He got up from the supper table and pushed away his chair.

“I’ll go,” he said—­“Priscilla’s right—­I’m dog-tired and bed’s the best place for me.”  He passed his hand over his forehead.  “There’s a sort of buzzing in my brain like the noise of a cart-wheel—­I want rest.”  As he spoke Innocent came softly beside him and took his arm caressingly.  He looked down upon her with a smile.  “Yes, wilding, I want rest!  We’ll have a long talk out tomorrow—­you and I and Robin.  Bless thee, child!  Good-night!”

He kissed her tenderly and held out one hand to Clifford, who cordially grasped it.

“Good boy!” he said-"Be up early, for there’s much to do—­and Landon won’t be home till late—­no—­not till late!  Get on with the field work—­for if the clouds mean anything we shall have rain.”  He paused a moment and seemed to reflect, then repeated slowly—­ “Yes, lad!  We shall have rain!—­and wind, and storm!  Be ready!—­ the fine weather’s breaking!”

With that he went, walking slowly, and they heard him stumble once or twice as he went up the broad oak staircase to his bedroom.  Priscilla put her head on one side, like a meditative crow, and listened.  Then she heaved a sigh, smoothed down her apron and rolled up her eyes.

“Well, if Mister Jocelyn worn’t as sober a man as any judge an’ jury,” she observed—­“I should say ‘e’d bin drinkin’!  But that ain’t it.  Mr. Robin, there’s somethin’ gone wrong with ‘im—­an’ I don’t like it.”

“Nor I,” said Innocent, in a trembling voice, suggestive of tears.  “Oh, Robin, you surely noticed how strange he looked!  I’m so afraid!  I feel as if something dreadful was going to happen—­”

“Nonsense!” and Robin assumed an air of indifference which he was far from feeling—­“Uncle Hugo is tired—­I think he has been put out—­you know he’s quick-tempered and easily irritated—­he may have had some annoyance in the town—­”

“Ah!  And where’s Landon?” put in Priscilla, with a dark nod—­“That do beat me!  Why ever the master should ’ave let a man like that go on the loose for a night an’ a day is more than I can make out!  It’s sort of tempting Providence—­that it is!”

Clifford flushed and turned aside.  His fight with Landon was fresh in his mind—­and he began to wonder whether he had done rightly in telling his uncle how it came about.  But meeting Innocent’s anxious eyes, which mutely asked him for comfort, he answered—­

“Oh, well, there’s nothing very much in that, Priscilla!  I daresay Landon wanted a holiday—­he doesn’t ask for one often, and he’s kept fairly sober lately.  Hadn’t we better be off to bed?  Things will straighten out with the morning.”

“Do you really think so?” Innocent sighed as she put the question.

“Of course I think so!” answered Robin, cheerily.  “We’re all tired, and can’t look on the bright side!  Sound sleep is the best cure for the blues!  Good-night, Innocent!”