Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
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