Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
shoes themselves, according to a print which Lizzie found in a book of
adventures. And this made such a difference, that I crossed the farmyard
and came back again (though turning was the worst thing of all) without
so much as falling once, or getting my staff entangled.
But oh, the aching of my ankles, when I went to bed that night; I was
forced to help myself upstairs with a couple of mopsticks! and I rubbed
the joints with neatsfoot oil, which comforted them greatly. And likely
enough I would have abandoned any further trial, but for Lizzie's
ridicule, and pretended sympathy; asking if the strong John Ridd would
have old Betty to lean upon. Therefore I set to again, with a fixed
resolve not to notice pain or stiffness, but to warm them out of me.
And sure enough, before dark that day, I could get along pretty freely;
especially improving every time, after leaving off and resting. The
astonishment of poor John Fry, Bill Dadds, and Jem Slocombe, when they
saw me coming down the hill upon them, in the twilight, where they were
clearing the furze rick and trussing it for cattle, was more than I
can tell you; because they did not let me see it, but ran away with one
accord, and floundered into a snowdrift. They believed, and so did every
one else (especially when I grew able to glide along pretty rapidly),
that I had stolen Mother Melldrum's sieves, on which she was said to fly
over the foreland at midnight every Saturday.
Upon the following day, I held some council with my mother; not liking
to go without her permission, yet scarcely daring to ask for it. But
here she disappointed me, on the right side of disappointment; saying
that she had seen my pining (which she never could have done; because
I had been too hard at work), and rather than watch me grieving so,
for somebody or other, who now was all in all to me, I might go upon my
course, and God's protection go with me! At this I was amazed, because
it was not at all like mother; and knowing how well I had behaved, ever
since the time of our snowing up, I was a little moved to tell her that
she could not understand me. However my sense of duty kept me, and my
knowledge of the catechism, from saying such a thing as that, or even
thinking twice of it. And so I took her at her word, which she was
not prepared for; and telling her how proud I was of her trust in
Providence, and how I could run in my new snow-shoes, I took a short
pipe in my mouth, and started forth accordingly.
CHAPTER XLIII
NOT TOO SOON
When I started on my road across the hills and valleys (which now were
pretty much alike), the utmost I could hope to do was to gain the crest
of hills, and look into the Doone Glen. Hence I might at least descry
whether Lorna still was safe, by the six nests still remaining, and the
view of the Captain's house. When I was come to the open country, far
beyond the sheltered homestead, and in the full brunt of the wind, the
keen blast of the cold broke on me, and the mighty breadth of snow. Moor
and highland, field and common, cliff and vale, and watercourse, over
all the rolling folds of misty white were flung. There was nothing
square or jagged left, there was nothing perpendicular; all the rugged
lines were eased, and all the breaches smoothly filled. Curves, and
mounds, and rounded heavings, took the place of rock and stump; and all
the country looked as if a woman's hand had been on it.
Through the sparkling breadth of white, which seemed to glance my eyes
away, and outside the humps of laden trees, bowing their backs like a
woodman, I contrived to get along, half-sliding and half-walking, in
places where a plain-shodden man must have sunk, and waited freezing
till the thaw should come to him. For although there had been such
violent frost, every night, upon the snow, the snow itself, having never
thawed, even for an hour, had never coated over. Hence it was as soft
and light as if all had fallen yesterday. In places where no drift had
been, but rather off than on to them, three feet was the least of
depth; but where the wind had chased it round, or any draught led like a
funnel, or anything opposed it; there you might very safely say that
it ran up to twenty feet, or thirty, or even fifty, and I believe some
times a hundred.
At last I got to my spy-hill (as I had begun to call it), although I
never should have known it but for what it looked on. And even to
know this last again required all the eyes of love, soever sharp
and vigilant. For all the beautiful Glen Doone (shaped from out
the mountains, as if on purpose for the Doones, and looking in the
summer-time like a sharp cut vase of green) now was besnowed half up
the sides, and at either end so, that it was more like the white basins
wherein we boil plum-puddings. Not a patch of grass was there, not
a black branch of a tree; all was white; and the little river flowed
beneath an arch of snow; if it managed to flow at all.
Now this was a great surprise to me; not only because I believed Glen
Doone to be a place outside all frost, but also because I thought
perhaps that it was quite impossible to be cold near Lorna. And now it
struck me all at once that perhaps her ewer was frozen (as mine had been
for the last three weeks, requiring embers around it), and perhaps her
window would not shut, any more than mine would; and perhaps she wanted
blankets. This idea worked me up to such a chill of sympathy, that
seeing no Doones now about, and doubting if any guns would go off, in
this state of the weather, and knowing that no man could catch me up
(except with shoes like mine), I even resolved to slide the cliffs, and
bravely go to Lorna.
It helped me much in this resolve, that the snow came on again, thick
enough to blind a man who had not spent his time among it, as I had done
now for days and days. Therefore I took my neatsfoot oil, which now was
clogged like honey, and rubbed it hard into my leg-joints, so far as
I could reach them. And then I set my back and elbows well against a
snowdrift, hanging far adown the cliff, and saying some of the Lord's
Prayer, threw myself on Providence. Before there was time to think or
dream, I landed very beautifully upon a ridge of run-up snow in a quiet
corner. My good shoes, or boots, preserved me from going far beneath it;
though one of them was sadly strained, where a grub had gnawed the ash,
in the early summer-time. Having set myself aright, and being in good
spirits, I made boldly across the valley (where the snow was furrowed
hard), being now afraid of nobody.
If Lorna had looked out of the window she would not have known me, with
those boots upon my feet, and a well-cleaned sheepskin over me, bearing
my own (J.R.) in red, just between my shoulders, but covered now in
snow-flakes. The house was partly drifted up, though not so much as ours
was; and I crossed the little stream almost without knowing that it was
under me. At first, being pretty safe from interference from the other
huts, by virtue of the blinding snow and the difficulty of walking, I
examined all the windows; but these were coated so with ice, like ferns
and flowers and dazzling stars, that no one could so much as guess what
might be inside of them. Moreover I was afraid of prying narrowly into
them, as it was not a proper thing where a maiden might be; only I
wanted to know just this, whether she were there or not.
Taking nothing by this movement, I was forced, much against my will, to
venture to the door and knock, in a hesitating manner, not being sure
but what my answer might be the mouth of a carbine. However it was not
so, for I heard a pattering of feet and a whispering going on, and then
a shrill voice through the keyhole, asking, “Who's there?”
“Only me, John Ridd,” I answered; upon which I heard a little laughter,
and a little sobbing, or something that was like it; and then the door
was opened about a couple of inches, with a bar behind it still; and
then the little voice went on,--
“Put thy finger in, young man, with the old ring on it. But mind thee,
if it be the wrong one, thou shalt never draw it back again.”
Laughing at Gwenny's mighty threat, I showed my finger in the opening;
upon which she let me in, and barred the door again like lightning.
“What is the meaning of all this, Gwenny?” I asked, as I slipped
about on the floor, for I could not stand there firmly with my great
snow-shoes on.
“Maning enough, and bad maning too,” the Cornish girl made answer. “Us be
shut in here, and starving, and durstn't let anybody in upon us. I wish
thou wer't good to ate, young man: I could manage most of thee.”
I was so frightened by her eyes, full of wolfish hunger, that I could
only say “Good God!” having never seen the like before. Then drew I
forth a large piece of bread, which I had brought in case of accidents,
and placed it in her hands. She leaped at it, as a starving dog leaps at
sight of his supper, and she set her teeth in it, and then withheld
it from her lips, with something very like an oath at her own vile
greediness; and then away round the corner with it, no doubt for her
young mistress. I meanwhile was occupied, to the best of my ability, in
taking my snow-shoes off, yet wondering much within myself why Lorna did
not come to me.
But presently I knew the cause, for Gwenny called me, and I ran, and
found my darling quite unable to say so much as, “John, how are you?”
Between the hunger and the cold, and the excitement of my coming, she
had fainted away, and lay back on a chair, as white as the snow around
us. In betwixt her delicate lips, Gwenny was thrusting with all her
strength the hard brown crust of the rye-bread, which she had snatched
from me so.
“Get water, or get snow,” I said; “don't you know what fainting is, you
very stupid child?”
“Never heerd on it, in Cornwall,” she answered, trusting still to the
bread; “be un the same as bleeding?”
“It will be directly, if you go on squeezing away with that crust so.
Eat a piece: I have got some more. Leave my darling now to me.”
Hearing that I had some more, the starving girl could resist no longer,
but tore it in two, and had swallowed half before I had coaxed my Lorna
back to sense, and hope, and joy, and love.
“I never expected to see you again. I had made up my mind to die, John;
and to die without your knowing it.”
As I repelled this fearful thought in a manner highly fortifying, the
tender hue flowed back again into her famished cheeks and lips, and a
softer brilliance glistened from the depth of her dark eyes. She gave me
one little shrunken hand, and I could not help a tear for it.
“After all, Mistress Lorna,” I said, pretending to be gay, for a smile
might do her good; “you do not love me as Gwenny does; for she even
wanted to eat me.”
“And shall, afore I have done, young man,” Gwenny answered laughing;
“you come in here with they red chakes, and make us think o' sirloin.”
“Eat up your bit of brown bread, Gwenny. It is not good enough for
your mistress. Bless her heart, I have something here such as she never
tasted the like of, being in such appetite. Look here, Lorna; smell it
first. I have had it ever since Twelfth Day, and kept it all the time
for you. Annie made it. That is enough to warrant it good cooking.”
And then I showed my great mince-pie in a bag of tissue paper, and I
told them how the mince-meat was made of golden pippins finely shred,
with the undercut of the sirloin, and spice and fruit accordingly and
far beyond my knowledge. But Lorna would not touch a morsel until she
had thanked God for it, and given me the kindest kiss, and put a piece
in Gwenny's mouth.