Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
You may suppose that my heart beat high, when the King and Queen
appeared, and entered, followed by the Duke of Norfolk, bearing the
sword of state, and by several other noblemen, and people of repute.
Then the doors of the chapel were thrown wide open; and though I
could only see a little, being in the corner so, I thought that it was
beautiful. Bowers of rich silk were there, and plenty of metal shining,
and polished wood with lovely carving; flowers too of the noblest kind,
and candles made by somebody who had learned how to clarify tallow. This
last thing amazed me more than all, for our dips never will come clear,
melt the mutton-fat how you will. And methought that this hanging of
flowers about was a pretty thing; for if a man can worship God best of
all beneath a tree, as the natural instinct is, surely when by fault of
climate the tree would be too apt to drip, the very best make-believe is
to have enough and to spare of flowers; which to the dwellers in London
seem to have grown on the tree denied them.
Be that as it may, when the King and Queen crossed the threshold, a
mighty flourish of trumpets arose, and a waving of banners. The Knights
of the Garter (whoever they be) were to attend that day in state;
and some went in, and some stayed out, and it made me think of the
difference betwixt the ewes and the wethers. For the ewes will go
wherever you lead them; but the wethers will not, having strong
opinions, and meaning to abide by them. And one man I noticed was of the
wethers, to wit the Duke of Norfolk; who stopped outside with the sword
of state, like a beadle with a rapping-rod. This has taken more to tell
than the time it happened in. For after all the men were gone, some
to this side, some to that, according to their feelings, a number of
ladies, beautifully dressed, being of the Queen's retinue, began to
enter, and were stared at three times as much as the men had been. And
indeed they were worth looking at (which men never are to my ideas,
when they trick themselves with gewgaws), but none was so well worth
eye-service as my own beloved Lorna. She entered modestly and shyly,
with her eyes upon the ground, knowing the rudeness of the gallants, and
the large sum she was priced at. Her dress was of the purest white, very
sweet and simple, without a line of ornament, for she herself adorned
it. The way she walked and touched her skirt (rather than seemed to
hold it up) with a white hand beaming one red rose, this and her stately
supple neck, and the flowing of her hair would show, at a distance of a
hundred yards, that she could be none but Lorna Doone. Lorna Doone of
my early love; in the days when she blushed for her name before me
by reason of dishonesty; but now the Lady Lorna Dugal as far beyond
reproach as above my poor affection. All my heart, and all my mind,
gathered themselves upon her. Would she see me, or would she pass? Was
there instinct in our love?
By some strange chance she saw me. Or was it through our destiny? While
with eyes kept sedulously on the marble floor, to shun the weight of
admiration thrust too boldly on them, while with shy quick steps she
passed, some one (perhaps with purpose) trod on the skirt of her clear
white dress,--with the quickness taught her by many a scene of danger,
she looked up, and her eyes met mine.
As I gazed upon her, steadfastly, yearningly, yet with some reproach,
and more of pride than humility, she made me one of the courtly bows
which I do so much detest; yet even that was sweet and graceful, when my
Lorna did it. But the colour of her pure clear cheeks was nearly as
deep as that of my own, when she went on for the religious work. And the
shining of her eyes was owing to an unpaid debt of tears.
Upon the whole I was satisfied. Lorna had seen me, and had not
(according to the phrase of the high world then) even tried to “cut” me.
Whether this low phrase is born of their own stupid meanness, or whether
it comes of necessity exercised on a man without money, I know not, and
I care not. But one thing I know right well; any man who “cuts” a man
(except for vice or meanness) should be quartered without quarter.
All these proud thoughts rose within me as the lovely form of Lorna went
inside, and was no more seen. And then I felt how coarse I was; how apt
to think strong thoughts, and so on; without brains to bear me out: even
as a hen's egg, laid without enough of lime, and looking only a poor
jelly.
Nevertheless, I waited on; as my usual manner is. For to be beaten,
while running away, is ten times worse than to face it out, and take
it, and have done with it. So at least I have always found, because of
reproach of conscience: and all the things those clever people carried
on inside, at large, made me long for our Parson Bowden that he might
know how to act.
While I stored up, in my memory, enough to keep our parson going through
six pipes on a Saturday night--to have it as right as could be next
day--a lean man with a yellow beard, too thin for a good Catholic (which
religion always fattens), came up to me, working sideways, in the manner
of a female crab.
“This is not to my liking,” I said: “if aught thou hast, speak plainly;
while they make that horrible noise inside.”
Nothing had this man to say; but with many sighs, because I was not of
the proper faith, he took my reprobate hand to save me: and with several
religious tears, looked up at me, and winked with one eye. Although the
skin of my palms was thick, I felt a little suggestion there, as of a
gentle leaf in spring, fearing to seem too forward. I paid the man, and
he went happy; for the standard of heretical silver is purer than that
of the Catholics.
Then I lifted up my little billet; and in that dark corner read it, with
a strong rainbow of colours coming from the angled light. And in mine
eyes there was enough to make rainbow of strongest sun, as my anger
clouded off.
Not that it began so well; but that in my heart I knew (ere three lines
were through me) that I was with all heart loved--and beyond that, who
may need? The darling of my life went on, as if I were of her own rank,
or even better than she was; and she dotted her “i”s, and crossed
her “tVs, as if I were at least a schoolmaster. All of it was done in
pencil; but as plain as plain could be. In my coffin it shall lie, with
my ring and something else. Therefore will I not expose it to every man
who buys this book, and haply thinks that he has bought me to the bottom
of my heart. Enough for men of gentle birth (who never are inquisitive)
that my love told me, in her letter, just to come and see her.
I ran away, and could not stop. To behold even her, at the moment, would
have dashed my fancy's joy. Yet my brain was so amiss, that I must do
something. Therefore to the river Thames, with all speed, I hurried;
and keeping all my best clothes on (indeed for sake of Lorna), into the
quiet stream I leaped, and swam as far as London Bridge, and ate nobler
dinner afterwards.
CHAPTER LXVII
LORNA STILL IS LORNA
Although a man may be as simple as the flowers of the field; knowing
when, but scarcely why, he closes to the bitter wind; and feeling why,
but scarcely when, he opens to the genial sun; yet without his questing
much into the capsule of himself--to do which is a misery--he may have a
general notion how he happens to be getting on.
I felt myself to be getting on better than at any time since the last
wheat-harvest, as I took the lane to Kensington upon the Monday evening.
For although no time was given in my Lorna's letter, I was not inclined
to wait more than decency required. And though I went and watched
the house, decency would not allow me to knock on the Sunday evening,
especially when I found at the corner that his lordship was at home.
The lanes and fields between Charing Cross and the village of
Kensington, are, or were at that time, more than reasonably infested
with footpads and with highwaymen. However, my stature and holly club
kept these fellows from doing more than casting sheep's eyes at me.
For it was still broad daylight, and the view of the distant villages,
Chelsea, Battersea, Tyburn, and others, as well as a few large houses,
among the hams and towards the river, made it seem less lonely.
Therefore I sang a song in the broadest Exmoor dialect, which caused no
little amazement in the minds of all who met me.
When I came to Earl Brandir's house, my natural modesty forbade me to
appear at the door for guests; therefore I went to the entrance for
servants and retainers. Here, to my great surprise, who should come
and let me in but little Gwenny Carfax, whose very existence had almost
escaped my recollection. Her mistress, no doubt, had seen me coming, and
sent her to save trouble. But when I offered to kiss Gwenny, in my joy
and comfort to see a farm-house face again, she looked ashamed, and
turned away, and would hardly speak to me.
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,