them, hearing the light movement of her feet and the soft flutter
of her gown--but he did not rise. She stopped--looking at him.