Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
father, Sir Ensor, was better than I in this great element of birth, and
my son Carver is far worse. _Aetas parentum_, what is it, my boy? I hear
that you have been at a grammar-school.”
“So I have, your worship, and at a very good one; but I only got far
enough to make more tail than head of Latin.”
“Let that pass,” said the Counsellor; “John, thou art all the wiser.”
And the old man shook his hoary locks, as if Latin had been his ruin.
I looked at him sadly, and wondered whether it might have so ruined me,
but for God's mercy in stopping it.
CHAPTER LII
THE WAY TO MAKE THE CREAM RISE
That night the reverend Counsellor, not being in such state of mind as
ought to go alone, kindly took our best old bedstead, carved in panels,
well enough, with the woman of Samaria. I set him up, both straight
and heavy, so that he need but close both eyes, and keep his mouth just
open; and in the morning he was thankful for all that he could remember.
I, for my part, scarcely knew whether he really had begun to feel
goodwill towards us, and to see that nothing else could be of any use
to him; or whether he was merely acting, so as to deceive us. And it
had struck me, several times, that he had made a great deal more of the
spirit he had taken than the quantity would warrant, with a man so wise
and solid. Neither did I quite understand a little story which Lorna
told me, how that in the night awaking, she had heard, or seemed to
hear, a sound of feeling in her room; as if there had been some
one groping carefully among the things within her drawers or
wardrobe-closet. But the noise had ceased at once, she said, when she
sat up in bed and listened; and knowing how many mice we had, she took
courage and fell asleep again.
After breakfast, the Counsellor (who looked no whit the worse for
schnapps, but even more grave and venerable) followed our Annie into the
dairy, to see how we managed the clotted cream, of which he had eaten
a basinful. And thereupon they talked a little; and Annie thought him a
fine old gentleman, and a very just one; for he had nobly condemned the
people who spoke against Tom Faggus.
“Your honour must plainly understand,” said Annie, being now alone
with him, and spreading out her light quick hands over the pans, like
butterflies, “that they are brought in here to cool, after being set in
the basin-holes, with the wood-ash under them, which I showed you in the
back-kitchen. And they must have very little heat, not enough to simmer
even; only just to make the bubbles rise, and the scum upon the top set
thick; and after that, it clots as firm--oh, as firm as my two hands
be.”
“Have you ever heard,” asked the Counsellor, who enjoyed this talk with
Annie, “that if you pass across the top, without breaking the surface, a
string of beads, or polished glass, or anything of that kind, the cream
will set three times as solid, and in thrice the quantity?”
“No, sir; I have never heard that,” said Annie, staring with all her
simple eyes; “what a thing it is to read books, and grow learned! But
it is very easy to try it: I will get my coral necklace; it will not be
witchcraft, will it, sir?”
“Certainly not,” the old man replied; “I will make the experiment
myself; and you may trust me not to be hurt, my dear. But coral will not
do, my child, neither will anything coloured. The beads must be of plain
common glass; but the brighter they are the better.”
“Then I know the very thing,” cried Annie; “as bright as bright can be,
and without any colour in it, except in the sun or candle light. Dearest
Lorna has the very thing, a necklace of some old glass-beads, or I think
they called them jewels: she will be too glad to lend it to us. I will
go for it, in a moment.”
“My dear, it cannot be half so bright as your own pretty eyes. But
remember one thing, Annie, you must not say what it is for; or even that
I am going to use it, or anything at all about it; else the charm will
be broken. Bring it here, without a word; if you know where she keeps
it.”
“To be sure I do,” she answered; “John used to keep it for her. But
she took it away from him last week, and she wore it when--I mean when
somebody was here; and he said it was very valuable, and spoke with
great learning about it, and called it by some particular name, which I
forget at this moment. But valuable or not, we cannot hurt it, can we,
sir, by passing it over the cream-pan?”
“Hurt it!” cried the Counsellor: “nay, we shall do it good, my dear.
It will help to raise the cream: and you may take my word for it, young
maiden, none can do good in this world, without in turn receiving it.”
Pronouncing this great sentiment, he looked so grand and benevolent,
that Annie (as she said afterwards) could scarce forbear from kissing
him, yet feared to take the liberty. Therefore, she only ran away to
fetch my Lorna's necklace.
Now as luck would have it--whether good luck or otherwise, you must not
judge too hastily,--my darling had taken it into her head, only a day or
two before, that I was far too valuable to be trusted with her necklace.
Now that she had some idea of its price and quality, she had begun to
fear that some one, perhaps even Squire Faggus (in whom her faith was
illiberal), might form designs against my health, to win the bauble from
me. So, with many pretty coaxings, she had led me to give it up; which,
except for her own sake, I was glad enough to do, misliking a charge of
such importance.
Therefore Annie found it sparkling in the little secret hole, near the
head of Lorna's bed, which she herself had recommended for its safer
custody; and without a word to any one she brought it down, and danced
it in the air before the Counsellor, for him to admire its lustre.
“Oh, that old thing!” said the gentleman, in a tone of some contempt; “I
remember that old thing well enough. However, for want of a better, no
doubt it will answer our purpose. Three times three, I pass it over.
Crinkleum, crankum, grass and clover! What are you feared of, you silly
child?”
“Good sir, it is perfect witchcraft! I am sure of that, because it
rhymes. Oh, what would mother say to me? Shall I ever go to heaven
again? Oh, I see the cream already!”
“To be sure you do; but you must not look, or the whole charm will be
broken, and the devil will fly away with the pan, and drown every cow
you have got in it.”
“Oh, sir, it is too horrible. How could you lead me to such a sin? Away
with thee, witch of Endor!”
For the door began to creak, and a broom appeared suddenly in the
opening, with our Betty, no doubt, behind it. But Annie, in the greatest
terror, slammed the door, and bolted it, and then turned again to the
Counsellor; yet looking at his face, had not the courage to reproach
him. For his eyes rolled like two blazing barrels, and his white shagged
brows were knit across them, and his forehead scowled in black furrows,
so that Annie said that if she ever saw the devil, she saw him then, and
no mistake. Whether the old man wished to scare her, or whether he was
trying not to laugh, is more than I can tell you.
“Now,” he said, in a deep stern whisper; “not a word of this to a living
soul; neither must you, nor any other enter this place for three hours
at least. By that time the charm will have done its work: the pan will
be cream to the bottom; and you will bless me for a secret which will
make your fortune. Put the bauble under this pannikin; which none must
lift for a day and a night. Have no fear, my simple wench; not a breath
of harm shall come to you, if you obey my orders.”
“Oh, that I will, sir, that I will: if you will only tell me what to
do.”
“Go to your room, without so much as a single word to any one. Bolt
yourself in, and for three hours now, read the Lord's Prayer backwards.”
Poor Annie was only too glad to escape, upon these conditions; and the
Counsellor kissed her upon the forehead and told her not to make her
eyes red, because they were much too sweet and pretty. She dropped them
at this, with a sob and a curtsey, and ran away to her bedroom; but as
for reading the Lord's Prayer backwards, that was much beyond her;
and she had not done three words quite right, before the three hours
expired.
Meanwhile the Counsellor was gone. He bade our mother adieu, with so
much dignity of bearing, and such warmth of gratitude, and the high-bred
courtesy of the old school (now fast disappearing), that when he was
gone, dear mother fell back on the chair which he had used last night,
as if it would teach her the graces. And for more than an hour she made
believe not to know what there was for dinner.
“Oh, the wickedness of the world! Oh, the lies that are told of
people--or rather I mean the falsehoods--because a man is better born,
and has better manners! Why, Lorna, how is it that you never speak about
your charming uncle? Did you notice, Lizzie, how his silver hair was
waving upon his velvet collar, and how white his hands were, and every
nail like an acorn; only pink like shell-fish, or at least like shells?
And the way he bowed, and dropped his eyes, from his pure respect for
me! And then, that he would not even speak, on account of his emotion;
but pressed my hand in silence! Oh, Lizzie, you have read me beautiful
things about Sir Gallyhead, and the rest; but nothing to equal Sir
Counsellor.”
“You had better marry him, madam,” said I, coming in very sternly;
though I knew I ought not to say it: “he can repay your adoration. He
has stolen a hundred thousand pounds.”
“John,” cried my mother, “you are mad!” And yet she turned as pale as
death; for women are so quick at turning; and she inkled what it was.
“Of course I am, mother; mad about the marvels of Sir Galahad. He has
gone off with my Lorna's necklace. Fifty farms like ours can never make
it good to Lorna.”
Hereupon ensued grim silence. Mother looked at Lizzie's face, for she
could not look at me; and Lizzie looked at me, to know: and as for me, I
could have stamped almost on the heart of any one. It was not the value
of the necklace--I am not so low a hound as that--nor was it even the
damned folly shown by every one of us--it was the thought of Lorna's
sorrow for her ancient plaything; and even more, my fury at the breach
of hospitality.
But Lorna came up to me softly, as a woman should always come; and she
laid one hand upon my shoulder; and she only looked at me. She even
seemed to fear to look, and dropped her eyes, and sighed at me. Without
a word, I knew by that, how I must have looked like Satan; and the evil
spirit left my heart; when she had made me think of it.
“Darling John, did you want me to think that you cared for my money,
more than for me?”
I led her away from the rest of them, being desirous of explaining
things, when I saw the depth of her nature opened, like an everlasting
well, to me. But she would not let me say a word, or do anything by
ourselves, as it were: she said, “Your duty is to your mother: this blow
is on her, and not on me.”
I saw that she was right; though how she knew it is beyond me; and I
asked her just to go in front, and bring my mother round a little. For I
must let my passion pass: it may drop its weapons quickly; but it cannot
come and go, before a man has time to think.
Then Lorna went up to my mother, who was still in the chair of elegance;
and she took her by both hands, and said,--
“Dearest mother, I shall fret so, if I see you fretting. And to fret
will kill me, mother. They have always told me so.”
Poor mother bent on Lorna's shoulder, without thought of attitude, and
laid her cheek on Lorna's breast, and sobbed till Lizzie was jealous,
and came with two pocket-handkerchiefs. As for me, my heart was lighter