Still she did not speak; once she turned away her head to hide the tears that involuntarily rose to her eyes.  Old Hugo, meanwhile, began to eat his breakfast with the nervous haste of a man who takes his food more out of custom than necessity.  Presently he became irritated at her continued silence.

“You heard what I said, didn’t you?” he demanded—­“And you understood?”

She looked full at him with sorrowful, earnest eyes.

“Yes, Dad.  I heard.  And I understood.”

He nodded and smiled, and appeared to take it for granted that she had received an order which it was her bounden duty to obey.  The sun shone brilliantly in upon the beautiful old room, and through the open window came a pleasant murmuring of bees among the mignonette, and the whistle of a thrush in an elm-tree sounded with clear and cheerful persistence.  Hugo Jocelyn looked at the fair view of the flowering garden and drew his breath hard in a quick sigh.

“It’s a fine day,” he said—­“and it’s a fine world!  Ay, that it is!  I’m not sure there’s a better anywhere!  And it’s a bit difficult to think of going down for ever into the dark and the cold, away from the sunshine and the sky—­but it’s got to be done!”—­here he clenched his fist and brought it down on the table with a defiant blow—­“It’s got to be done, and I’ve got to do it!  But not yet—­not quite yet!—­I’ve plenty of time and chance to stop mischief!”

He rose, and drawing himself up to his full height looked for the moment strong and resolute.  Taking one or two slow turns up and down the room, he suddenly stopped in front of Innocent.

“We shall be away all day,” he said—­“I and Ned Landon.  Do you hear?”

There was something not quite natural in the tone of his voice, and she glanced up at him in a little surprise.

“Well, what are you wondering at?” he demanded, a trifle testily—­ “You need not open your eyes at me like that!”

She smiled faintly.

“Did I open my eyes, Dad?” she said—­“I did not mean to be curious.  I only thought—­”

“You only thought what?” he asked, with sudden heat—­“What did you think?”

“Oh, just about your being away all day in the town—­you will be so tired—­”

“Tired?  Not I!—­not when there’s work to do and business to settle!” He rubbed his hands together with a kind of energetic expectancy.  “Work to do and business to settle!” he repeated—­ “Yes, little girl!  There’s not much time before me, and I must leave everything in good order for you and Robin.”

She dropped her head, and the expression of her face was hidden from him.

“You and Robin!” he said, again.  “Ay, ay!  Briar Farm will be in the best of care when I’m dead, and it’ll thrive well with young love and hope to keep it going!” He came up to her and took one of her little hands in his own.  “There, there!” he went on, patting it gently—­“We’ll think no more of trouble and folly and mistakes in life; it’ll be all joy and peace for you, child!  Take God’s good blessing of an honest lad’s love and be happy with it!  And when I come home to-night,”—­he paused and appeared to think for a moment—­“yes!—­when I come home, let me hear that it’s all clear and straight between you—­and we’ll have the banns put up on Sunday!”