young, rough-featured fellow in a smock--"anythin' can 'appen now
we've lost the last o' the Jocelyns!"

And such was the general impression throughout the district. Men
met in the small public-houses and over their mugs of beer
discussed the possibilities of emigrating to Canada or New
Zealand, for--"there'll be no more farm work worth doin' round
'ere"--they all declared--"Mister Jocelyn wanted MEN, an' paid 'em
well for workin' LIKE men!--but it'll all be machines now."

Meanwhile, the Reverend Mr. Medwin, M.A., had arrived at Briar
Farm. Everything was curiously silent. All the blinds were down--
the stable-doors were closed, and the stable-yard was 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 as though mesmerised and
forbidden to fly. A marked loneliness clouded the peaceful beauty
of the place--a loneliness that made itself seen and felt by even
the most casual visitor.

With a somewhat hesitating hand Mr. Medwin pulled the door-bell.
In a minute or two a maid answered the summons--her eyes were red
with weeping. At sight of the clergyman she looked surprised and a
little frightened.

"How is Miss--Miss Jocelyn?" he enquired, softly--"I have only
just heard the sad news--"

"She's not able to see anyone, sir," replied the maid,
tremulously--"at least I don't think so--I'll ask. She's very