Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
if the facets were ill-matched, and the points of light so ever little
out of perfect harmony, all the lustre of the jewel would be loose
and wavering, and the central fire dulled; instead of answering, as it
should, to all possibilities of gaze, and overpowering any eye intent on
its deeper mysteries. We laughed at the Squire's dissertation; for how
should he know all these things, being nothing better, and indeed much
worse than a mere Northmolton blacksmith? He took our laughter with much
good nature; having Annie to squeeze his hand and convey her grief at
our ignorance: but he said that of one thing he was quite certain, and
therein I believed him. To wit, that a trinket of this kind never could
have belonged to any ignoble family, but to one of the very highest and
most wealthy in England. And looking at Lorna, I felt that she must have
come from a higher source than the very best of diamonds.
Tom Faggus said that the necklace was made, he would answer for it, in
Amsterdam, two or three hundred years ago, long before London jewellers
had begun to meddle with diamonds; and on the gold clasp he found some
letters, done in some inverted way, the meaning of which was beyond him;
also a bearing of some kind, which he believed was a mountain-cat. And
thereupon he declared that now he had earned another glass of schnapps,
and would Mistress Lorna mix it for him?
I was amazed at his impudence; and Annie, who thought this her business,
did not look best pleased; and I hoped that Lorna would tell him at once
to go and do it for himself. But instead of that she rose to do it with
a soft humility, which went direct to the heart of Tom; and he leaped up
with a curse at himself, and took the hot water from her, and would not
allow her to do anything except to put the sugar in; and then he bowed
to her grandly. I knew what Lorna was thinking of; she was thinking all
the time that her necklace had been taken by the Doones with violence
upon some great robbery; and that Squire Faggus knew it, though he would
not show his knowledge; and that this was perhaps the reason why mother
had refused it so.
We said no more about the necklace for a long time afterwards; neither
did my darling wear it, now that she knew its value, but did not know
its history. She came to me the very next day, trying to look cheerful,
and begged me if I loved her (never mind how little) to take charge of
it again, as I once had done before, and not even to let her know in
what place I stored it. I told her that this last request I could not
comply with; for having been round her neck so often, it was now a
sacred thing, more than a million pounds could be. Therefore it should
dwell for the present in the neighbourhood of my heart; and so could not
be far from her. At this she smiled her own sweet smile, and touched
my forehead with her lips and wished that she could only learn how to
deserve such love as mine.
Tom Faggus took his good departure, which was a kind farewell to me,
on the very day I am speaking of, the day after his arrival. Tom was
a thoroughly upright man, according to his own standard; and you might
rely upon him always, up to a certain point I mean, to be there or
thereabouts. But sometimes things were too many for Tom, especially with
ardent spirits, and then he judged, perhaps too much, with only himself
for the jury. At any rate, I would trust him fully, for candour and
for honesty, in almost every case in which he himself could have no
interest. And so we got on very well together; and he thought me a fool;
and I tried my best not to think anything worse of him.
Scarcely was Tom clean out of sight, and Annie's tears not dry yet (for
she always made a point of crying upon his departure), when in came
Master Jeremy Stickles, splashed with mud from head to foot, and not in
the very best of humours, though happy to get back again.
“Curse those fellows!” he cried, with a stamp which sent the water
hissing from his boot upon the embers; “a pretty plight you may call
this, for His Majesty's Commissioner to return to his headquarters in!
Annie, my dear,” for he was always very affable with Annie, “will you
help me off with my overalls, and then turn your pretty hand to the
gridiron? Not a blessed morsel have I touched for more than twenty-four
hours.”
“Surely then you must be quite starving, sir,” my sister replied with
the greatest zeal; for she did love a man with an appetite; “how glad I
am that the fire is clear!” But Lizzie, who happened to be there, said
with her peculiar smile,--
“Master Stickles must be used to it; for he never comes back without
telling us that.”
“Hush!” cried Annie, quite shocked with her; “how would you like to
be used to it? Now, Betty, be quick with the things for me. Pork, or
mutton, or deer's meat, sir? We have some cured since the autumn.”
“Oh, deer's meat, by all means,” Jeremy Stickles answered; “I have
tasted none since I left you, though dreaming of it often. Well, this
is better than being chased over the moors for one's life, John. All the
way from Landacre Bridge, I have ridden a race for my precious life, at
the peril of my limbs and neck. Three great Doones galloping after me,
and a good job for me that they were so big, or they must have overtaken
me. Just go and see to my horse, John, that's an excellent lad. He
deserves a good turn this day, from me; and I will render it to him.”
However he left me to do it, while he made himself comfortable: and
in truth the horse required care; he was blown so that he could hardly
stand, and plastered with mud, and steaming so that the stable was
quite full with it. By the time I had put the poor fellow to rights, his
master had finished dinner, and was in a more pleasant humour, having
even offered to kiss Annie, out of pure gratitude, as he said; but Annie
answered with spirit that gratitude must not be shown by increasing the
obligation. Jeremy made reply to this that his only way to be grateful
then was to tell us his story: and so he did, at greater length than
I can here repeat it; for it does not bear particularly upon Lorna's
fortunes.
It appears that as he was riding towards us from the town of Southmolton
in Devonshire, he found the roads very soft and heavy, and the floods
out in all directions; but met with no other difficulty until he came to
Landacre Bridge. He had only a single trooper with him, a man not of the
militia but of the King's army, whom Jeremy had brought from Exeter.
As these two descended towards the bridge they observed that both the
Kensford water and the River Barle were pouring down in mighty floods
from the melting of the snow. So great indeed was the torrent, after
they united, that only the parapets of the bridge could be seen above
the water, the road across either bank being covered and very deep on
the hither side. The trooper did not like the look of it, and proposed
to ride back again, and round by way of Simonsbath, where the stream is
smaller. But Stickles would not have it so, and dashing into the river,
swam his horse for the bridge, and gained it with some little trouble;
and there he found the water not more than up to his horse's knees
perhaps. On the crown of the bridge he turned his horse to watch the
trooper's passage, and to help him with directions; when suddenly he saw
him fall headlong into the torrent, and heard the report of a gun from
behind, and felt a shock to his own body, such as lifted him out of
the saddle. Turning round he beheld three men, risen up from behind the
hedge on one side of his onward road, two of them ready to load again,
and one with his gun unfired, waiting to get good aim at him. Then
Jeremy did a gallant thing, for which I doubt whether I should have had
the presence of mind in danger. He saw that to swim his horse back again
would be almost certain death; as affording such a target, where even
a wound must be fatal. Therefore he struck the spurs into the nag, and
rode through the water straight at the man who was pointing the long gun
at him. If the horse had been carried off his legs, there must have been
an end of Jeremy; for the other men were getting ready to have another
shot at him. But luckily the horse galloped right on without any need
for swimming, being himself excited, no doubt, by all he had seen and
heard of it. And Jeremy lay almost flat on his neck, so as to give
little space for good aim, with the mane tossing wildly in front of him.
Now if that young fellow with the gun had his brains as ready as his
flint was, he would have shot the horse at once, and then had Stickles
at his mercy; but instead of that he let fly at the man, and missed him
altogether, being scared perhaps by the pistol which Jeremy showed him
the mouth of. And galloping by at full speed, Master Stickles tried to
leave his mark behind him, for he changed the aim of his pistol to the
biggest man, who was loading his gun and cursing like ten cannons. But
the pistol missed fire, no doubt from the flood which had gurgled in
over the holsters; and Jeremy seeing three horses tethered at a gate
just up the hill, knew that he had not yet escaped, but had more of
danger behind him. He tried his other great pistol at one of the
horses tethered there, so as to lessen (if possible) the number of his
pursuers. But the powder again failed him; and he durst not stop to cut
the bridles, bearing the men coming up the hill. So he even made the
most of his start, thanking God that his weight was light, compared at
least to what theirs was.
And another thing he had noticed which gave him some hope of escaping,
to wit that the horses of the Doones, although very handsome animals,
were suffering still from the bitter effects of the late long frost, and
the scarcity of fodder. “If they do not catch me up, or shoot me, in the
course of the first two miles, I may see my home again”; this was what
he said to himself as he turned to mark what they were about, from
the brow of the steep hill. He saw the flooded valley shining with the
breadth of water, and the trooper's horse on the other side, shaking
his drenched flanks and neighing; and half-way down the hill he saw the
three Doones mounting hastily. And then he knew that his only chance lay
in the stoutness of his steed.
The horse was in pretty good condition; and the rider knew him
thoroughly, and how to make the most of him; and though they had
travelled some miles that day through very heavy ground, the bath in
the river had washed the mud off, and been some refreshment. Therefore
Stickles encouraged his nag, and put him into a good hard gallop,
heading away towards Withycombe. At first he had thought of turning to
the right, and making off for Withypool, a mile or so down the valley;
but his good sense told him that no one there would dare to protect him
against the Doones, so he resolved to go on his way; yet faster than he
had intended.
The three villains came after him, with all the speed they could muster,
making sure from the badness of the road that he must stick fast ere
long, and so be at their mercy. And this was Jeremy's chiefest fear,
for the ground being soft and thoroughly rotten, after so much frost and
snow, the poor horse had terrible work of it, with no time to pick the
way; and even more good luck than skill was needed to keep him from
foundering. How Jeremy prayed for an Exmoor fog (such as he had often
sworn at), that he might turn aside and lurk, while his pursuers went
past him! But no fog came, nor even a storm to damp the priming of their
guns; neither was wood or coppice nigh, nor any place to hide in; only
hills, and moor, and valleys; with flying shadows over them, and great
banks of snow in the corners. At one time poor Stickles was quite in