you are--if none of us know--it may be more fortunate for you than
you can imagine! We cannot tell! Your own father may claim you--
your own mother--such things are quite possible! You may be like
the princess of a fairy-tale--rich people may come and take you
away from Briar Farm and from me--and you will be too grand to
think of us any more, and I shall only be the poor farmer in your
eyes--you will wonder how you could ever have spoken to me--"

"Robin!" Her hands dropped from her face and she looked at him in
reproachful sadness. "Why do you say this? You know it could never
be true!--never! If I had a father who cared for me, he would not
have forgotten--and my mother, if she were a true mother, would
have tried to find me long ago! No, Robin!--I ought to have died
when I was a baby. No one wants me--I am a deserted child--'base-
born,' as your Uncle Hugo says,--and of course he is right--but
the sin of it is not mine!"

She had such a pitiful, fragile and fair appearance, standing half
in shadow and half in the mystic radiance of the moon, that Robin
Clifford's heart ached with love and longing for her.

"Sin!" he echoed--"Sin and you have never met each other! You are
like your name, innocent of all evil! Oh, Innocent! If you could
only care for me as I care for you!"

She gave a shivering sigh.

"Do you--can you care?--NOW?" she asked.

"Of course! What is there in all this story that can change my