“We’ll ‘ave gooseberries growin’ on hayricks next!” declared a young, rough-featured fellow in a smock—­“anythin’ can ’appen now we’ve lost the last o’ the Jocelyns!”

And such was the general impression throughout the district.  Men met in the small public-houses and over their mugs of beer discussed the possibilities of emigrating to Canada or New Zealand, for—­“there’ll be no more farm work worth doin’ round ‘ere”—­they all declared—­“Mister Jocelyn wanted men, an’ paid ’em well for workin’ like men!—­but it’ll all be machines now.”

Meanwhile, the Reverend Mr. Medwin, M.A., had arrived at Briar Farm.  Everything was curiously silent.  All the blinds were down—­ the stable-doors were closed, and the stable-yard was empty.  The sunlight swept in broad slanting rays over the brilliant flower-beds which were now at their gayest and best,—­the doves lay sleeping on the roofs of sheds and barns as though mesmerised and forbidden to fly.  A marked loneliness clouded the peaceful beauty of the place—­a loneliness that made itself seen and felt by even the most casual visitor.

With a somewhat hesitating hand Mr. Medwin pulled the door-bell.  In a minute or two a maid answered the summons—­her eyes were red with weeping.  At sight of the clergyman she looked surprised and a little frightened.

“How is Miss—­Miss Jocelyn?” he enquired, softly—­“I have only just heard the sad news—­”

“She’s not able to see anyone, sir,” replied the maid, tremulously—­“at least I don’t think so—­I’ll ask.  She’s very upset—­”

“Of course, of course!” said Mr. Medwin, soothingly—­“I quite understand!  Please say I called!  Mr. Clifford—­”

A figure stepped out from the interior darkness of the shadowed hall towards him.

“I am here,” said Robin, gently—­“Did you wish to speak to me?  This is a house of heavy mourning to-day!”

The young man’s voice shook,—­he was deadly pale, and there was a strained look in his eyes of unshed tears.  Mr. Medwin was conscious of nervous embarrassment.

“Indeed, indeed I know it is!” he murmured—­“I feel for you most profoundly!  So sudden a shock too!—­I—­I thought that perhaps Miss Jocelyn—­a young girl struck by her first great loss and sorrow, might like to see me—­”

Robin Clifford looked at him in silence for a moment.  The consolations of the Church!  Would they mean anything to Innocent?  He wondered.

“I will ask her,” he said at last, abruptly—­“Will you step inside?”

Mr. Medwin accepted the suggestion, taking off his hat as he crossed the threshold, and soon found himself in the quaint sitting-room where, but two days since, Hugo Jocelyn had told Innocent all her true history.  He could not help being impressed by its old-world peace and beauty, furnished as it was in perfect taste, with its window-outlook on a paradise of happy flowers rejoicing in the sunlight.  The fragrance of sweet lavender scented the air, and a big china bowl of roses in the centre of the table gave a touch of tender brightness to the old oak panelling on the walls.