bucolic witticism caught her ear, a faint flush coloured the
paleness of her cheeks and a little nervous tremor ran through her
frame. She drew as closely as she could to the old farmer, who sat
rigidly upright and quiet, eating nothing but a morsel of bread
with a bowl of hot salted milk Priscilla had put before him. Beer
was served freely, and was passed from man to man in leather
"blackjacks" such as were commonly used in olden times, but which
are now considered mere curiosities. They were, however, ordinary
wear at Briar Farm, and had been so since very early days. The
Great Hall was lighted by tall windows reaching almost to the roof
and traversed with shafts of solid stonework; the one immediately
opposite Farmer Jocelyn's chair showed the very last parting glow
of the sunset like a dull red gleam on a dark sea. For the rest,
thick home-made candles of a torch shape fixed into iron sconces
round the walls illumined the room, and burned with unsteady
flare, giving rise to curious lights and shadows as though ghostly
figures were passing to and fro, ruffling the air with their
unseen presences. Priscilla Priday, her wizened yellow face just
now reddened to the tint of a winter apple by her recent exertions
in the kitchen, was not so much engaged in eating her supper as in
watching her master. Her beady brown eyes roved from him to the
slight delicate girl beside him with inquisitive alertness. She
felt and saw that the old man's thoughts were far away, and that
something of an unusual nature was troubling his mind. Priscilla
was an odd-looking creature but faithful;--her attachments were
strong, and her dislikes only a shade more violent,--and just now
she entertained very uncomplimentary sentiments towards "them
doctors" who had, as she surmised, put her master out of sorts
with himself, and caused anxiety to the "darling child," as she
invariably called Innocent when recommending her to the guidance