whatever they were, and you're innocent of my blunders. You're
free to make your own life pleasant if you'll only put a bright
face on it and make the best of an awkward business."

She was silent, standing before him like a little statuesque
figure of desolation.

"As for the tale I told the neighbours," he went on--"it was the
best thing I could think of. If I had said you were a child I had
taken in to adopt, not one of them would have believed me; 'twas a
case of telling one lie or t'other, the real truth being so queer
and out of the common, so I chose the easiest. And it's been all
right with you, my girl, whichever way you put it. There may be a
few stuck-up young huzzies in the village that aren't friendly to
you, but you may take it that it's more out of jealousy of Robin's
liking for you than anything else. Robin loves you--you know he
does; and all you've got to do is to make him happy. Marry him,
for the farm will be his when I'm dead, and it'll give me a bit of
comfort to feel that you're settled down with him in the old home.
For then I know it'll go on just the same--just the same--"

His words trailed off brokenly. His head sank on his chest, and
some slow tears made their difficult way out of his eyes and
dropped on his silver beard.

She watched him with a certain grave compassion, but she did not
at once go, as she would usually have done, to put her arms round
his neck and console him. She seemed to herself removed miles away
from him and from everything she had ever known. Just then there
was a noise of rough but cheery voices outside shouting "good-