Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
every time we went on so, he took it with less impatience. Then once
when he had been very quiet, and not even tried to frown at us, Annie
leaned over, and kissed his forehead, and spread the pillows and sheet,
with a curve as delicate as his own white ears; and then he feebly
lifted hands, and prayed to God to bless her. And after that he came
round gently; though never to the man he had been, and never to speak
loud again.
For a time (as I may have implied before) Master Stickles's authority,
and manner of levying duties, had not been taken kindly by the people
round our neighbourhood. The manors of East Lynn and West Lynn, and even
that of Woolhanger--although just then all three were at issue about
some rights of wreck, and the hanging of a sheep-stealer (a man of no
great eminence, yet claimed by each for the sake of his clothes)--these
three, having their rights impugned, or even superseded, as they
declared by the quartering of soldiers in their neighbourhood, united
very kindly to oppose the King's Commissioner. However, Jeremy had
contrived to conciliate the whole of them, not so much by anything
engaging in his deportment or delicate address, as by holding out bright
hopes that the plunder of the Doone Glen might become divisible among
the adjoining manors. Now I have never discovered a thing which the
lords of manors (at least in our part of the world) do not believe to
belong to themselves, if only they could get their rights. And it
did seem natural enough that if the Doones were ousted, and a nice
collection of prey remained, this should be parted among the people
having ancient rights of plunder. Nevertheless, Master Jeremy knew that
the soldiers would have the first of it, and the King what they could
not carry.
And perhaps he was punished justly for language so misleading, by the
general indignation of the people all around us, not at his failure, but
at himself, for that which he could in no wise prevent. And the stewards
of the manors rode up to our house on purpose to reproach him, and were
greatly vexed with all of us, because he was too ill to see them.
To myself (though by rights the last to be thought of, among so much
pain and trouble) Jeremy's wound was a great misfortune, in more ways
than one. In the first place, it deferred my chance of imparting either
to my mother or to Mistress Lorna my firm belief that the maid I loved
was not sprung from the race which had slain my father; neither could
he in any way have offended against her family. And this discovery I was
yearning more and more to declare to them; being forced to see (even
in the midst of all our warlike troubles) that a certain difference was
growing betwixt them both, and betwixt them and me. For although the
words of the Counsellor had seemed to fail among us, being bravely
met and scattered, yet our courage was but as wind flinging wide the
tare-seeds, when the sower casts them from his bag. The crop may not
come evenly, many places may long lie bare, and the field be all in
patches; yet almost every vetch will spring, and tiller out, and stretch
across the scatterings where the wind puffed.
And so dear mother and darling Lorna now had been for many a day
thinking, worrying, and wearing, about the matter between us. Neither
liked to look at the other, as they used to do; with mother admiring
Lorna's eyes, and grace, and form of breeding; and Lorna loving mother's
goodness, softness, and simplicity. And the saddest and most hurtful
thing was that neither could ask the other of the shadow falling between
them. And so it went on, and deepened.
In the next place Colonel Stickles's illness was a grievous thing to
us, in that we had no one now to command the troopers. Ten of these were
still alive, and so well approved to us, that they could never fancy
aught, whether for dinner or supper, without its being forth-coming. If
they wanted trout they should have it; if colloped venison, or broiled
ham, or salmon from Lynmouth and Trentisoe, or truffles from the
woodside, all these were at the warriors' service, until they lusted for
something else. Even the wounded men ate nobly; all except poor Jeremy,
who was forced to have a young elder shoot, with the pith drawn, for to
feed him. And once, when they wanted pickled loach* (from my description
of it), I took up my boyish sport again, and pronged them a good jarful.
Therefore, none of them could complain; and yet they were not satisfied;
perhaps for want of complaining.
* There are said to be no loach now in Lynn. This proves
that John Ridd caught them all.
Be that as it might, we knew that if they once resolved to go (as they
might do at any time, with only a corporal over them) all our house, and
all our goods, ay, and our own precious lives, would and must be at the
mercy of embittered enemies. For now the Doones, having driven back, as
every one said, five hundred men--though not thirty had ever fought with
them--were in such feather all round the country, that nothing was too
good for them. Offerings poured in at the Doone gate, faster than Doones
could away with them, and the sympathy both of Devon and Somerset became
almost oppressive. And perhaps this wealth of congratulation, and mutual
good feeling between plundered and victim, saved us from any piece of
spite; kindliness having won the day, and every one loving every one.
But yet another cause arose, and this the strongest one of all, to prove
the need of Stickles's aid, and calamity of his illness. And this came
to our knowledge first, without much time to think of it. For two men
appeared at our gate one day, stripped to their shirts, and void of
horses, and looking very sorrowful. Now having some fear of attack from
the Doones, and scarce knowing what their tricks might be, we received
these strangers cautiously, desiring to know who they were before we let
them see all our premises.
However, it soon became plain to us that although they might not be
honest fellows, at any rate they were not Doones; and so we took them
in, and fed, and left them to tell their business. And this they were
glad enough to do; as men who have been maltreated almost always are.
And it was not for us to contradict them, lest our victuals should go
amiss.
These two very worthy fellows--nay, more than that by their own account,
being downright martyrs--were come, for the public benefit, from the
Court of Chancery, sitting for everybody's good, and boldly redressing
evil. This court has a power of scent unknown to the Common-law
practitioners, and slowly yet surely tracks its game; even as the great
lumbering dogs, now introduced from Spain, and called by some people
“pointers,” differ from the swift gaze-hound, who sees his prey and runs
him down in the manner of the common lawyers. If a man's ill fate should
drive him to make a choice between these two, let him rather be chased
by the hounds of law, than tracked by the dogs of Equity.
Now, as it fell in a very black day (for all except the lawyers) His
Majesty's Court of Chancery, if that be what it called itself, gained
scent of poor Lorna's life, and of all that might be made of it. Whether
through that brave young lord who ran into such peril, or through any
of his friends, or whether through that deep old Counsellor, whose game
none might penetrate; or through any disclosures of the Italian woman,
or even of Jeremy himself; none just now could tell us; only this truth
was too clear--Chancery had heard of Lorna, and then had seen how
rich she was; and never delaying in one thing, had opened mouth, and
swallowed her.
The Doones, with a share of that dry humour which was in them
hereditary, had welcomed the two apparitors (if that be the proper name
for them) and led them kindly down the valley, and told them then to
serve their writ. Misliking the look of things, these poor men began to
fumble among their clothes; upon which the Doones cried, “off with them!
Let us see if your message be on your skins.” And with no more manners
than that, they stripped, and lashed them out of the valley; only
bidding them come to us, if they wanted Lorna Doone; and to us they came
accordingly. Neither were they sure at first but that we should treat
them so; for they had no knowledge of the west country, and thought it
quite a godless place, wherein no writ was holy.
We however comforted and cheered them so considerably, that, in
gratitude, they showed their writs, to which they had stuck like
leeches. And these were twofold; one addressed to Mistress Lorna Doone,
so called, and bidding her keep in readiness to travel whenever called
upon, and commit herself to nobody, except the accredited messengers
of the right honourable Court; while the other was addressed to all
subjects of His Majesty, having custody of Lorna Doone, or any power
over her. And this last threatened and exhorted, and held out hopes
of recompense, if she were rendered truly. My mother and I held
consultation, over both these documents, with a mixture of some wrath
and fear, and a fork of great sorrow to stir them. And now having Jeremy
Stickles's leave, which he gave with a nod when I told him all, and at
last made him understand it, I laid bare to my mother as well what
I knew, as what I merely surmised, or guessed, concerning Lorna's
parentage. All this she received with great tears, and wonder, and
fervent thanks to God, and still more fervent praise of her son, who had
nothing whatever to do with it. However, now the question was, how to
act about these writs. And herein it was most unlucky that we could not
have Master Stickles, with his knowledge of the world, and especially
of the law-courts, to advise us what to do, and to help in doing it. And
firstly of the first I said, “We have rogues to deal with; but try we
not to rogue them.”
To this, in some measure, dear mother agreed, though she could not see
the justice of it, yet thought that it might be wiser, because of our
want of practice. And then I said, “Now we are bound to tell Lorna, and
to serve her citation upon her, which these good fellows have given us.”
“Then go, and do it thyself, my son,” mother replied with a mournful
smile, misdoubting what the end might be. So I took the slip of brown
parchment, and went to seek my darling.
Lorna was in her favourite place, the little garden which she tended
with such care and diligence. Seeing how the maiden loved it, and was
happy there, I had laboured hard to fence it from the dangers of the
wood. And here she had corrected me, with better taste, and sense of
pleasure, and the joys of musing. For I meant to shut out the brook, and
build my fence inside of it; but Lorna said no; if we must have a fence,
which could not but be injury, at any rate leave the stream inside,
and a pleasant bank beyond it. And soon I perceived that she was right,
though not so much as afterwards; for the fairest of all things in a
garden, and in summer-time most useful, is a brook of crystal water;
where a man may come and meditate, and the flowers may lean and see
themselves, and the rays of the sun are purified. Now partly with her own
white hands, and partly with Gwenny's red ones, Lorna had made of this
sunny spot a haven of beauty to dwell in. It was not only that colours
lay in the harmony we would seek of them, neither was it the height of
plants, sloping to one another; nor even the delicate tone of foliage
following suit, and neighbouring. Even the breathing of the wind, soft
and gentle in and out, moving things that need not move, and passing
longer-stalked ones, even this was not enough among the flush of
fragrance, to tell a man the reason of his quiet satisfaction. But so it
shall for ever be. As the river we float upon (with wine, and flowers,