“Oh, my lamb, I heard ye right enough!”—­and Priscilla fondled and warmed the girl’s passive hands—­“But I couldn’t think it was yourself—­I thought I was dreaming—­”

“So did I!” she answered feebly—­“I thought I was dreaming...yes!  —­I have been dreaming such a long, long time!  All dreams!  I have walked through the rain—­it was very dark and the wind was cold and cruel—­but I walked on and on—­I don’t know how I came—­but I wanted to get home to Briar Farm—­do you know Briar Farm?”

Stricken to the soul by the look of the wistful eyes expressing a mind in chaos, Priscilla answered gently—­

“You’re in Briar Farm now, dearie!—­Surely you know you are!  This is your own old home—­don’t you know it?—­don’t you remember the old kitchen?—­of course you do!  There, there!—­look up and see!”

She lifted her head and gazed about her in a lost way.

“No!” she murmured—­“I wish I could believe it, but I cannot.  I believe nothing now.  It is all strange to me—­I have lost the way home, and I shall never find it—­never—­never!” Here she suddenly pointed to Robin standing aloof in utter misery.

“Who is that?” she asked.

Irresistibly impelled by love, fear, and pity, he came and knelt beside her.

“It’s Robin!” he said—­“Dear Innocent, don’t you know me?”

She touched his hair with one little hand, smiling like a pleased child.

“Robin?” she queried—­“Oh, no!—­you cannot be Robin—­he is ever so many miles away!” She looked at him curiously,—­then laughed, a cold, mirthless little laugh.  “I thought for a moment you might be Amadis—­his hair is like yours, thick and soft—­you know him, of course—­he is the great painter, Amadis de Jocelyn—­all the world has heard of him!  He went out just now and shut the door and locked it—­but he will come back—­yes!—­he will come back!”

Robin heard and understood—­the whole explanation of her misery suddenly flashed on his mind, and inwardly he cursed the man who had wreaked such havoc on her trusting soul.  All at once she sprang up with a wild cry.

“He will come back—­he must come back!  Amadis!—­Amadis!—­you will not leave me all alone?—­No, no, you cannot be so cruel!” She stretched out her arms as though to embrace some invisible treasure in the air—­“Priscilla! ...  Priscilla!” Then as Priscilla took her gently round the waist and tried to calm her she began to laugh again.  “The old motto!—­you remember it?—­the motto of the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin!—­’Mon coeur me soutien!’ You know what it means—­’My heart sustains me.’  Yes—­and you know why his heart is so strong?  Because it is made of stone!  A stone heart can sustain anything!—­it is hard and firm and cold—­no rain, no tears can soften it!—­no flowers ever grow on it—­it does not beat—­it feels nothing—­nothing!”—­and her hands dropped wearily at her sides.  “It is not like my heart! my heart burns and aches—­it is a foolish heart, and my brain is a foolish brain—­I cannot think with it—­it is all dark and confused!  And I have no one to help me—­I am all alone in the world!”