"Only to say good-night!" she said,--"I know just where I am now!--it was so foolish of me to forget! I am at home--and this is Briar Farm--and I feel almost well and--happy! Robin!" He sprang up the stairs and, kneeling, took one of her hands and kissed it. "That's my true knight!" she said. "Dear Robin! You deserve everything good--and if it will give you joy I will marry you!" "Marry me!" he cried, scarcely believing his ears--"Innocent! You will?--Dearest little love, you will?" She looked down upon him where he knelt, like some small compassionate angel. "Yes--I will!--To please you and Dad!--Tomorrow if you like! But you must say good-night now and let me sleep!" He kissed her hand again. "Good-night, sweet!" She started--and drew her hand away. "He said that once,--and once--in a letter--he wrote it. It seemed to me beautiful!--'Good-night, sweet!'" She waited as if to think a moment, then-- "Good-night!" again she said--"Do not be anxious about me--I shall sleep well! Good-night!" She waved her hand once more, and disappeared like a little white phantom in the dark corridor. "Does she mean it, do you think?" asked Robin, turning eagerly to Priscilla--"Will she marry me, after all?" "I shouldn't wonder!" and the old woman nodded sagaciously--"Let her sleep on it, lad!--an' you sleep on it, too!--The storm's nigh over--an' mebbe our dark cloud 'as a silver lining!" Half-an-hour later on she went to her own bed--and on the way thought she would peep into Innocent's room and see how she fared--but the door was locked. Vexed at her own lack of foresight in not possessing herself of the key before the girl had been carried to her room, she left her own door open that she might be ready in case of any call--and for a long time she lay awake watchfully, thinking and wondering what the next day would bring forth--till at last anxiety and bewilderment of mind were overcome by sheer fatigue and she slept. Not so Robin Clifford. Excited and full of new hope which he hardly dared breathe to himself, he made no attempt to rest--but paced his room up and down, up and down, like a restless animal in a cage, waiting with hardly endurable impatience for the dawn. Thoughts chased each other in his brain too quickly to evolve any practical order out of them,--he tried to plan out what he would do with the coming day--how he would let the farm people know that Innocent had returned--how he would send a telegram to her friend Miss Leigh in London to say she was safe in her old home--and then the recollection of her literary success swept over his mind like a sort of cloud--her fame!--the celebrity she had won in that wider world outside Briar Farm--was it fair or honest to her that he should take advantage of her weak and half-distraught condition and allow her to become his wife?--she, whose genius was already acknowledged by a wide and discerning public, and who might be considered as only at the beginning of a brilliant and prosperous