"There, dear lad, don't look like that!" she said. "Go, and come back in a few minutes with the wine—we'll be ready for you then. Cheer up!—she's opened her pretty eyes once—she'll open them again directly and smile at you!"
He moved away slowly with an aching heart, and a tightness in his throat that impelled him to cry like a woman. Innocent!—little Innocent!—she who had once been all brightness and gaiety,—was this desolate, half-dying, stricken creature the same girl? Ah, no! Not the same! Never the same any more! Some numbing blow had smitten her,—some withering fire had swept over her, and she was no longer what she once had been. This he felt by a lover's intuition,—intuition keener and surer than all positive knowledge; and not the faintest hope stirred within him that she would ever shake off the trance of that death-in-life into which she had been plunged by some as yet unknown disaster—unknown to him, yet dimly guessed. Meanwhile Priscilla's loving task was soon done, and Innocent was clothed, warm and dry, in one of the old hand-woven woollen gowns she had been accustomed to wear in former days, and a thick blanket was wrapped cosily round her. She was still more or less unconscious, but the reviving heat gradually penetrated her body, and she began to sigh and move restlessly. She opened her eyes again and fixed them on the bright fire. Robin came in with the glass of wine, and Priscilla held it to her lips, forcing her to swallow a few drops.
The strong cordial started a little pulse of warmth in her failing blood, and she made an effort to sit up. She looked vaguely round her,—then her wandering gaze fixed itself on Priscilla's anxious old face, and a faint smile, more pitiful than tears, trembled on her lips.
"Priscilla!" she said—"I believe it is Priscilla I Oh, dear Priscilla!
I called you but you would not hear or answer me!"
"Oh, my lamb, I heard ye right enough!"—and Priscilla fondled and warmed the girl's passive hands—"But I couldn't think it was yourself—I thought I was dreaming—"
"So did I!" she answered feebly—"I thought I was dreaming…yes!—I have been dreaming such a long, long time! All dreams! I have walked through the rain—it was very dark and the wind was cold and cruel—but I walked on and on—I don't know how I came—but I wanted to get home to Briar Farm—do you know Briar Farm?"
Stricken to the soul by the look of the wistful eyes expressing a mind in chaos, Priscilla answered gently—"You're in Briar Farm now, dearie!—Surely you know you are! This is your own old home—don't you know it?—don't you remember the old kitchen?—of course you do! There, there!—look up and see!"
She lifted her head and gazed about her in a lost way.
"No!" she murmured—"I wish I could believe it, but I cannot. I believe nothing now. It is all strange to me—I have lost the way home, and I shall never find it—never—never!" Here she suddenly pointed to Robin standing aloof in utter misery.
"Who is that?" she asked.