R. D. Blackmore - Lorna Doone

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"Yes, to-day, and at once, Annie. I want to have it over, and be done
with it."

"Oh, but think of her, dear. I am sure she could not bear it, after this
great shock already."

"She will bear it all the better," said I; "the one will drive the other
out. I know exactly what mother is. She will be desperately savage first
with you, and then with me, and then for a very little while with both
of us together; and then she will put one against the other (in her mind
I mean) and consider which was most to blame; and in doing that she will
be compelled to find the best in either's case, that it may beat the
other; and so as the pleas come before her mind, they will gain upon the
charges, both of us being her children, you know: and before very long
(particularly if we both keep out of the way) she will begin to think
that after all she has been a little too hasty, and then she will
remember how good we have always been to her; and how like our father.
Upon that, she will think of her own love-time, and sigh a good bit,
and cry a little, and then smile, and send for both of us, and beg our
pardon, and call us her two darlings."

"Now, John, how on earth can you know all that?" exclaimed my sister,
wiping her eyes, and gazing at me with a soft bright smile. "Who on
earth can have told you, John? People to call you stupid indeed! Why,
I feel that all you say is quite true, because you describe so exactly
what I should do myself; I mean--I mean if I had two children, who had
behaved as we have done. But tell me, darling John, how you learned all
this."

"Never you mind," I replied, with a nod of some conceit, I fear: "I must
be a fool if I did not know what mother is by this time."

Now inasmuch as the thing befell according to my prediction, what need
for me to dwell upon it, after saying how it would be? Moreover, I would
regret to write down what mother said about Lorna, in her first surprise
and tribulation; not only because I was grieved by the gross injustice
of it, and frightened mother with her own words (repeated deeply after
her); but rather because it is not well, when people repent of hasty
speech, to enter it against them.

That is said to be the angels' business; and I doubt if they can attend
to it much, without doing injury to themselves.

However, by the afternoon, when the sun began to go down upon us, our
mother sat on the garden bench, with her head on my great otter-skin
waistcoat (which was waterproof), and her right arm round our Annie's
waist, and scarcely knowing which of us she ought to make the most of,
or which deserved most pity. Not that she had forgiven yet the rivals to
her love--Tom Faggus, I mean, and Lorna--but that she was beginning to
think a tattle better of them now, and a vast deal better of her own
children.

And it helped her much in this regard, that she was not thinking half
so well as usual of herself, or rather of her own judgment; for in good
truth she had no self, only as it came home to her, by no very distant
road, but by way of her children. A better mother never lived; and can
I, after searching all things, add another word to that?

And indeed poor Lizzie was not so very bad; but behaved (on the whole)
very well for her. She was much to be pitied, poor thing, and great
allowances made for her, as belonging to a well-grown family, and a very
comely one; and feeling her own shortcomings. This made her leap to the
other extreme, and reassert herself too much, endeavouring to exalt the
mind at the expense of the body; because she had the invisible one (so
far as can be decided) in better share than the visible. Not but what
she had her points, and very comely points of body; lovely eyes to wit,
and very beautiful hands and feet (almost as good as Lorna's), and a
neck as white as snow; but Lizzie was not gifted with our gait and port,
and bounding health.

Now, while we sat on the garden bench, under the great ash-tree, we left
dear mother to take her own way, and talk at her own pleasure. Children
almost always are more wide-awake than their parents. The fathers and
the mothers laugh; but the young ones have the best of them. And now
both Annie knew, and I, that we had gotten the best of mother; and
therefore we let her lay down the law, as if we had been two dollies.

[Illustration: 290.jpg Gotten the best of mother]

"Darling John," my mother said, "your case is a very hard one. A young
and very romantic girl--God send that I be right in my charitable
view of her--has met an equally simple boy, among great dangers and
difficulties, from which my son has saved her, at the risk of his life
at every step. Of course, she became attached to him, and looked up to
him in every way, as a superior being"--

"Come now, mother," I said; "if you only saw Lorna, you would look upon
me as the lowest dirt"--

"No doubt I should," my mother answered; "and the king and queen, and
all the royal family. Well, this poor angel, having made up her mind to
take compassion upon my son, when he had saved her life so many times,
persuades him to marry her out of pure pity, and throw his poor mother
overboard. And the saddest part of it all is this--"

"That my mother will never, never, never understand the truth," said I.

"That is all I wish," she answered; "just to get at the simple truth
from my own perception of it. John, you are very wise in kissing me;
but perhaps you would not be so wise in bringing Lorna for an afternoon,
just to see what she thinks of me. There is a good saddle of mutton now;
and there are some very good sausages left, on the blue dish with the
anchor, Annie, from the last little sow we killed."

"As if Lorna would eat sausages!" said I, with appearance of high
contempt, though rejoicing all the while that mother seemed to have her
name so pat; and she pronounced it in a manner which made my heart leap
to my ears: "Lorna to eat sausages!"

"I don't see why she shouldn't," my mother answered smiling, "if she
means to be a farmer's wife, she must take to farmer's ways, I think.
What do you say, Annie?"

"She will eat whatever John desires, I should hope," said Annie gravely;
"particularly as I made them."

"Oh that I could only get the chance of trying her!" I answered, "if you
could once behold her, mother, you would never let her go again. And she
would love you with all her heart, she is so good and gentle."

"That is a lucky thing for me"; saying this my mother wept, as she had
been doing off and on, when no one seemed to look at her; "otherwise I
suppose, John, she would very soon turn me out of the farm, having you
so completely under her thumb, as she seems to have. I see now that my
time is over. Lizzie and I will seek our fortunes. It is wiser so."

"Now, mother," I cried; "will you have the kindness not to talk any
nonsense? Everything belongs to you; and so, I hope, your children do.
And you, in turn, belong to us; as you have proved ever since--oh, ever
since we can remember. Why do you make Annie cry so? You ought to know
better than that."

Mother upon this went over all the things she had done before; how many
times I know not; neither does it matter. Only she seemed to enjoy it
more, every time of doing it. And then she said she was an old fool; and
Annie (like a thorough girl) pulled her one grey hair out.

CHAPTER XXXV

RUTH IS NOT LIKE LORNA

[Illustration: 292.jpg Carver Doone]

Although by our mother's reluctant consent a large part of the obstacles
between Annie and her lover appeared to be removed, on the other hand
Lorna and myself gained little, except as regarded comfort of mind, and
some ease to the conscience. Moreover, our chance of frequent meetings
and delightful converse was much impaired, at least for the present;
because though mother was not aware of my narrow escape from Carver
Doone, she made me promise never to risk my life by needless visits.
And upon this point, that is to say, the necessity of the visit, she was
well content, as she said, to leave me to my own good sense and honour;
only begging me always to tell her of my intention beforehand. This
pledge, however, for her own sake, I declined to give; knowing how
wretched she would be during all the time of my absence; and, on that
account, I promised instead, that I would always give her a full account
of my adventure upon returning.

Now my mother, as might be expected, began at once to cast about for
some means of relieving me from all further peril, and herself from
great anxiety. She was full of plans for fetching Lorna, in some
wonderful manner, out of the power of the Doones entirely, and into her
own hands, where she was to remain for at least a twelve-month, learning
all mother and Annie could teach her of dairy business, and farm-house
life, and the best mode of packing butter. And all this arose from my
happening to say, without meaning anything, how the poor dear had longed
for quiet, and a life of simplicity, and a rest away from violence!
Bless thee, mother--now long in heaven, there is no need to bless thee;
but it often makes a dimness now in my well-worn eyes, when I think of
thy loving-kindness, warmth, and romantic innocence.

As to stealing my beloved from that vile Glen Doone, the deed itself was
not impossible, nor beyond my daring; but in the first place would she
come, leaving her old grandfather to die without her tendence? And
even if, through fear of Carver and that wicked Counsellor, she should
consent to fly, would it be possible to keep her without a regiment of
soldiers? Would not the Doones at once ride forth to scour the country
for their queen, and finding her (as they must do), burn our house, and
murder us, and carry her back triumphantly?

All this I laid before my mother, and to such effect that she
acknowledged, with a sigh that nothing else remained for me (in the
present state of matters) except to keep a careful watch upon Lorna from
safe distance, observe the policy of the Doones, and wait for a tide in
their affairs. Meanwhile I might even fall in love (as mother unwisely
hinted) with a certain more peaceful heiress, although of inferior
blood, who would be daily at my elbow. I am not sure but what dear
mother herself would have been disappointed, had I proved myself so
fickle; and my disdain and indignation at the mere suggestion did not so
much displease her; for she only smiled and answered,--

"Well, it is not for me to say; God knows what is good for us. Likings
will not come to order; otherwise I should not be where I am this day.
And of one thing I am rather glad; Uncle Reuben well deserves that his
pet scheme should miscarry. He who called my boy a coward, an ignoble
coward, because he would not join some crack-brained plan against the
valley which sheltered his beloved one! And all the time this dreadful
'coward' risking his life daily there, without a word to any one! How
glad I am that you will not have, for all her miserable money, that
little dwarfish granddaughter of the insolent old miser!"

She turned, and by her side was standing poor Ruth Huckaback herself,
white, and sad, and looking steadily at my mother's face, which became
as red as a plum while her breath deserted her.

[Illustration: 294.jpg Poor Ruth Huckaback herself]

"If you please, madam," said the little maiden, with her large calm eyes
unwavering, "it is not my fault, but God Almighty's, that I am a little
dwarfish creature. I knew not that you regarded me with so much contempt
on that account; neither have you told my grandfather, at least
within my hearing, that he was an insolent old miser. When I return to
Dulverton, which I trust to do to-morrow (for it is too late to-day),
I shall be careful not to tell him your opinion of him, lest I should
thwart any schemes you may have upon his property. I thank you all for
your kindness to me, which has been very great, far more than a little
dwarfish creature could, for her own sake, expect. I will only add for
your further guidance one more little truth. It is by no means certain
that my grandfather will settle any of his miserable money upon me. If
I offend him, as I would in a moment, for the sake of a brave and
straightforward man"--here she gave me a glance which I scarcely knew
what to do with--"my grandfather, upright as he is, would leave me
without a shilling. And I often wish it were so. So many miseries come
upon me from the miserable money--" Here she broke down, and burst out
crying, and ran away with a faint good-bye; while we three looked at one
another, and felt that we had the worst of it.

"Impudent little dwarf!" said my mother, recovering her breath after
ever so long. "Oh, John, how thankful you ought to be! What a life she
would have led you!"

"Well, I am sure!" said Annie, throwing her arms around poor mother:
"who could have thought that little atomy had such an outrageous spirit!
For my part I cannot think how she can have been sly enough to hide it
in that crafty manner, that John might think her an angel!"

"Well, for my part," I answered, laughing, "I never admired Ruth
Huckaback half, or a quarter so much before. She is rare stuff. I would
have been glad to have married her to-morrow, if I had never seen my
Lorna."

"And a nice nobody I should have been, in my own house!" cried mother:
"I never can be thankful enough to darling Lorna for saving me. Did you
see how her eyes flashed?"

"That I did; and very fine they were. Now nine maidens out of ten would
have feigned not to have heard one word that was said, and have borne
black malice in their hearts. Come, Annie, now, would not you have done
so?"

"I think," said Annie, "although of course I cannot tell, you know,
John, that I should have been ashamed at hearing what was never meant
for me, and should have been almost as angry with myself as anybody."

"So you would," replied my mother; "so any daughter of mine would have
done, instead of railing and reviling. However, I am very sorry that any
words of mine which the poor little thing chose to overhear should have
made her so forget herself. I shall beg her pardon before she goes, and
I shall expect her to beg mine."

"That she will never do," said I; "a more resolute little maiden never
yet had right upon her side; although it was a mere accident. I might
have said the same thing myself, and she was hard upon you, mother
dear."

After this, we said no more, at least about that matter; and little
Ruth, the next morning, left us, in spite of all that we could do. She
vowed an everlasting friendship to my younger sister Eliza; but she
looked at Annie with some resentment, when they said good-bye, for being
so much taller. At any rate so Annie fancied, but she may have been
quite wrong. I rode beside the little maid till far beyond Exeford, when
all danger of the moor was past, and then I left her with John Fry, not
wishing to be too particular, after all the talk about her money. She
had tears in her eyes when she bade me farewell, and she sent a kind
message home to mother, and promised to come again at Christmas, if she
could win permission.

[Illustration: 296.jpg She had tears in her eyes]

Upon the whole, my opinion was that she had behaved uncommonly well for
a maid whose self-love was outraged, with spirit, I mean, and proper
pride; and yet with a great endeavour to forgive, which is, meseems, the
hardest of all things to a woman, outside of her own family.

After this, for another month, nothing worthy of notice happened, except
of course that I found it needful, according to the strictest good sense
and honour, to visit Lorna immediately after my discourse with mother,
and to tell her all about it. My beauty gave me one sweet kiss with all
her heart (as she always did, when she kissed at all), and I begged for
one more to take to our mother, and before leaving, I obtained it. It
is not for me to tell all she said, even supposing (what is not likely)
that any one cared to know it, being more and more peculiar to ourselves
and no one else. But one thing that she said was this, and I took good
care to carry it, word for word, to my mother and Annie:--

"I never can believe, dear John, that after all the crime and outrage
wrought by my reckless family, it ever can be meant for me to settle
down to peace and comfort in a simple household. With all my heart I
long for home; any home, however dull and wearisome to those used to
it, would seem a paradise to me, if only free from brawl and tumult,
and such as I could call my own. But even if God would allow me this, in
lieu of my wild inheritance, it is quite certain that the Doones never
can and never will."

Again, when I told her how my mother and Annie, as well as myself,
longed to have her at Plover's Barrows, and teach her all the quiet
duties in which she was sure to take such delight, she only answered
with a bright blush, that while her grandfather was living she would
never leave him; and that even if she were free, certain ruin was all
she should bring to any house that received her, at least within the
utmost reach of her amiable family. This was too plain to be denied,
and seeing my dejection at it, she told me bravely that we must hope for
better times, if possible, and asked how long I would wait for her.

"Not a day if I had my will," I answered very warmly; at which she
turned away confused, and would not look at me for awhile; "but all my
life," I went on to say, "if my fortune is so ill. And how long would
you wait for me, Lorna?"

"Till I could get you," she answered slyly, with a smile which
was brighter to me than the brightest wit could be. "And now," she
continued, "you bound me, John, with a very beautiful ring to you, and
when I dare not wear it, I carry it always on my heart. But I will bind
you to me, you dearest, with the very poorest and plainest thing that
ever you set eyes on. I could give you fifty fairer ones, but they would
not be honest; and I love you for your honesty, and nothing else of
course, John; so don't you be conceited. Look at it, what a queer
old thing! There are some ancient marks upon it, very grotesque and
wonderful; it looks like a cat in a tree almost, but never mind what it
looks like. This old ring must have been a giant's; therefore it will
fit you perhaps, you enormous John. It has been on the front of my old
glass necklace (which my grandfather found them taking away, and very
soon made them give back again) ever since I can remember; and long
before that, as some woman told me. Now you seem very greatly amazed;
pray what thinks my lord of it?"

"That is worth fifty of the pearl thing which I gave you, you darling;
and that I will not take it from you."

"Then you will never take me, that is all. I will have nothing to do
with a gentleman"--

"No gentleman, dear--a yeoman."

"Very well, a yeoman--nothing to do with a yeoman who will not accept my
love-gage. So, if you please, give it back again, and take your lovely
ring back."

She looked at me in such a manner, half in earnest, half in jest, and
three times three in love, that in spite of all good resolutions, and
her own faint protest, I was forced to abandon all firm ideas, and kiss
her till she was quite ashamed, and her head hung on my bosom, with the
night of her hair shed over me. Then I placed the pearl ring back on the
soft elastic bend of the finger she held up to scold me; and on my own
smallest finger drew the heavy hoop she had given me. I considered this
with satisfaction, until my darling recovered herself; and then I began
very gravely about it, to keep her (if I could) from chiding me:--

"Mistress Lorna, this is not the ring of any giant. It is nothing more
nor less than a very ancient thumb-ring, such as once in my father's
time was ploughed up out of the ground in our farm, and sent to learned
doctors, who told us all about it, but kept the ring for their trouble.
I will accept it, my own one love; and it shall go to my grave with
me." And so it shall, unless there be villains who would dare to rob the
dead.

Now I have spoken about this ring (though I scarcely meant to do so,
and would rather keep to myself things so very holy) because it holds an
important part in the history of my Lorna. I asked her where the glass
necklace was from which the ring was fastened, and which she had worn
in her childhood, and she answered that she hardly knew, but remembered
that her grandfather had begged her to give it up to him, when she was
ten years old or so, and had promised to keep it for her until she
could take care of it; at the same time giving her back the ring, and
fastening it from her pretty neck, and telling her to be proud of it.
And so she always had been, and now from her sweet breast she took it,
and it became John Ridd's delight.

All this, or at least great part of it, I told my mother truly,
according to my promise; and she was greatly pleased with Lorna for
having been so good to me, and for speaking so very sensibly; and then
she looked at the great gold ring, but could by no means interpret it.
Only she was quite certain, as indeed I myself was, that it must have
belonged to an ancient race of great consideration, and high rank,
in their time. Upon which I was for taking it off, lest it should be
degraded by a common farmer's finger. But mother said "No," with tears
in her eyes; "if the common farmer had won the great lady of the ancient
race, what were rings and old-world trinkets, when compared to the
living jewel?" Being quite of her opinion in this, and loving the ring
(which had no gem in it) as the token of my priceless gem, I resolved to
wear it at any cost, except when I should be ploughing, or doing things
likely to break it; although I must own that it felt very queer (for I
never had throttled a finger before), and it looked very queer, for a
length of time, upon my great hard-working hand.

And before I got used to my ring, or people could think that it belonged
to me (plain and ungarnished though it was), and before I went to see
Lorna again, having failed to find any necessity, and remembering my
duty to mother, we all had something else to think of, not so pleasant,
and more puzzling.

CHAPTER XXXVI

JOHN RETURNS TO BUSINESS

[Illustration: 299.jpg Guy Fawkes]

Now November was upon us, and we had kept Allhallowmass, with roasting
of skewered apples (like so many shuttlecocks), and after that the day
of Fawkes, as became good Protestants, with merry bonfires and burned
batatas, and plenty of good feeding in honour of our religion; and then
while we were at wheat-sowing, another visitor arrived.

This was Master Jeremy Stickles, who had been a good friend to me (as
described before) in London, and had earned my mother's gratitude, so
far as ever he chose to have it. And he seemed inclined to have it all;
for he made our farm-house his headquarters, and kept us quite at his
beck and call, going out at any time of the evening, and coming back at
any time of the morning, and always expecting us to be ready, whether
with horse, or man, or maiden, or fire, or provisions. We knew that he
was employed somehow upon the service of the King, and had at different
stations certain troopers and orderlies quite at his disposal; also
we knew that he never went out, nor even slept in his bedroom, without
heavy firearms well loaded, and a sharp sword nigh his hand; and that
he held a great commission, under royal signet, requiring all good
subjects, all officers of whatever degree, and especially justices of
the peace, to aid him to the utmost, with person, beast, and chattel, or
to answer it at their peril.

Now Master Jeremy Stickles, of course, knowing well what women are,
durst not open to any of them the nature of his instructions. But, after
awhile, perceiving that I could be relied upon, and that it was a great
discomfort not to have me with him, he took me aside in a lonely place,
and told me nearly everything; having bound me first by oath, not to
impart to any one, without his own permission, until all was over.

But at this present time of writing, all is over long ago; ay and
forgotten too, I ween, except by those who suffered. Therefore may I
tell the whole without any breach of confidence. Master Stickles was
going forth upon his usual night journey, when he met me coming home,
and I said something half in jest, about his zeal and secrecy; upon
which he looked all round the yard, and led me to an open space in the
clover field adjoining.

"John," he said, "you have some right to know the meaning of all this,
being trusted as you were by the Lord Chief Justice. But he found you
scarcely supple enough, neither gifted with due brains."

"Thank God for that same," I answered, while he tapped his head, to
signify his own much larger allowance. Then he made me bind myself,
which in an evil hour I did, to retain his secret; and after that he
went on solemnly, and with much importance,--

"There be some people fit to plot, and others to be plotted against,
and others to unravel plots, which is the highest gift of all. This last
hath fallen to my share, and a very thankless gift it is, although a
rare and choice one. Much of peril too attends it; daring courage and
great coolness are as needful for the work as ready wit and spotless
honour. Therefore His Majesty's advisers have chosen me for this high
task, and they could not have chosen a better man. Although you have
been in London, Jack, much longer than you wished it, you are wholly
ignorant, of course, in matters of state, and the public weal."