Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
and surly order; harbouring up revenge, and leading a rider to false
confidence. Very smoothly he would go, and as gentle as a turtle-dove;
until his rider fully believed that a pack-thread was enough for him,
and a pat of approval upon his neck the aim and crown of his worthy
life. Then suddenly up went his hind feet to heaven, and the rider for
the most part flew over his nose; whereupon good Kickums would take
advantage of his favourable position to come and bite a piece out of
his back. Now in my present state of mind, being understood of nobody,
having none to bear me company, neither wishing to have any, an
indefinite kind of attraction drew me into Kickum's society. A bond of
mutual sympathy was soon established between us; I would ride no other
horse, neither Kickums be ridden by any other man. And this good horse
became as jealous about me as a dog might be; and would lash out, or run
teeth foremost, at any one who came near him when I was on his back.
This season, the reaping of the corn, which had been but a year ago so
pleasant and so lightsome, was become a heavy labour, and a thing for
grumbling rather than for gladness. However, for the sake of all, it
must be attended to, and with as fair a show of spirit and alacrity as
might be. For otherwise the rest would drag, and drop their hands and
idle, being quicker to take infection of dullness than of diligence. And
the harvest was a heavy one, even heavier than the year before, although
of poorer quality. Therefore was I forced to work as hard as any horse
could during all the daylight hours, and defer till night the brooding
upon my misfortune. But the darkness always found me stiff with work,
and weary, and less able to think than to dream, may be, of Lorna. And
now the house was so dull and lonesome, wanting Annie's pretty presence,
and the light of Lorna's eyes, that a man had no temptation after
supper-time even to sit and smoke a pipe.
For Lizzie, though so learned, and pleasant when it suited her, never
had taken very kindly to my love for Lorna, and being of a proud and
slightly upstart nature, could not bear to be eclipsed in bearing,
looks, and breeding, and even in clothes, by the stranger. For one thing
I will say of the Doones, that whether by purchase or plunder, they had
always dressed my darling well, with her own sweet taste to help them.
And though Lizzie's natural hate of the maid (as a Doone and burdened
with father's death) should have been changed to remorse when she
learned of Lorna's real parentage, it was only altered to sullenness,
and discontent with herself, for frequent rudeness to an innocent
person, and one of such high descent. Moreover, the child had imbibed
strange ideas as to our aristocracy, partly perhaps from her own way of
thinking, and partly from reading of history. For while, from one point
of view she looked up at them very demurely, as commissioned by God for
the country's good; from another sight she disliked them, as ready to
sacrifice their best and follow their worst members.
Yet why should this wench dare to judge upon a matter so far beyond her,
and form opinions which she knew better than declare before mother? But
with me she had no such scruple, for I had no authority over her; and my
intellect she looked down upon, because I praised her own so. Thus
she made herself very unpleasant to me; by little jags and jerks of
sneering, sped as though unwittingly; which I (who now considered myself
allied to the aristocracy, and perhaps took airs on that account) had
not wit enough to parry, yet had wound enough to feel.
Now any one who does not know exactly how mothers feel and think, would
have expected my mother (than whom could be no better one) to pet me,
and make much of me, under my sad trouble; to hang with anxiety on my
looks, and shed her tears with mine (if any), and season every dish of
meat put by for her John's return. And if the whole truth must be told,
I did expect that sort of thing, and thought what a plague it would
be to me; yet not getting it, was vexed, as if by some new injury.
For mother was a special creature (as I suppose we all are), being the
warmest of the warm, when fired at the proper corner; and yet, if taken
at the wrong point, you would say she was incombustible.
Hence it came to pass that I had no one even to speak to, about Lorna
and my grievances; for Captain Stickles was now gone southward; and John
Fry, of course, was too low for it, although a married man, and well
under his wife's management. But finding myself unable at last to bear
this any longer, upon the first day when all the wheat was cut, and the
stooks set up in every field, yet none quite fit for carrying, I saddled
good Kickums at five in the morning, and without a word to mother (for a
little anxiety might do her good) off I set for Molland parish, to have
the counsel and the comfort of my darling Annie.
The horse took me over the ground so fast (there being few better to go
when he liked), that by nine o'clock Annie was in my arms, and blushing
to the colour of Winnie's cheeks, with sudden delight and young
happiness.
“You precious little soul!” I cried: “how does Tom behave to you?”
“Hush!” said Annie: “how dare you ask? He is the kindest, and the best,
and the noblest of all men, John; not even setting yourself aside. Now
look not jealous, John: so it is. We all have special gifts, you know.
You are as good as you can be, John; but my husband's special gift is
nobility of character.” Here she looked at me, as one who has discovered
something quite unknown.
“I am devilish glad to hear it,” said I, being touched at going down so:
“keep him to that mark, my dear; and cork the whisky bottle.”
“Yes, darling John,” she answered quickly, not desiring to open that
subject, and being too sweet to resent it: “and how is lovely Lorna?
What an age it is since I have seen you! I suppose we must thank her for
that.”
“You may thank her for seeing me now,” said I; “or rather,”--seeing how
hurt she looked,--“you may thank my knowledge of your kindness, and my
desire to speak of her to a soft-hearted dear little soul like you. I
think all the women are gone mad. Even mother treats me shamefully. And
as for Lizzie--” Here I stopped, knowing no words strong enough, without
shocking Annie.
“Do you mean to say that Lorna is gone?” asked Annie, in great
amazement; yet leaping at the truth, as women do, with nothing at all to
leap from.
“Gone. And I never shall see her again. It serves me right for aspiring
so.”
Being grieved at my manner, she led me in where none could interrupt
us; and in spite of all my dejection, I could not help noticing how very
pretty and even elegant all things were around. For we upon Exmoor have
little taste; all we care for is warm comfort, and plenty to eat and to
give away, and a hearty smack in everything. But Squire Faggus had seen
the world, and kept company with great people; and the taste he had
first displayed in the shoeing of farmers' horses (which led almost to
his ruin, by bringing him into jealousy, and flattery, and dashing ways)
had now been cultivated in London, and by moonlight, so that none could
help admiring it.
“Well!” I cried, for the moment dropping care and woe in astonishment:
“we have nothing like this at Plover's Barrows; nor even Uncle Reuben. I
do hope it is honest, Annie?”
“Would I sit in a chair that was not my own?” asked Annie, turning
crimson, and dropping defiantly, and with a whisk of her dress which
I never had seen before, into the very grandest one: “would I lie on a
couch, brother John, do you think, unless good money was paid for it?
Because other people are clever, John, you need not grudge them their
earnings.”
“A couch!” I replied: “why what can you want with a couch in the
day-time, Annie? A couch is a small bed, set up in a room without space
for a good four-poster. What can you want with a couch downstairs? I
never heard of such nonsense. And you ought to be in the dairy.”
“I won't cry, brother John, I won't; because you want to make me
cry”--and all the time she was crying--“you always were so nasty, John,
sometimes. Ah, you have no nobility of character, like my husband. And I
have not seen you for two months, John; and now you come to scold me!”
“You little darling,” I said, for Annie's tears always conquered me;
“if all the rest ill-use me, I will not quarrel with you, dear. You have
always been true to me; and I can forgive your vanity. Your things
are very pretty, dear; and you may couch ten times a day, without my
interference. No doubt your husband has paid for all this, with the
ponies he stole from Exmoor. Nobility of character is a thing beyond
my understanding; but when my sister loves a man, and he does well and
flourishes, who am I to find fault with him? Mother ought to see these
things: they would turn her head almost: look at the pimples on the
chairs!”
“They are nothing,” Annie answered, after kissing me for my kindness:
“they are only put in for the time indeed; and we are to have much
better, with gold all round the bindings, and double plush at the
corners; so soon as ever the King repays the debt he owes to my poor
Tom.”
I thought to myself that our present King had been most unlucky in one
thing--debts all over the kingdom. Not a man who had struck a blow for
the King, or for his poor father, or even said a good word for him,
in the time of his adversity, but expected at least a baronetcy, and
a grant of estates to support it. Many have called King Charles
ungrateful: and he may have been so. But some indulgence is due to
a man, with entries few on the credit side, and a terrible column of
debits.
“Have no fear for the chair,” I said, for it creaked under me very
fearfully, having legs not so large as my finger; “if the chair breaks,
Annie, your fear should be, lest the tortoise-shell run into me. Why, it
is striped like a viper's loins! I saw some hundreds in London; and very
cheap they are. They are made to be sold to the country people, such as
you and me, dear; and carefully kept they will last for almost half
a year. Now will you come back from your furniture, and listen to my
story?”
Annie was a hearty dear, and she knew that half my talk was joke, to
make light of my worrying. Therefore she took it in good part, as I well
knew that she would do; and she led me to a good honest chair; and she
sat in my lap and kissed me.
“All this is not like you, John. All this is not one bit like you:
and your cheeks are not as they ought to be. I shall have to come home
again, if the women worry my brother so. We always held together, John;
and we always will, you know.”
“You dear,” I cried, “there is nobody who understands me as you do.
Lorna makes too much of me, and the rest they make too little.”
“Not mother; oh, not mother, John!”
“No, mother makes too much, no doubt; but wants it all for herself
alone; and reckons it as a part of her. She makes me more wroth than any
one: as if not only my life, but all my head and heart must seek from
hers, and have no other thought or care.”
Being sped of my grumbling thus, and eased into better temper, I told
Annie all the strange history about Lorna and her departure, and the
small chance that now remained to me of ever seeing my love again. To
this Annie would not hearken twice, but judging women by her faithful
self, was quite vexed with me for speaking so. And then, to my surprise
and sorrow, she would deliver no opinion as to what I ought to do until
she had consulted darling Tom.
Dear Tom knew much of the world, no doubt, especially the dark side of
it. But to me it scarcely seemed becoming that my course of action with
regard to the Lady Lorna Dugal should be referred to Tom Faggus, and