Mr. Medwin gave a slight cough—­a cough of incredulity.  “Adopted” is a phrase often used to cover the brand of illegitimacy.

“I never knew my own history till the other day,” she said, slowly and sadly.  “The doctor came to see Dad, with a London specialist, a friend of his—­and they told him he had not long to live.  After that Dad made up his mind that I must learn all the truth of myself—­oh!—­what a terrible truth it was!—­I thought my heart would break!  It was so strange—­so cruel!  I had grown up believing myself to be Dad’s own, very own daughter!—­and I had been deceived all my life!—­for he told me I was nothing but a nameless child, left on his hands by a stranger!”

Mr. Medwin opened his small eyes in amazement,—­he was completely taken aback.  He tried to grasp the bearings of this new aspect of the situation thus presented to him, but could not realise anything save what in his own mind was he pleased to call a “cock-and-bull” story.

“Most extraordinary!” he ejaculated, at last—­“Did he give you no clue at all as to your actual parentage?”

Innocent shook her head.

“How could he?  A man on horseback arrived here suddenly one very stormy night, carrying me in his arms—­I was just a little baby—­ and asked shelter for me, promising to come and fetch me in the morning—­but he never came—­and Dad never knew who he was.  I was kept here out of pity at first—­then Dad began to love me—­”

The suppressed tears rose to her eyes and began to fall.

“Priscilla can tell you all about it,” she continued, tremulously —­“if you wish to know more.  I am only explaining things a little because I do want you to understand that Dad was really a good man though he did not go to Church—­and he must have been ‘saved,’ as you put it, for he never did anything unworthy of the name of Jocelyn!”

The clergyman thought a moment.

“You are not Miss Jocelyn, then?” he said.

She met his gaze with a sorrowful calmness.

“No.  I am nobody.  I have not even been baptised.”

He sprang up from his chair, horrified.

“Not baptised!” he exclaimed—­“Not baptised!  Do you mean to tell me that Farmer Jocelyn never attended to this imperative and sacred duty on your behalf?—­that he allowed you to grow up as a heathen?”

She remained unmoved by his outburst.

“I am not a heathen,” she said, gently—­“I believe in God—­as Dad believed.  I’m sorry I have not been baptised—­but it has made no difference to me that I know of—­”

“No difference!” and the clergyman rolled up his eyes and shook his head ponderously—­“You poor unfortunate girl, it has made all the difference in the world!  You are unregenerate—­your soul is not washed clean—­all your sins are upon you, and you are not redeemed!”

She looked at him tranquilly.