R. D. Blackmore - Lorna Doone

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These little things are enough to show that while every one so admired
Lorna, and so kindly took to her, still there would, just now and then,
be petty and paltry flashes of jealousy concerning her; and perhaps
it could not be otherwise among so many women. However, we were always
doubly kind to her afterwards; and although her mind was so sensitive
and quick that she must have suffered, she never allowed us to perceive
it, nor lowered herself by resenting it.

Possibly I may have mentioned that little Ruth Huckaback had been asked,
and had even promised to spend her Christmas with us; and this was the
more desirable, because she had left us through some offence, or sorrow,
about things said of her. Now my dear mother, being the kindest and
best-hearted of all women, could not bear that poor dear Ruth (who would
some day have such a fortune), should be entirely lost to us. "It is our
duty, my dear children," she said more than once about it, "to forgive
and forget, as freely as we hope to have it done to us. If dear little
Ruth has not behaved quite as we might have expected, great allowance
should be made for a girl with so much money. Designing people get hold
of her, and flatter her, and coax her, to obtain a base influence over
her; so that when she falls among simple folk, who speak the honest
truth of her, no wonder the poor child is vexed, and gives herself airs,
and so on. Ruth can be very useful to us in a number of little ways; and
I consider it quite a duty to pardon her freak of petulance."

Now one of the little ways in which Ruth had been very useful, was the
purchase of the scarlet feathers of the flaming bird; and now that
the house was quite safe from attack, and the mark on my forehead was
healing, I was begged, over and over again, to go and see Ruth, and make
all things straight, and pay for the gorgeous plumage. This last I was
very desirous to do, that I might know the price of it, having made
a small bet on the subject with Annie; and having held counsel with
myself, whether or not it were possible to get something of the kind for
Lorna, of still more distinguished appearance. Of course she could not
wear scarlet as yet, even if I had wished it; but I believed that people
of fashion often wore purple for mourning; purple too was the royal
colour, and Lorna was by right a queen; therefore I was quite resolved
to ransack Uncle Reuben's stores, in search of some bright purple bird,
if nature had kindly provided one.

All this, however, I kept to myself, intending to trust Ruth Huckaback,
and no one else in the matter. And so, one beautiful spring morning,
when all the earth was kissed with scent, and all the air caressed with
song, up the lane I stoutly rode, well armed, and well provided.

Now though it is part of my life to heed, it is no part of my tale to
tell, how the wheat was coming on. I reckon that you, who read this
story, after I am dead and gone (and before that none shall read it),
will say, "Tush! What is his wheat to us? We are not wheat: we are human
beings: and all we care for is human doings." This may be very good
argument, and in the main, I believe that it is so. Nevertheless, if a
man is to tell only what he thought and did, and not what came around
him, he must not mention his own clothes, which his father and mother
bought for him. And more than my own clothes to me, ay, and as much as
my own skin, are the works of nature round about, whereof a man is the
smallest.

And now I will tell you, although most likely only to be laughed at,
because I cannot put it in the style of Mr. Dryden--whom to compare to
Shakespeare! but if once I begin upon that, you will never hear the last
of me--nevertheless, I will tell you this; not wishing to be rude, but
only just because I know it; the more a man can fling his arms (so
to say) round Nature's neck, the more he can upon her bosom, like an
infant, lie and suck,--the more that man shall earn the trust and love
of all his fellow men.

In this matter is no jealousy (when the man is dead); because thereafter
all others know how much of the milk be had; and he can suck no longer;
and they value him accordingly, for the nourishment he is to them. Even
as when we keep a roaster of the sucking-pigs, we choose, and praise at
table most, the favourite of its mother. Fifty times have I seen this,
and smiled, and praised our people's taste, and offered them more of the
vitals.

Now here am I upon Shakespeare (who died, of his own fruition, at the
age of fifty-two, yet lived more than fifty thousand men, within his
little span of life), when all the while I ought to be riding as hard as
I can to Dulverton. But, to tell the truth, I could not ride hard, being
held at every turn, and often without any turn at all, by the beauty
of things around me. These things grow upon a man if once he stops to
notice them.

It wanted yet two hours to noon, when I came to Master Huckaback's door,
and struck the panels smartly. Knowing nothing of their manners, only
that people in a town could not be expected to entertain (as we do in
farm-houses), having, moreover, keen expectation of Master Huckaback's
avarice, I had brought some stuff to eat, made by Annie, and packed by
Lorna, and requiring no thinking about it.

Ruth herself came and let me in, blushing very heartily; for which
colour I praised her health, and my praises heightened it. That little
thing had lovely eyes, and could be trusted thoroughly. I do like an
obstinate little woman, when she is sure that she is right. And indeed
if love had never sped me straight to the heart of Lorna (compared to
whom, Ruth was no more than the thief is to the candle), who knows but
what I might have yielded to the law of nature, that thorough trimmer of
balances, and verified the proverb that the giant loves the dwarf?

"I take the privilege, Mistress Ruth, of saluting you according to
kinship, and the ordering of the Canons." And therewith I bussed her
well, and put my arm around her waist, being so terribly restricted in
the matter of Lorna, and knowing the use of practice. Not that I had any
warmth--all that was darling Lorna's--only out of pure gallantry, and my
knowledge of London fashions. Ruth blushed to such a pitch at this, and
looked up at me with such a gleam; as if I must have my own way; that
all my love of kissing sunk, and I felt that I was wronging her. Only
my mother had told me, when the girls were out of the way, to do all I
could to please darling Ruth, and I had gone about it accordingly.

Now Ruth as yet had never heard a word about dear Lorna; and when she
led me into the kitchen (where everything looked beautiful), and told me
not to mind, for a moment, about the scrubbing of my boots, because she
would only be too glad to clean it all up after me, and told me how glad
she was to see me, blushing more at every word, and recalling some of
them, and stooping down for pots and pans, when I looked at her too
ruddily--all these things came upon me so, without any legal notice,
that I could only look at Ruth, and think how very good she was, and how
bright her handles were; and wonder if I had wronged her. Once or twice,
I began--this I say upon my honour--to endeavour to explain exactly, how
we were at Plover's Barrows; how we all had been bound to fight, and had
defeated the enemy, keeping their queen amongst us. But Ruth would
make some great mistake between Lorna and Gwenny Carfax, and gave me no
chance to set her aright, and cared about nothing much, except some news
of Sally Snowe.

What could I do with this little thing? All my sense of modesty, and
value for my dinner, were against my over-pressing all the graceful
hints I had given about Lorna. Ruth was just a girl of that sort, who
will not believe one word, except from her own seeing; not so much
from any doubt, as from the practice of using eyes which have been in
business.

I asked Cousin Ruth (as we used to call her, though the cousinship was
distant) what was become of Uncle Ben, and how it was that we never
heard anything of or from him now. She replied that she hardly knew
what to make of her grandfather's manner of carrying on, for the last
half-year or more. He was apt to leave his home, she said, at any hour
of the day or night; going none knew whither, and returning no one
might say when. And his dress, in her opinion, was enough to frighten
a hodman, of a scavenger of the roads, instead of the decent suit
of kersey, or of Sabbath doeskins, such as had won the respect and
reverence of his fellow-townsmen. But the worst of all things was, as
she confessed with tears in her eyes, that the poor old gentleman had
something weighing heavily on his mind.

"It will shorten his days, Cousin Ridd," she said, for she never would
call me Cousin John; "he has no enjoyment of anything that he eats or
drinks, nor even in counting his money, as he used to do all Sunday;
indeed no pleasure in anything, unless it be smoking his pipe, and
thinking and staring at bits of brown stone, which he pulls, every now
and then, out of his pockets. And the business he used to take such
pride in is now left almost entirely to the foreman, and to me."

"And what will become of you, dear Ruth, if anything happens to the old
man?"

"I am sure I know not," she answered simply; "and I cannot bear to think
of it. It must depend, I suppose, upon dear grandfather's pleasure about
me."

"It must rather depend," said I, though having no business to say it,
"upon your own good pleasure, Ruth; for all the world will pay court to
you."

"That is the very thing which I never could endure. I have begged dear
grandfather to leave no chance of that. When he has threatened me with
poverty, as he does sometimes, I have always met him truly, with the
answer that I feared one thing a great deal worse than poverty; namely,
to be an heiress. But I cannot make him believe it. Only think how
strange, Cousin Ridd, I cannot make him believe it."

"It is not strange at all," I answered; "considering how he values
money. Neither would any one else believe you, except by looking into
your true, and very pretty eyes, dear."

Now I beg that no one will suspect for a single moment, either that I
did not mean exactly what I said, or meant a single atom more, or would
not have said the same, if Lorna had been standing by. What I had always
liked in Ruth, was the calm, straightforward gaze, and beauty of her
large brown eyes. Indeed I had spoken of them to Lorna, as the only ones
to be compared (though not for more than a moment) to her own, for truth
and light, but never for depth and softness. But now the little maiden
dropped them, and turned away, without reply.

"I will go and see to my horse," I said; "the boy that has taken him
seemed surprised at his having no horns on his forehead. Perhaps he will
lead him into the shop, and feed him upon broadcloth."

"Oh, he is such a stupid boy," Ruth answered with great sympathy: "how
quick of you to observe that now: and you call yourself 'Slow John
Ridd!' I never did see such a stupid boy: sometimes he spoils my temper.
But you must be back in half an hour, at the latest, Cousin Ridd. You
see I remember what you are; when once you get among horses, or cows, or
things of that sort."

"Things of that sort! Well done, Ruth! One would think you were quite a
Cockney."

Uncle Reuben did not come home to his dinner; and his granddaughter said
she had strictest orders never to expect him. Therefore we had none to
dine with us, except the foreman of the shop, a worthy man, named
Thomas Cockram, fifty years of age or so. He seemed to me to have strong
intentions of his own about little Ruth, and on that account to regard
me with a wholly undue malevolence. And perhaps, in order to justify
him, I may have been more attentive to her than otherwise need have
been; at any rate, Ruth and I were pleasant; and he the very opposite.

"My dear Cousin Ruth," I said, on purpose to vex Master Cockram, because
he eyed us so heavily, and squinted to unluckily, "we have long been
looking for you at our Plover's Barrows farm. You remember how you used
to love hunting for eggs in the morning, and hiding up in the tallat
with Lizzie, for me to seek you among the hay, when the sun was down.
Ah, Master Cockram, those are the things young people find
their pleasure in, not in selling a yard of serge, and giving
twopence-halfpenny change, and writing 'settled' at the bottom, with a
pencil that has blacked their teeth. Now, Master Cockram, you ought to
come as far as our good farm, at once, and eat two new-laid eggs for
breakfast, and be made to look quite young again. Our good Annie would
cook for you; and you should have the hot new milk and the pope's eye
from the mutton; and every foot of you would become a yard in about a
fortnight." And hereupon, I spread my chest, to show him an example.
Ruth could not keep her countenance: but I saw that she thought it wrong
of me; and would scold me, if ever I gave her the chance of taking those
little liberties. However, he deserved it all, according to my young
ideas, for his great impertinence in aiming at my cousin.

But what I said was far less grievous to a man of honest mind than
little Ruth's own behaviour. I could hardly have believed that so
thoroughly true a girl, and one so proud and upright, could have got rid
of any man so cleverly as she got rid of Master Thomas Cockram. She gave
him not even a glass of wine, but commended to his notice, with a sweet
and thoughtful gravity, some invoice which must be corrected, before her
dear grandfather should return; and to amend which three great ledgers
must be searched from first to last. Thomas Cockram winked at me, with
the worst of his two wrong eyes; as much as to say, "I understand it;
but I cannot help myself. Only you look out, if ever"--and before he had
finished winking, the door was shut behind him. Then Ruth said to me in
the simplest manner, "You have ridden far today, Cousin Ridd; and have
far to ride to get home again. What will dear Aunt Ridd say, if we send
you away without nourishment? All the keys are in my keeping, and
dear grandfather has the finest wine, not to be matched in the west of
England, as I have heard good judges say; though I know not wine from
cider. Do you like the wine of Oporto, or the wine of Xeres?"

"I know not one from the other, fair cousin, except by the colour," I
answered: "but the sound of Oporto is nobler, and richer. Suppose we try
wine of Oporto."

The good little creature went and fetched a black bottle of an ancient
cast, covered with dust and cobwebs. These I was anxious to shake aside;
and indeed I thought that the wine would be better for being roused up a
little. Ruth, however, would not hear a single word to that purport;
and seeing that she knew more about it, I left her to manage it. And the
result was very fine indeed, to wit, a sparkling rosy liquor, dancing
with little flakes of light, and scented like new violets. With this I
was so pleased and gay, and Ruth so glad to see me gay, that we quite
forgot how the time went on; and though my fair cousin would not be
persuaded to take a second glass herself, she kept on filling mine so
fast that it was never empty, though I did my best to keep it so.

"What is a little drop like this to a man of your size and strength,
Cousin Ridd?" she said, with her cheeks just brushed with rose, which
made her look very beautiful; "I have heard you say that your head is so
thick--or rather so clear, you ought to say--that no liquor ever moves
it."

"That is right enough," I answered; "what a witch you must be, dear
Ruth, to have remembered that now!"

"Oh, I remember every word I have ever heard you say, Cousin Ridd;
because your voice is so deep, you know, and you talk so little. Now
it is useless to say 'no'. These bottles hold almost nothing. Dear
grandfather will not come home, I fear, until long after you are gone.
What will Aunt Ridd think of me, I am sure? You are all so dreadfully
hospitable. Now not another 'no,' Cousin Ridd. We must have another
bottle."

"Well, must is must," I answered, with a certain resignation. "I cannot
bear bad manners, dear; and how old are you next birthday?"

"Eighteen, dear John;" said Ruth, coming over with the empty bottle;
and I was pleased at her calling me "John," and had a great mind to kiss
her. However, I thought of my Lorna suddenly, and of the anger I should
feel if a man went on with her so; therefore I lay back in my chair, to
wait for the other bottle.

"Do you remember how we danced that night?" I asked, while she was
opening it; "and how you were afraid of me first, because I looked so
tall, dear?"

"Yes, and so very broad, Cousin Ridd. I thought that you would eat me.
But I have come to know, since then, how very kind and good you are."

"And will you come and dance again, at my wedding, Cousin Ruth?"

She nearly let the bottle fall, the last of which she was sloping
carefully into a vessel of bright glass; and then she raised her hand
again, and finished it judiciously. And after that, she took the window,
to see that all her work was clear; and then she poured me out a glass
and said, with very pale cheeks, but else no sign of meaning about her,
"What did you ask me, Cousin Ridd?"

"Nothing of any importance, Ruth; only we are so fond of you. I mean to
be married as soon as I can. Will you come and help us?"

"To be sure I will, Cousin Ridd--unless, unless, dear grandfather cannot
spare me from the business." She went away; and her breast was heaving,
like a rick of under-carried hay. And she stood at the window long,
trying to make yawns of sighs.

For my part, I knew not what to do. And yet I could think about it, as
I never could with Lorna; with whom I was always in a whirl, from the
power of my love. So I thought some time about it; and perceived that it
was the manliest way, just to tell her everything; except that I feared
she liked me. But it seemed to me unaccountable that she did not even
ask the name of my intended wife. Perhaps she thought that it must be
Sally; or perhaps she feared to trust her voice.

"Come and sit by me, dear Ruth; and listen to a long, long story, how
things have come about with me."

"No, thank you, Cousin Ridd," she answered; "at least I mean that I
shall be happy--that I shall be ready to hear you--to listen to you, I
mean of course. But I would rather stay where I am, and have the air--or
rather be able to watch for dear grandfather coming home. He is so kind
and good to me. What should I do without him?"

Then I told her how, for years and years, I had been attached to Lorna,
and all the dangers and difficulties which had so long beset us, and
how I hoped that these were passing, and no other might come between
us, except on the score of religion; upon which point I trusted soon
to overcome my mother's objections. And then I told her how poor, and
helpless, and alone in the world, my Lorna was; and how sad all her
youth had been, until I brought her away at last. And many other little
things I mentioned, which there is no need for me again to dwell upon.
Ruth heard it all without a word, and without once looking at me; and
only by her attitude could I guess that she was weeping. Then when all
my tale was told, she asked in a low and gentle voice, but still without
showing her face to me,--

"And does she love you, Cousin Ridd? Does she say that she loves you
with--with all her heart?"

"Certainly, she does," I answered. "Do you think it impossible for one
like her to do so?"

She said no more; but crossed the room before I had time to look at her,
and came behind my chair, and kissed me gently on the forehead.

"I hope you may be very happy, with--I mean in your new life," she
whispered very softly; "as happy as you deserve to be, and as happy as
you can make others be. Now how I have been neglecting you! I am quite
ashamed of myself for thinking only of grandfather: and it makes me so
low-spirited. You have told me a very nice romance, and I have never
even helped you to a glass of wine. Here, pour it for yourself, dear
cousin; I shall be back again directly."

With that she was out of the door in a moment; and when she came back,
you would not have thought that a tear had dimmed those large bright
eyes, or wandered down those pale clear cheeks. Only her hands were cold
and trembling: and she made me help myself.

Uncle Reuben did not appear at all; and Ruth, who had promised to come
and see us, and stay for a fortnight at our house (if her grandfather
could spare her), now discovered, before I left, that she must not think
of doing so. Perhaps she was right in deciding thus; at any rate it had
now become improper for me to press her. And yet I now desired tenfold
that she should consent to come, thinking that Lorna herself would work
the speediest cure of her passing whim.

For such, I tried to persuade myself, was the nature of Ruth's regard
for me: and upon looking back I could not charge myself with any
misconduct towards the little maiden. I had never sought her company, I
had never trifled with her (at least until that very day), and being so
engrossed with my own love, I had scarcely ever thought of her. And the
maiden would never have thought of me, except as a clumsy yokel, but for
my mother's and sister's meddling, and their wily suggestions. I believe
they had told the little soul that I was deeply in love with her;
although they both stoutly denied it. But who can place trust in a
woman's word, when it comes to a question of match-making?

[Illustration: 454.jpg Tailpiece]

CHAPTER LI

A VISIT FROM THE COUNSELLOR

[Illustration: 455.jpg Counsellor]

Now while I was riding home that evening, with a tender conscience
about Ruth, although not a wounded one, I guessed but little that all
my thoughts were needed much for my own affairs. So however it proved
to be; for as I came in, soon after dark, my sister Eliza met me at
the corner of the cheese-room, and she said, "Don't go in there, John,"
pointing to mother's room; "until I have had a talk with you."

"In the name of Moses," I inquired, having picked up that phrase at
Dulverton; "what are you at about me now? There is no peace for a quiet
fellow."

"It is nothing we are at," she answered; "neither may you make light of
it. It is something very important about Mistress Lorna Doone."

"Let us have it at once," I cried; "I can bear anything about Lorna,
except that she does not care for me."

"It has nothing to do with that, John. And I am quite sure that
you never need fear anything of that sort. She perfectly wearies me
sometimes, although her voice is so soft and sweet, about your endless
perfections."

"Bless her little heart!" I said; "the subject is inexhaustible."

"No doubt," replied Lizzie, in the driest manner; "especially to your
sisters. However this is no time to joke. I fear you will get the worst
of it, John. Do you know a man of about Gwenny's shape, nearly as broad
as he is long, but about six times the size of Gwenny, and with a
length of snow-white hair, and a thickness also; as the copses were last
winter. He never can comb it, that is quite certain, with any comb yet
invented."

"Then you go and offer your services. There are few things you cannot
scarify. I know the man from your description, although I have never
seen him. Now where is my Lorna?"

"Your Lorna is with Annie, having a good cry, I believe; and Annie too
glad to second her. She knows that this great man is here, and knows
that he wants to see her. But she begged to defer the interview, until
dear John's return."

"What a nasty way you have of telling the very commonest piece of news!"
I said, on purpose to pay her out. "What man will ever fancy you, you
unlucky little snapper? Now, no more nursery talk for me. I will go and
settle this business. You had better go and dress your dolls; if you can
give them clothes unpoisoned." Hereupon Lizzie burst into a perfect roar
of tears; feeling that she had the worst of it. And I took her up, and
begged her pardon; although she scarcely deserved it; for she knew that
I was out of luck, and she might have spared her satire.

I was almost sure that the man who was come must be the Counsellor
himself; of whom I felt much keener fear than of his son Carver. And
knowing that his visit boded ill to me and Lorna, I went and sought
my dear; and led her with a heavy heart, from the maiden's room to
mother's, to meet our dreadful visitor.

Mother was standing by the door, making curtseys now and then, and
listening to a long harangue upon the rights of state and land, which
the Counsellor (having found that she was the owner of her property, and
knew nothing of her title to it) was encouraged to deliver it. My dear
mother stood gazing at him, spell-bound by his eloquence, and only
hoping that he would stop. He was shaking his hair upon his shoulders,
in the power of his words, and his wrath at some little thing, which he
declared to be quite illegal.