"That is all very sad for me if it is true," she said--"but it is not my fault. I could not help it. Dad couldn't help it either--he did not know what to do. He expected that I might be claimed and taken away any day--and he had no idea what name to give me--except Innocent--which is a name I suppose no girl ever had before. He used to get money from time to time in registered envelopes, bearing different foreign postmarks--and there was always a slip of paper inside with the words 'For Innocent' written on it. So that name has been my only name. You see, it was very difficult for him--poor Dad!--besides, he did not believe in baptism--" "Then he was an infidel!" declared Mr. Medwin, hotly. Her serious blue eyes regarded him reproachfully. "I don't think you should say that--it isn't quite kind on your part," she replied--"He always thanked God for prosperity, and never complained when things went wrong--that is not being an infidel! Even when he knew he was hopelessly ill, he never worried anyone about it--he was only just a little afraid-and that was perfectly natural. We're all a little afraid, you know--though we pretend we're not--none of us like the idea of leaving this lovely world and the sunshine for ever. Even Hamlet was afraid,--Shakespeare makes him say so. And when one has lived all one's life on Briar Farm--such a sweet peaceful home!--one can hardly fancy anything better, even in a next world! No--Dad was not an infidel--please do not think such a thing!--he only died last night--and I feel as if it would hurt him." Mr. Medwin was exceedingly embarrassed and annoyed--there was something in the girl's quiet demeanour that suggested a certain intellectual superiority to himself. He hummed and hawed, lurking various unpleasant throaty noises. "Well--to me, of course, it is a very shocking state of affairs," he said, irritably--"I hardly think I can be of any use--or consolation to you in the matters you have spoken of, which are quite outside my scope altogether. If you have anything to say about the funeral arrangements--but I presume Mr. Clifford--" "Mr. Clifford is master here now," she answered--"He will give his own orders, and will do all that is best and wisest. As I have told you, I am a name-less nobody, and have no right in this house at all. I'm sorry if I have vexed or troubled you--but as you called I thought it was right to tell you how I am situated. You see, when poor Dad is buried I shall be going away at once--and I had an idea you might perhaps help me--you are God's minister." He wrinkled up his brows and looked frowningly at her. "You are leaving Briar Farm?" he asked. "I must. I have no right to stay." "Is Mr. Clifford turning you out?" A faint, sad smile crept round the girl's pretty, sensitive mouth.