Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
in spring it were a sight, what was it in summer glory? But although my
mind had notice of its fairness and its wonder, not a heed my heart took
of it, neither dwelt it in my presence more than flowing water. All
that in my presence dwelt, all that in my heart was felt, was the maiden
moving gently, and afraid to look at me.
For now the power of my love was abiding on her, new to her, unknown to
her; not a thing to speak about, nor even to think clearly; only just to
feel and wonder, with a pain of sweetness. She could look at me no more,
neither could she look away, with a studied manner--only to let fall her
eyes, and blush, and be put out with me, and still more with herself.
I left her quite alone; though close, though tingling to have hold of
her. Even her right hand was dropped and lay among the mosses. Neither
did I try to steal one glimpse below her eyelids. Life and death to me
were hanging on the first glance I should win; yet I let it be so.
After long or short--I know not, yet ere I was weary, ere I yet began
to think or wish for any answer--Lorna slowly raised her eyelids, with
a gleam of dew below them, and looked at me doubtfully. Any look with so
much in it never met my gaze before.
“Darling, do you love me?” was all that I could say to her.
“Yes, I like you very much,” she answered, with her eyes gone from me,
and her dark hair falling over, so as not to show me things.
“But do you love me, Lorna, Lorna; do you love me more than all the
world?”
“No, to be sure not. Now why should I?”
“In truth, I know not why you should. Only I hoped that you did, Lorna.
Either love me not at all, or as I love you for ever.”
“John I love you very much; and I would not grieve you. You are the
bravest, and the kindest, and the simplest of all men--I mean of all
people--I like you very much, Master Ridd, and I think of you almost
every day.”
“That will not do for me, Lorna. Not almost every day I think, but every
instant of my life, of you. For you I would give up my home, my love of
all the world beside, my duty to my dearest ones, for you I would give
up my life, and hope of life beyond it. Do you love me so?”
“Not by any means,” said Lorna; “no, I like you very much, when you do
not talk so wildly; and I like to see you come as if you would fill our
valley up, and I like to think that even Carver would be nothing in
your hands--but as to liking you like that, what should make it likely?
especially when I have made the signal, and for some two months or more
you have never even answered it! If you like me so ferociously, why do
you leave me for other people to do just as they like with me?”
“To do as they liked! Oh, Lorna, not to make you marry Carver?”
“No, Master Ridd, be not frightened so; it makes me fear to look at
you.”
“But you have not married Carver yet? Say quick! Why keep me waiting
so?”
“Of course I have not, Master Ridd. Should I be here if I had, think
you, and allowing you to like me so, and to hold my hand, and make me
laugh, as I declare you almost do sometimes? And at other times you
frighten me.”
“Did they want you to marry Carver? Tell me all the truth of it.”
“Not yet, not yet. They are not half so impetuous as you are, John. I am
only just seventeen, you know, and who is to think of marrying? But
they wanted me to give my word, and be formally betrothed to him in the
presence of my grandfather. It seems that something frightened them.
There is a youth named Charleworth Doone, every one calls him 'Charlie';
a headstrong and a gay young man, very gallant in his looks and manner;
and my uncle, the Counsellor, chose to fancy that Charlie looked at me
too much, coming by my grandfather's cottage.”
Here Lorna blushed so that I was frightened, and began to hate this
Charlie more, a great deal more, than even Carver Doone.
“He had better not,” said I; “I will fling him over it, if he dare. He
shall see thee through the roof, Lorna, if at all he see thee.”
“Master Ridd, you are worse than Carver! I thought you were so
kind-hearted. Well, they wanted me to promise, and even to swear a
solemn oath (a thing I have never done in my life) that I would wed
my eldest cousin, this same Carver Doone, who is twice as old as I am,
being thirty-five and upwards. That was why I gave the token that I
wished to see you, Master Ridd. They pointed out how much it was for
the peace of all the family, and for mine own benefit; but I would not
listen for a moment, though the Counsellor was most eloquent, and my
grandfather begged me to consider, and Carver smiled his pleasantest,
which is a truly frightful thing. Then both he and his crafty father
were for using force with me; but Sir Ensor would not hear of it; and
they have put off that extreme until he shall be past its knowledge,
or, at least, beyond preventing it. And now I am watched, and spied, and
followed, and half my little liberty seems to be taken from me. I could
not be here speaking with you, even in my own nook and refuge, but for
the aid, and skill, and courage of dear little Gwenny Carfax. She is
now my chief reliance, and through her alone I hope to baffle all my
enemies, since others have forsaken me.”
Tears of sorrow and reproach were lurking in her soft dark eyes, until
in fewest words I told her that my seeming negligence was nothing but
my bitter loss and wretched absence far away; of which I had so vainly
striven to give any tidings without danger to her. When she heard all
this, and saw what I had brought from London (which was nothing less
than a ring of pearls with a sapphire in the midst of them, as pretty as
could well be found), she let the gentle tears flow fast, and came
and sat so close beside me, that I trembled like a folded sheep at the
bleating of her lamb. But recovering comfort quickly, without more ado,
I raised her left hand and observed it with a nice regard, wondering at
the small blue veins, and curves, and tapering whiteness, and the points
it finished with. My wonder seemed to please her much, herself so well
accustomed to it, and not fond of watching it. And then, before she
could say a word, or guess what I was up to, as quick as ever I turned
hand in a bout of wrestling, on her finger was my ring--sapphire for the
veins of blue, and pearls to match white fingers.
“Oh, you crafty Master Ridd!” said Lorna, looking up at me, and blushing
now a far brighter blush than when she spoke of Charlie; “I thought that
you were much too simple ever to do this sort of thing. No wonder you
can catch the fish, as when first I saw you.”
“Have I caught you, little fish? Or must all my life be spent in
hopeless angling for you?”
“Neither one nor the other, John! You have not caught me yet altogether,
though I like you dearly John; and if you will only keep away, I shall
like you more and more. As for hopeless angling, John--that all others
shall have until I tell you otherwise.”
With the large tears in her eyes--tears which seemed to me to rise
partly from her want to love me with the power of my love--she put her
pure bright lips, half smiling, half prone to reply to tears, against my
forehead lined with trouble, doubt, and eager longing. And then she drew
my ring from off that snowy twig her finger, and held it out to me; and
then, seeing how my face was falling, thrice she touched it with her
lips, and sweetly gave it back to me. “John, I dare not take it now;
else I should be cheating you. I will try to love you dearly, even as
you deserve and wish. Keep it for me just till then. Something tells me
I shall earn it in a very little time. Perhaps you will be sorry then,
sorry when it is all too late, to be loved by such as I am.”
What could I do at her mournful tone, but kiss a thousand times the hand
which she put up to warn me, and vow that I would rather die with one
assurance of her love, than without it live for ever with all beside
that the world could give? Upon this she looked so lovely, with her dark
eyelashes trembling, and her soft eyes full of light, and the colour of
clear sunrise mounting on her cheeks and brow, that I was forced to turn
away, being overcome with beauty.
“Dearest darling, love of my life,” I whispered through her clouds of
hair; “how long must I wait to know, how long must I linger doubting
whether you can ever stoop from your birth and wondrous beauty to a
poor, coarse hind like me, an ignorant unlettered yeoman--”
“I will not have you revile yourself,” said Lorna, very tenderly--just
as I had meant to make her. “You are not rude and unlettered, John. You
know a great deal more than I do; you have learned both Greek and Latin,
as you told me long ago, and you have been at the very best school in
the West of England. None of us but my grandfather, and the Counsellor
(who is a great scholar), can compare with you in this. And though I
have laughed at your manner of speech, I only laughed in fun, John; I
never meant to vex you by it, nor knew that it had done so.”
“Naught you say can vex me, dear,” I answered, as she leaned towards
me in her generous sorrow; “unless you say 'Begone, John Ridd; I love
another more than you.'”
“Then I shall never vex you, John. Never, I mean, by saying that. Now,
John, if you please, be quiet--”
For I was carried away so much by hearing her calling me “John” so
often, and the music of her voice, and the way she bent toward me, and
the shadow of soft weeping in the sunlight of her eyes, that some of
my great hand was creeping in a manner not to be imagined, and far
less explained, toward the lithesome, wholesome curving underneath her
mantle-fold, and out of sight and harm, as I thought; not being her
front waist. However, I was dashed with that, and pretended not to mean
it; only to pluck some lady-fern, whose elegance did me no good.
“Now, John,” said Lorna, being so quick that not even a lover could
cheat her, and observing my confusion more intently than she need have
done. “Master John Ridd, it is high time for you to go home to your
mother. I love your mother very much from what you have told me about
her, and I will not have her cheated.”
“If you truly love my mother,” said I, very craftily “the only way to
show it is by truly loving me.”
Upon that she laughed at me in the sweetest manner, and with such
provoking ways, and such come-and-go of glances, and beginning of quick
blushes, which she tried to laugh away, that I knew, as well as if she
herself had told me, by some knowledge (void of reasoning, and the surer
for it), I knew quite well, while all my heart was burning hot within
me, and mine eyes were shy of hers, and her eyes were shy of mine; for
certain and for ever this I knew--as in a glory--that Lorna Doone had
now begun and would go on to love me.
CHAPTER XXIX
REAPING LEADS TO REVELLING
Although I was under interdict for two months from my darling--“one for
your sake, one for mine,” she had whispered, with her head withdrawn,
yet not so very far from me--lighter heart was not on Exmoor than I bore
for half the time, and even for three quarters. For she was safe; I knew
that daily by a mode of signals well-contrived between us now, on the
strength of our experience. “I have nothing now to fear, John,” she had
said to me, as we parted; “it is true that I am spied and watched, but
Gwenny is too keen for them. While I have my grandfather to prevent all
violence; and little Gwenny to keep watch on those who try to watch me;
and you, above all others, John, ready at a moment, if the worst comes
to the worst--this neglected Lorna Doone was never in such case before.
Therefore do not squeeze my hand, John; I am safe without it, and you do
not know your strength.”