Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
of them, that I meant to wear the belt myself, for the honour of
Oare parish, so long as ever God gave me strength and health to meet
all-comers; for I had never been asked to be body-guard, and if asked
I would never have done it. Some of them cried that the King must be
mazed, not to keep me for his protection, in these violent times of
Popery. I could have told them that the King was not in the least afraid
of Papists, but on the contrary, very fond of them; however, I held my
tongue, remembering what Judge Jeffreys bade me.
In church, the whole congregation, man, woman, and child (except,
indeed, the Snowe girls, who only looked when I was not watching),
turned on me with one accord, and stared so steadfastly, to get some
reflection of the King from me, that they forgot the time to kneel down
and the parson was forced to speak to them. If I coughed, or moved
my book, or bowed, or even said “Amen,” glances were exchanged which
meant--“That he hath learned in London town, and most likely from His
Majesty.”
However, all this went off in time, and people became even angry with
me for not being sharper (as they said), or smarter, or a whit more
fashionable, for all the great company I had seen, and all the wondrous
things wasted upon me.
But though I may have been none the wiser by reason of my stay in
London, at any rate I was much the better in virtue of coming home
again. For now I had learned the joy of quiet, and the gratitude for
good things round us, and the love we owe to others (even those who must
be kind), for their indulgence to us. All this, before my journey, had
been too much as a matter of course to me; but having missed it now I
knew that it was a gift, and might be lost. Moreover, I had pined so
much, in the dust and heat of that great town, for trees, and fields,
and running waters, and the sounds of country life, and the air
of country winds, that never more could I grow weary of those soft
enjoyments; or at least I thought so then.
To awake as the summer sun came slanting over the hill-tops, with hope
on every beam adance to the laughter of the morning; to see the leaves
across the window ruffling on the fresh new air, and the tendrils of the
powdery vine turning from their beaded sleep. Then the lustrous meadows
far beyond the thatch of the garden-wall, yet seen beneath the hanging
scollops of the walnut-tree, all awaking, dressed in pearl, all amazed
at their own glistening, like a maid at her own ideas. Down them troop
the lowing kine, walking each with a step of character (even as men and
women do), yet all alike with toss of horns, and spread of udders ready.
From them without a word, we turn to the farm-yard proper, seen on the
right, and dryly strawed from the petty rush of the pitch-paved runnel.
Round it stand the snug out-buildings, barn, corn-chamber, cider-press,
stables, with a blinker'd horse in every doorway munching, while his
driver tightens buckles, whistles and looks down the lane, dallying
to begin his labour till the milkmaids be gone by. Here the cock
comes forth at last;--where has he been lingering?--eggs may tell
to-morrow--he claps his wings and shouts “cock-a-doodle”; and no other
cock dare look at him. Two or three go sidling off, waiting till their
spurs be grown; and then the crowd of partlets comes, chattering how
their lord has dreamed, and crowed at two in the morning, and praying
that the old brown rat would only dare to face him. But while the cock
is crowing still, and the pullet world admiring him, who comes up but
the old turkey-cock, with all his family round him. Then the geese
at the lower end begin to thrust their breasts out, and mum their
down-bits, and look at the gander and scream shrill joy for the
conflict; while the ducks in pond show nothing but tail, in proof of
their strict neutrality.
While yet we dread for the coming event, and the fight which would jar
on the morning, behold the grandmother of sows, gruffly grunting right
and left with muzzle which no ring may tame (not being matrimonial),
hulks across between the two, moving all each side at once, and then all
of the other side as if she were chined down the middle, and afraid
of spilling the salt from her. As this mighty view of lard hides each
combatant from the other, gladly each retires and boasts how he would
have slain his neighbour, but that old sow drove the other away, and no
wonder he was afraid of her, after all the chicks she had eaten.
And so it goes on; and so the sun comes, stronger from his drink of dew;
and the cattle in the byres, and the horses from the stable, and the men
from cottage-door, each has had his rest and food, all smell alike of
hay and straw, and every one must hie to work, be it drag, or draw, or
delve.
So thought I on the Monday morning; while my own work lay before me,
and I was plotting how to quit it, void of harm to every one, and let my
love have work a little--hardest perhaps of all work, and yet as sure as
sunrise. I knew that my first day's task on the farm would be strictly
watched by every one, even by my gentle mother, to see what I had
learned in London. But could I let still another day pass, for Lorna to
think me faithless?
I felt much inclined to tell dear mother all about Lorna, and how I
loved her, yet had no hope of winning her. Often and often, I had
longed to do this, and have done with it. But the thought of my father's
terrible death, at the hands of the Doones, prevented me. And it seemed
to me foolish and mean to grieve mother, without any chance of my suit
ever speeding. If once Lorna loved me, my mother should know it; and it
would be the greatest happiness to me to have no concealment from her,
though at first she was sure to grieve terribly. But I saw no more
chance of Lorna loving me, than of the man in the moon coming down; or
rather of the moon coming down to the man, as related in old mythology.
Now the merriment of the small birds, and the clear voice of the waters,
and the lowing of cattle in meadows, and the view of no houses (except
just our own and a neighbour's), and the knowledge of everybody around,
their kindness of heart and simplicity, and love of their neighbour's
doings,--all these could not help or please me at all, and many of them
were much against me, in my secret depth of longing and dark tumult of
the mind. Many people may think me foolish, especially after coming from
London, where many nice maids looked at me (on account of my bulk and
stature), and I might have been fitted up with a sweetheart, in spite of
my west-country twang, and the smallness of my purse; if only I had
said the word. But nay; I have contempt for a man whose heart is like
a shirt-stud (such as I saw in London cards), fitted into one to-day,
sitting bravely on the breast; plucked out on the morrow morn, and the
place that knew it, gone.
Now, what did I do but take my chance; reckless whether any one heeded
me or not, only craving Lorna's heed, and time for ten words to her.
Therefore I left the men of the farm as far away as might be, after
making them work with me (which no man round our parts could do, to his
own satisfaction), and then knowing them to be well weary, very unlike
to follow me--and still more unlike to tell of me, for each had his
London present--I strode right away, in good trust of my speed, without
any more misgivings; but resolved to face the worst of it, and to try to
be home for supper.
And first I went, I know not why, to the crest of the broken highland,
whence I had agreed to watch for any mark or signal. And sure enough at
last I saw (when it was too late to see) that the white stone had been
covered over with a cloth or mantle,--the sign that something had arisen
to make Lorna want me. For a moment I stood amazed at my evil fortune;
that I should be too late, in the very thing of all things on which my
heart was set! Then after eyeing sorrowfully every crick and cranny to
be sure that not a single flutter of my love was visible, off I set,
with small respect either for my knees or neck, to make the round of the
outer cliffs, and come up my old access.
Nothing could stop me; it was not long, although to me it seemed an
age, before I stood in the niche of rock at the head of the slippery
watercourse, and gazed into the quiet glen, where my foolish heart was
dwelling. Notwithstanding doubts of right, notwithstanding sense of
duty, and despite all manly striving, and the great love of my home,
there my heart was ever dwelling, knowing what a fool it was, and
content to know it.
Many birds came twittering round me in the gold of August; many trees
showed twinkling beauty, as the sun went lower; and the lines of water
fell, from wrinkles into dimples. Little heeding, there I crouched;
though with sense of everything that afterwards should move me, like a
picture or a dream; and everything went by me softly, while my heart was
gazing.
At last, a little figure came, not insignificant (I mean), but looking
very light and slender in the moving shadows, gently here and softly
there, as if vague of purpose, with a gloss of tender movement, in and
out the wealth of trees, and liberty of the meadow. Who was I to crouch,
or doubt, or look at her from a distance; what matter if they killed me
now, and one tear came to bury me? Therefore I rushed out at once, as if
shot-guns were unknown yet; not from any real courage, but from prisoned
love burst forth.
I know not whether my own Lorna was afraid of what I looked, or what I
might say to her, or of her own thoughts of me; all I know is that she
looked frightened, when I hoped for gladness. Perhaps the power of my
joy was more than maiden liked to own, or in any way to answer to; and
to tell the truth, it seemed as if I might now forget myself; while she
would take good care of it. This makes a man grow thoughtful; unless, as
some low fellows do, he believe all women hypocrites.
Therefore I went slowly towards her, taken back in my impulse; and said
all I could come to say, with some distress in doing it.
“Mistress Lorna, I had hope that you were in need of me.”
“Oh, yes; but that was long ago; two months ago, or more, sir.” And
saying this she looked away, as if it all were over. But I was now
so dazed and frightened, that it took my breath away, and I could not
answer, feeling sure that I was robbed and some one else had won her.
And I tried to turn away, without another word, and go.
But I could not help one stupid sob, though mad with myself for allowing
it, but it came too sharp for pride to stay it, and it told a world
of things. Lorna heard it, and ran to me, with her bright eyes full of
wonder, pity, and great kindness, as if amazed that I had more than a
simple liking for her. Then she held out both hands to me; and I took
and looked at them.
“Master Ridd, I did not mean,” she whispered, very softly, “I did not
mean to vex you.”
“If you would be loath to vex me, none else in this world can do it,” I
answered out of my great love, but fearing yet to look at her, mine eyes
not being strong enough.
“Come away from this bright place,” she answered, trembling in her turn;
“I am watched and spied of late. Come beneath the shadows, John.”
I would have leaped into the valley of the shadow of death (as described
by the late John Bunyan), only to hear her call me “John”; though
Apollyon were lurking there, and Despair should lock me in.
She stole across the silent grass; but I strode hotly after her; fear
was all beyond me now, except the fear of losing her. I could not but
behold her manner, as she went before me, all her grace, and lovely
sweetness, and her sense of what she was.
She led me to her own rich bower, which I told of once before; and if