Under the influence of this resolve, he gradually calmed down and re-entered the house.  And the moonlight, widening and then waning over the smooth and peaceful meadows of Briar Farm, had it all its own way for the rest of the night, and as it filtered through the leafy branches of the elms and beeches which embowered the old tomb of the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin it touched with a pale glitter the stone hands of his sculptured effigy,—­hands that were folded prayerfully above the motto,—­“Mon coeur me soutien!”

CHAPTER V

As early as six o’clock the next morning Innocent was up and dressed, and, hastening down to the kitchen, busied herself, as was her usual daily custom, in assisting Priscilla with the housework and the preparation for breakfast.  There was always plenty to do, and as she moved quickly to and fro, fulfilling the various duties she had taken upon herself and which she performed with unobtrusive care and exactitude, the melancholy forebodings of the past night partially cleared away from her mind.  Yet there was a new expression on her face—­one of sadness and seriousness unfamiliar to its almost child-like features, and it was not easy for her to smile in her ordinary bright way at the round of scolding which Priscilla administered every morning to the maids who swept and scrubbed and dusted and scoured the kitchen till no speck of dirt was anywhere visible, till the copper shone like mirrors, and the tables were nearly as smooth as polished silver or ivory.  Going into the dairy where pans of new milk stood ready for skimming, and looking out for a moment through the lattice window, she saw old Hugo Jocelyn and Robin Clifford walking together across the garden, engaged in close and earnest conversation.  A little sigh escaped her as she thought:  “They are talking about me!”—­then, on a sudden impulse, she went back into the kitchen where Priscilla was for the moment alone, the other servants having dispersed into various quarters of the house, and going straight up to her said, simply—­

“Priscilla dear, why did you never tell me that I wasn’t Dad’s own daughter?”

Priscilla started violently, and her always red face turned redder,—­then, with an effort to recover herself, she answered—­

“Lord, lovey!  How you frightened me!  Why didn’t I tell you?  Well, in the first place, ’twasn’t none of my business, and in the second, ’twouldn’t have done any good if I had.”

Innocent was silent, looking at her with a piteous intensity.

“And who is it that’s told you now?” went on Priscilla, nervously —­“some meddlin’ old fool—­”

Innocent raised her hand, warningly.

“Hush, Priscilla!  Dad himself told me—­”

“Well, he might just as well have kept a still tongue in his head,” retorted Priscilla, sharply.  “He’s kept it for eighteen years, an’ why he should let it go wagging loose now, the Lord only knows!  There’s no making out the ways of men,—­they first plays the wise and silent game like barn-door owls,—­then all on a suddint-like they starts cawing gossip for all they’re worth, like crows.  And what’s the good of tellin’ ye, anyway?”