R. D. Blackmore - Lorna Doone

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I followed her to a little room, furnished very daintily; and there she
ordered me to wait, in a most ungracious manner. "Well," thought I, "if
the mistress and the maid are alike in temper, better it had been for
me to abide at Master Ramsack's." But almost ere my thought was done, I
heard the light quick step which I knew as well as "Watch," my dog, knew
mine; and my breast began to tremble, like the trembling of an arch ere
the keystone is put in.

Almost ere I hoped--for fear and hope were so entangled that they
hindered one another--the velvet hangings of the doorway parted, with
a little doubt, and then a good face put on it. Lorna, in her perfect
beauty, stood before the crimson folds, and her dress was all pure
white, and her cheeks were rosy pink, and her lips were scarlet.

Like a maiden, with skill and sense checking violent impulse, she stayed
there for one moment only, just to be admired; and then like a woman,
she came to me, seeing how alarmed I was. The hand she offered me I
took, and raised it to my lips with fear, as a thing too good for me.
"Is that all?" she whispered; and then her eyes gleamed up at me; and in
another instant, she was weeping on my breast.

"Darling Lorna, Lady Lorna," I cried, in astonishment, yet unable but to
keep her closer to me, and closer; "surely, though I love you so, this
is not as it should be."

"Yes, it is, John. Yes, it is. Nothing else should ever be. Oh, why have
you behaved so?"

"I am behaving." I replied, "to the very best of my ability. There is no
other man in the world could hold you so, without kissing you."

"Then why don't you do it, John?" asked Lorna, looking up at me, with a
flash of her old fun.

Now this matter, proverbially, is not for discussion, and repetition.
Enough that we said nothing more than, "Oh, John, how glad I am!" and
"Lorna, Lorna Lorna!" for about five minutes. Then my darling drew
back proudly, with blushing cheeks, and tear-bright eyes, she began to
cross-examine me.

"Master John Ridd, you shall tell the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth. I have been in Chancery, sir; and can detect a
story. Now why have you never, for more than a twelvemonth, taken the
smallest notice of your old friend, Mistress Lorna Doone?" Although she
spoke in this lightsome manner, as if it made no difference, I saw that
her quick heart was moving, and the flash of her eyes controlled.

"Simply for this cause," I answered, "that my old friend and true love,
took not the smallest heed of me. Nor knew I where to find her."

"What!" cried Lorna; and nothing more; being overcome with wondering;
and much inclined to fall away, but for my assistance. I told her, over
and over again, that not a single syllable of any message from her,
or tidings of her welfare, had reached me, or any one of us, since the
letter she left behind; except by soldier's gossip.

"Oh, you poor dear John!" said Lorna, sighing at thought of my misery:
"how wonderfully good of you, thinking of me as you must have done, not
to marry that little plain thing (or perhaps I should say that lovely
creature, for I have never seen her), Mistress Ruth--I forget her name;
but something like a towel."

"Ruth Huckaback is a worthy maid," I answered with some dignity; "and
she alone of all our world, except indeed poor Annie, has kept her
confidence in you, and told me not to dread your rank, but trust your
heart, Lady Lorna."

"Then Ruth is my best friend," she answered, "and is worthy of you, dear
John. And now remember one thing, dear; if God should part us, as may be
by nothing short of death, try to marry that little Ruth, when you cease
to remember me. And now for the head-traitor. I have often suspected it:
but she looks me in the face, and wishes--fearful things, which I cannot
repeat."

With these words, she moved an implement such as I had not seen before,
and which made a ringing noise at a serious distance. And before I had
ceased wondering--for if such things go on, we might ring the church
bells, while sitting in our back-kitchen--little Gwenny Carfax came,
with a grave and sullen face.

"Gwenny," began my Lorna, in a tone of high rank and dignity, "go and
fetch the letters which I gave you at various times for despatch to
Mistress Ridd."

"How can I fetch them, when they are gone? It be no use for him to tell
no lies--"

"Now, Gwenny, can you look at me?" I asked, very sternly; for the matter
was no joke to me, after a year's unhappiness.

"I don't want to look at 'ee. What should I look at a young man for,
although he did offer to kiss me?"

I saw the spite and impudence of this last remark, and so did Lorna,
although she could not quite refrain from smiling.

"Now, Gwenny, not to speak of that," said Lorna, very demurely, "if you
thought it honest to keep the letters, was it honest to keep the money?"

At this the Cornish maiden broke into a rage of honesty: "A putt the
money by for 'ee. 'Ee shall have every farden of it." And so she flung
out of the room.

"And, Gwenny," said Lorna very softly, following under the
door-hangings; "if it is not honest to keep the money, it is not honest
to keep the letters, which would have been worth more than any gold to
those who were so kind to you. Your father shall know the whole, Gwenny,
unless you tell the truth."

"Now, a will tell all the truth," this strange maiden answered, talking
to herself at least as much as to her mistress, while she went out of
sight and hearing. And then I was so glad at having my own Lorna once
again, cleared of all contempt for us, and true to me through all of it,
that I would have forgiven Gwenny for treason, or even forgery.

"I trusted her so much," said Lorna, in her old ill-fortuned way; "and
look how she has deceived me! That is why I love you, John (setting
other things aside), because you never told me falsehood; and you never
could, you know."

"Well, I am not so sure of that. I think I could tell any lie, to have
you, darling, all my own."

"Yes. And perhaps it might be right. To other people besides us two.
But you could not do it to me, John. You never could do it to me,
you know." Before I quite perceived my way to the bottom of the
distinction--although beyond doubt a valid one--Gwenny came back with a
leathern bag, and tossed it upon the table. Not a word did she vouchsafe
to us; but stood there, looking injured.

"Go, and get your letters, John," said Lorna very gravely; "or at least
your mother's letters, made of messages to you. As for Gwenny, she shall
go before Lord Justice Jeffreys." I knew that Lorna meant it not; but
thought that the girl deserved a frightening; as indeed she did. But we
both mistook the courage of this child of Cornwall. She stepped upon a
little round thing, in the nature of a stool, such as I never had seen
before, and thus delivered her sentiments.

"And you may take me, if you please, before the great Lord Jeffreys. I
have done no more than duty, though I did it crookedly, and told a heap
of lies, for your sake. And pretty gratitude I gets."

"Much gratitude you have shown," replied Lorna, "to Master Ridd, for all
his kindness and his goodness to you. Who was it that went down, at the
peril of his life, and brought your father to you, when you had lost him
for months and months? Who was it? Answer me, Gwenny?"

"Girt Jan Ridd," said the handmaid, very sulkily.

"What made you treat me so, little Gwenny?" I asked, for Lorna would not
ask lest the reply should vex me.

"Because 'ee be'est below her so. Her shanna' have a poor farmering
chap, not even if her were a Carnishman. All her land, and all her
birth--and who be you, I'd like to know?"

"Gwenny, you may go," said Lorna, reddening with quiet anger; "and
remember that you come not near me for the next three days. It is the
only way to punish her," she continued to me, when the maid was gone, in
a storm of sobbing and weeping. "Now, for the next three days, she will
scarcely touch a morsel of food, and scarcely do a thing but cry. Make
up your mind to one thing, John; if you mean to take me, for better for
worse, you will have to take Gwenny with me.

"I would take you with fifty Gwennies," said I, "although every one
of them hated me, which I do not believe this little maid does, in the
bottom of her heart."

"No one can possibly hate you, John," she answered very softly; and I
was better pleased with this, than if she had called me the most noble
and glorious man in the kingdom.

After this, we spoke of ourselves and the way people would regard us,
supposing that when Lorna came to be her own free mistress (as she must
do in the course of time) she were to throw her rank aside, and refuse
her title, and caring not a fig for folk who cared less than a fig-stalk
for her, should shape her mind to its native bent, and to my perfect
happiness. It was not my place to say much, lest I should appear to use
an improper and selfish influence. And of course to all men of common
sense, and to everybody of middle age (who must know best what is good
for youth), the thoughts which my Lorna entertained would be enough to
prove her madness.

Not that we could not keep her well, comfortably, and with nice clothes,
and plenty of flowers, and fruit, and landscape, and the knowledge of
our neighbours' affairs, and their kind interest in our own. Still this
would not be as if she were the owner of a county, and a haughty title;
and able to lead the first men of the age, by her mind, and face, and
money.

Therefore was I quite resolved not to have a word to say, while this
young queen of wealth and beauty, and of noblemen's desire, made her
mind up how to act for her purest happiness. But to do her justice, this
was not the first thing she was thinking of: the test of her judgment
was only this, "How will my love be happiest?"

"Now, John," she cried; for she was so quick that she always had my
thoughts beforehand; "why will you be backward, as if you cared not
for me? Do you dream that I am doubting? My mind has been made up, good
John, that you must be my husband, for--well, I will not say how long,
lest you should laugh at my folly. But I believe it was ever since you
came, with your stockings off, and the loaches. Right early for me to
make up my mind; but you know that you made up yours, John; and, of
course, I knew it; and that had a great effect on me. Now, after all
this age of loving, shall a trifle sever us?"

I told her that it was no trifle, but a most important thing, to abandon
wealth, and honour, and the brilliance of high life, and be despised
by every one for such abundant folly. Moreover, that I should appear a
knave for taking advantage of her youth, and boundless generosity, and
ruining (as men would say) a noble maid by my selfishness. And I told
her outright, having worked myself up by my own conversation, that she
was bound to consult her guardian, and that without his knowledge, I
would come no more to see her. Her flash of pride at these last words
made her look like an empress; and I was about to explain myself better,
but she put forth her hand and stopped me.

"I think that condition should rather have proceeded from me. You are
mistaken, Master Ridd, in supposing that I would think of receiving
you in secret. It was a different thing in Glen Doone, where all except
yourself were thieves, and when I was but a simple child, and oppressed
with constant fear. You are quite right in threatening to visit me thus
no more; but I think you might have waited for an invitation, sir."

"And you are quite right, Lady Lorna, in pointing out my presumption. It
is a fault that must ever be found in any speech of mine to you."

This I said so humbly, and not with any bitterness--for I knew that I
had gone too far--and made her so polite a bow, that she forgave me in a
moment, and we begged each other's pardon.

"Now, will you allow me just to explain my own view of this matter,
John?" said she, once more my darling. "It may be a very foolish view,
but I shall never change it. Please not to interrupt me, dear, until you
have heard me to the end. In the first place, it is quite certain that
neither you nor I can be happy without the other. Then what stands
between us? Worldly position, and nothing else. I have no more education
than you have, John Ridd; nay, and not so much. My birth and ancestry
are not one whit more pure than yours, although they may be better
known. Your descent from ancient freeholders, for five-and-twenty
generations of good, honest men, although you bear no coat of arms, is
better than the lineage of nine proud English noblemen out of every ten
I meet with. In manners, though your mighty strength, and hatred of any
meanness, sometimes break out in violence--of which I must try to cure
you, dear--in manners, if kindness, and gentleness, and modesty are
the true things wanted, you are immeasurably above any of our
Court-gallants; who indeed have very little. As for difference of
religion, we allow for one another, neither having been brought up
in a bitterly pious manner."

Here, though the tears were in my eyes, at the loving things love said
of me, I could not help a little laugh at the notion of any bitter piety
being found among the Doones, or even in mother, for that matter. Lorna
smiled, in her slyest manner, and went on again:--

"Now, you see, I have proved my point; there is nothing between us but
worldly position--if you can defend me against the Doones, for which, I
trow, I may trust you. And worldly position means wealth, and title,
and the right to be in great houses, and the pleasure of being envied.
I have not been here for a year, John, without learning something. Oh,
I hate it; how I hate it! Of all the people I know, there are but two,
besides my uncle, who do not either covet, or detest me. And who are
those two, think you?"

"Gwenny, for one," I answered.

"Yes, Gwenny, for one. And the queen, for the other. The one is too far
below me (I mean, in her own opinion), and the other too high above.
As for the women who dislike me, without having even heard my voice, I
simply have nothing to do with them. As for the men who covet me, for
my land and money, I merely compare them with you, John Ridd; and all
thought of them is over. Oh, John, you must never forsake me, however
cross I am to you. I thought you would have gone, just now; and though I
would not move to stop you, my heart would have broken."

"You don't catch me go in a hurry," I answered very sensibly, "when the
loveliest maiden in all the world, and the best, and the dearest, loves
me. All my fear of you is gone, darling Lorna, all my fear--"

"Is it possible you could fear me, John, after all we have been through
together? Now you promised not to interrupt me; is this fair behaviour?
Well, let me see where I left off--oh, that my heart would have broken.
Upon that point, I will say no more, lest you should grow conceited,
John; if anything could make you so. But I do assure you that half
London--however, upon that point also I will check my power of speech,
lest you think me conceited. And now to put aside all nonsense; though I
have talked none for a year, John, having been so unhappy; and now it is
such a relief to me--"

"Then talk it for an hour," said I; "and let me sit and watch you. To me
it is the very sweetest of all sweetest wisdom."

"Nay, there is no time," she answered, glancing at a jewelled timepiece,
scarcely larger than an oyster, which she drew from her waist-band; and
then she pushed it away, in confusion, lest its wealth should startle
me. "My uncle will come home in less than half an hour, dear: and you
are not the one to take a side-passage, and avoid him. I shall tell him
that you have been here; and that I mean you to come again."

As Lorna said this, with a manner as confident as need be, I saw that
she had learned in town the power of her beauty, and knew that she could
do with most men aught she set her mind upon. And as she stood there,
flushed with pride and faith in her own loveliness, and radiant with the
love itself, I felt that she must do exactly as she pleased with every
one. For now, in turn, and elegance, and richness, and variety, there
was nothing to compare with her face, unless it were her figure.
Therefore I gave in, and said,--

"Darling, do just what you please. Only make no rogue of me."

For that she gave me the simplest, kindest, and sweetest of all kisses;
and I went down the great stairs grandly, thinking of nothing else but
that.

[Illustration: 631.jpg Old London Bridge]

CHAPTER LXVIII

JOHN IS JOHN NO LONGER

[Illustration: 632.jpg Illustrated Capital]

It would be hard for me to tell the state of mind in which I lived for a
long time after this. I put away from me all torment, and the thought of
future cares, and the sight of difficulty; and to myself appeared,
which means that I became the luckiest of lucky fellows, since the world
itself began. I thought not of the harvest even, nor of the men who
would get their wages without having earned them, nor of my mother's
anxiety and worry about John Fry's great fatness (which was growing upon
him), and how she would cry fifty times in a day, "Ah, if our John would
only come home, how different everything would look!"

Although there were no soldiers now quartered at Plover's Barrows, all
being busied in harassing the country, and hanging the people where the
rebellion had thriven most, my mother, having received from me a message
containing my place of abode, contrived to send me, by the pack-horses,
as fine a maund as need be of provisions, and money, and other comforts.
Therein I found addressed to Colonel Jeremiah Stickles, in Lizzie's best
handwriting, half a side of the dried deer's flesh, in which he rejoiced
so greatly. Also, for Lorna, a fine green goose, with a little salt
towards the tail, and new-laid eggs inside it, as well as a bottle of
brandied cherries, and seven, or it may have been eight pounds of fresh
homemade butter. Moreover, to myself there was a letter full of good
advice, excellently well expressed, and would have been of the greatest
value, if I had cared to read it. But I read all about the farm affairs,
and the man who had offered himself to our Betty for the five pounds
in her stocking; as well as the antics of Sally Snowe, and how she had
almost thrown herself at Parson Bowden's head (old enough to be her
grandfather), because on the Sunday after the hanging of a Countisbury
man, he had preached a beautiful sermon about Christian love; which
Lizzie, with her sharp eyes, found to be the work of good Bishop Ken.
Also I read that the Doones were quiet; the parishes round about having
united to feed them well through the harvest time, so that after the
day's hard work, the farmers might go to bed at night. And this plan had
been found to answer well, and to save much trouble on both sides, so
that everybody wondered it had not been done before. But Lizzie thought
that the Doones could hardly be expected much longer to put up with it,
and probably would not have done so now, but for a little adversity; to
wit, that the famous Colonel Kirke had, in the most outrageous manner,
hanged no less than six of them, who were captured among the rebels;
for he said that men of their rank and breeding, and above all of
their religion, should have known better than to join plough-boys, and
carters, and pickaxemen, against our Lord the King, and his Holiness
the Pope. This hanging of so many Doones caused some indignation among
people who were used to them; and it seemed for a while to check the
rest from any spirit of enterprise.

Moreover, I found from this same letter (which was pinned upon the
knuckle of a leg of mutton, for fear of being lost in straw) that good
Tom Faggus was at home again, and nearly cured of his dreadful wound;
but intended to go to war no more, only to mind his family. And it
grieved him more than anything he ever could have imagined, that his
duty to his family, and the strong power of his conscience, so totally
forbade him to come up and see after me. For now his design was to lead
a new life, and be in charity with all men. Many better men than he had
been hanged, he saw no cause to doubt; but by the grace of God he hoped
himself to cheat the gallows.

There was no further news of moment in this very clever letter, except
that the price of horses' shoes was gone up again, though already
twopence-farthing each; and that Betty had broken her lover's head with
the stocking full of money; and then in the corner it was written that
the distinguished man of war, and worshipful scholar, Master Bloxham,
was now promoted to take the tolls, and catch all the rebels around our
part.

Lorna was greatly pleased with the goose, and the butter, and the
brandied cherries; and the Earl Brandir himself declared that he never
tasted better than those last, and would beg the young man from the
country to procure him instructions for making them. This nobleman,
being as deaf as a post, and of a very solid mind, could never be
brought to understand the nature of my thoughts towards Lorna. He looked
upon me as an excellent youth, who had rescued the maiden from the
Doones, whom he cordially detested; and learning that I had thrown two
of them out of window (as the story was told him), he patted me on the
back, and declared that his doors would ever be open to me, and that I
could not come too often.

I thought this very kind of his lordship, especially as it enabled me to
see my darling Lorna, not indeed as often as I wished, but at any
rate very frequently, and as many times as modesty (ever my leading
principle) would in common conscience approve of. And I made up my mind
that if ever I could help Earl Brandir, it would be--as we say, when
with brandy and water--the "proudest moment of my life," when I could
fulfil the pledge.

And I soon was able to help Lord Brandir, as I think, in two different
ways; first of all as regarded his mind, and then as concerned his body:
and the latter perhaps was the greatest service, at his time of life.
But not to be too nice about that; let me tell how these things were.

Lorna said to me one day, being in a state of excitement--whereto she
was over prone, when reft of my slowness to steady her,--

"I will tell him, John; I must tell him, John. It is mean of me to
conceal it."

I thought that she meant all about our love, which we had endeavoured
thrice to drill into his fine old ears; but could not make him
comprehend, without risk of bringing the house down: and so I said, "By
all means; darling; have another try at it."

Lorna, however, looked at me--for her eyes told more than tongue--as
much as to say, "Well, you are a stupid. We agreed to let that subject
rest." And then she saw that I was vexed at my own want of quickness;
and so she spoke very kindly,--

"I meant about his poor son, dearest; the son of his old age almost;
whose loss threw him into that dreadful cold--for he went, without hat,
to look for him--which ended in his losing the use of his dear old ears.
I believe if we could only get him to Plover's Barrows for a month, he
would be able to hear again. And look at his age! he is not much over
seventy, John, you know; and I hope that you will be able to hear me,
long after you are seventy, John."

"Well," said I, "God settles that. Or at any rate, He leaves us time
to think about those questions, when we are over fifty. Now let me know
what you want, Lorna. The idea of my being seventy! But you would still
be beautiful."

"To the one who loves me," she answered, trying to make wrinkles in her
pure bright forehead: "but if you will have common sense, as you always
will, John, whether I wish it or otherwise--I want to know whether I am
bound, in honour, and in conscience, to tell my dear and good old uncle
what I know about his son?"

"First let me understand quite clearly," said I, never being in a hurry,
except when passion moves me, "what his lordship thinks at present; and
how far his mind is urged with sorrow and anxiety." This was not the
first time we had spoken of the matter.

"Why, you know, John, well enough," she answered, wondering at my
coolness, "that my poor uncle still believes that his one beloved
son will come to light and live again. He has made all arrangements
accordingly: all his property is settled on that supposition. He knows
that young Alan always was what he calls a 'feckless ne'er-do-weel;' but
he loves him all the more for that. He cannot believe that he will die,
without his son coming back to him; and he always has a bedroom ready,
and a bottle of Alan's favourite wine cool from out the cellar; he has
made me work him a pair of slippers from the size of a mouldy boot; and
if he hears of a new tobacco--much as he hates the smell of it--he will
go to the other end of London to get some for Alan. Now you know how
deaf he is; but if any one say, 'Alan,' even in the place outside the
door, he will make his courteous bow to the very highest visitor, and be
out there in a moment, and search the entire passage, and yet let no one
know it."