"I did not sleep at all," he answered her--"I lay broad awake, thinking of you. Thinking of you, my little innocent, fatherless, motherless lamb! And you, child!--you did not sleep so well as you should have done, talking with Robin half the night out of window!" She coloured deeply. He smiled and pinched her crimsoning cheek, apparently well pleased. "No harm, no harm!" he said--"Just two young doves cooing among the leaves at mating time! Robin has told me all about it. Now listen, child!--I'm away to-day to the market town--there's seed to buy and crops to sell--I'll take Ned Landon with me--" he paused, and an odd expression of sternness and resolve clouded his features--"Yes!--I'll take Ned Landon with me--he's shrewd enough when he's sober--and he's cunning enough, too, for that matter!--yes, I'll take him with me. We'll be off in the dog-cart as soon as breakfast's done. My time's getting short, but I'll attend to my own business as long as I can--I'll look after Briar Farm till I die--and I'll die in harness. There's plenty of work to do yet--plenty of work; and while I'm away you can settle up things--" Here he broke off, and his eyes grew fixed in a sudden vacant stare. Innocent, frightened at his unnatural look, laid her hand caressingly on his arm. "Yes, dear Dad!" she said, soothingly--"What is it you wish me to do?" The stare faded from his eyeballs, and his face softened. "Settle up things," he repeated, slowly, and with emphasis--"Settle up things with Robin. No more beating about the bush! You talked to him long enough out of window last night, and mind you!--somebody was listening! That means mischief! _I_ don't blame you, poor wilding!--but remember, SOMEBODY WAS LISTENING! Now think of that and of your good name, child!--settle with Robin and we'll have the banns put up next Sunday." While he thus spoke the warm rose of her cheeks faded to an extreme pallor,--her very lips grew white and set. Her hurrying thoughts clamoured for utterance,--she could have expressed in passionate terms her own bitter sense of wrong and unmerited shame, but pity for the old man's worn and haggard look of pain held her silent. She saw and felt that he was not strong enough to bear any argument or opposition in his present mood, so she made no sort of reply, not even by a look or a smile. Quietly she went to the breakfast table, and busied herself in preparing his morning meal. He followed her and sat heavily down in his usual chair, watching her furtively as she poured out the tea. "Such little white hands, aren't they?" he said, coaxingly, touching her small fingers when she gave him his cup--"Eh, wilding? The prettiest lily flowers I ever saw! And one of them will look all the prettier for a gold wedding-ring upon it! Ay, ay! We'll have the banns put up on Sunday."