She interrupted him.

“Priscilla knows,” she said—­“and, no matter how you look at it, I am ‘base-born.’  Your Uncle Hugo has let all the village folk think I am his illegitimate child—­and that is ‘base-born’ of itself.  Oh, it is cruel!  Even you thought so, didn’t you?”

Robin hesitated.

“I did not know, dear,” he answered, gently—­“I fancied—­”

“Do not deny it, Robin!” she said, mournfully.  “You did think so!  Well, it’s true enough, I suppose!—­I am ’base-born’—­but your uncle is not my father.  He is a good, upright man—­you can always be proud of him!  He has not sinned,—­though he has burdened me with the shame of sin!  I think that is unfair,—­but I must bear it somehow, and I will try to be brave.  I’m glad I’ve told you all about it,—­and you are very kind to have taken it so well—­and to care for me still—­but I shall never marry you, Robin!—­never!  I shall never bring my ‘base-born’ blood into the family of Jocelyn!”

His heart sank as he heard her—­and involuntarily he stretched out his arms in appeal.

“Innocent!” he murmured—­“Don’t be hard upon me!  Think a little longer before you leave me without any hope!  It means so much to my life!  Surely you cannot be cruel?  Do you care for me less than you care for that old knight buried under his own effigy in the garden?  Will you not think kindly of a living man?—­a man who loves you beyond all things?  Oh, Innocent!—­be gentle, be merciful!”

She came to him and took his hands in her own.

“It is just because I am kind and gentle and merciful,” she said, in her sweet, grave accents, “that I will not marry you, dear!  I know I am right,—­and you will think so too, in time.  For the moment you imagine me to be much better and prettier than I am—­ and that there is no one like me!—­poor Robin!—­you are blind!—­ there are so many sweet and lovely girls, well born, with fathers and mothers to care for them—­and you, with your good looks and kind ways, could marry any one of them—­and you will, some day!  Good-night, dear!  You have stayed here a long time talking to me! —­just suppose you were seen sitting on this window-ledge so late! —­it is past midnight!—­what would be said of me!”

“What could be said?” demanded Robin, defiantly.  “I came up here of my own accord,—­the blame would be mine!”

She shook her head sadly, smiling a little.

“Ah, Robin!  The man is never blamed!  It’s always the woman’s fault!”

“Where’s your fault to-night?” he asked.

“Oh, most plain!” she answered.  “When I saw you coming, I ought to have shut the window, drawn the curtains, and left you to clamber down the wall again as fast as you clambered up!  But I wanted to tell you what had happened—­and how everything had changed for me —­and now—­now that you know all—­good-night!”

He looked at her longingly.  If she would only show some little sign of tenderness!—­if he might just kiss her hand, he thought!  But she withdrew into the shadow, and he had no excuse for lingering.