Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XVI

  LORNA GROWING FORMIDABLE

  Having reconnoitred thus the position of the enemy, Master Huckaback, onthe homeward road, cross-examined me in a manner not at all desirable.For he had noted my confusion and eager gaze at something unseen byhim in the valley, and thereupon he made up his mind to know everythingabout it. In this, however, he partly failed; for although I was no handat fence, and would not tell him a falsehood, I managed so to hold mypeace that he put himself upon the wrong track, and continued thereonwith many vaunts of his shrewdness and experience, and some chuckles atmy simplicity. Thus much however, he learned aright, that I had been inthe Doone valley several years before, and might be brought upon stronginducement to venture there again. But as to the mode of my getting in,the things I saw, and my thoughts upon them, he not only failed to learnthe truth, but certified himself into an obstinacy of error, from whichno after-knowledge was able to deliver him. And this he did, not onlybecause I happened to say very little, but forasmuch as he disbelievedhalf of the truth I told him, through his own too great sagacity.

  Upon one point, however, he succeeded more easily than he expected,viz. in making me promise to visit the place again, as soon as occasionoffered, and to hold my own counsel about it. But I could not helpsmiling at one thing, that according to his point of view my own counselmeant my own and Master Reuben Huckaback's.

  Now he being gone, as he went next day, to his favourite town ofDulverton, and leaving behind him shadowy promise of the mountains hewould do for me, my spirit began to burn and pant for something to go onwith; and nothing showed a braver hope of movement and adventure than alonely visit to Glen Doone, by way of the perilous passage discovered inmy boyhood. Therefore I waited for nothing more than the slow arrival ofnew small-clothes made by a good tailor at Porlock, for I was wishfulto look my best; and when they were come and approved, I started,regardless of the expense, and forgetting (like a fool) how badly theywould take the water.

  What with urging of the tailor, and my own misgivings, the time was nowcome round again to the high-day of St. Valentine, when all our maidswere full of lovers, and all the lads looked foolish. And none of themmore sheepish or innocent than I myself, albeit twenty-one years old,and not afraid of men much, but terrified of women, at least, if theywere comely. And what of all things scared me most was the thought ofmy own size, and knowledge of my strength, which came like knots uponme daily. In honest truth I tell this thing, (which often since hathpuzzled me, when I came to mix with men more), I was to that degreeashamed of my thickness and my stature, in the presence of a woman,that I would not put a trunk of wood on the fire in the kitchen, butlet Annie scold me well, with a smile to follow, and with her own plumphands lift up a little log, and fuel it. Many a time I longed to be nobigger than John Fry was; whom now (when insolent) I took with my lefthand by the waist-stuff, and set him on my hat, and gave him littlechance to tread it; until he spoke of his family, and requested to comedown again.

  Now taking for good omen this, that I was a seven-year Valentine, thoughmuch too big for a Cupidon, I chose a seven-foot staff of ash, and fixeda loach-fork in it, to look as I had looked before; and leaving wordupon matters of business, out of the back door I went, and so throughthe little orchard, and down the brawling Lynn-brook. Not being nowso much afraid, I struck across the thicket land between the meetingwaters, and came upon the Bagworthy stream near the great blackwhirlpool. Nothing amazed me so much as to find how shallow the streamnow looked to me, although the pool was still as black and greedy as itused to be. And still the great rocky slide was dark and difficult toclimb; though the water, which once had taken my knees, was satisfiednow with my ankles. After some labour, I reached the top; and halted tolook about me well, before trusting to broad daylight.

  The winter (as I said before) had been a very mild one; and now thespring was toward so that bank and bush were touched with it. The valleyinto which I gazed was fair with early promise, having shelter from thewind and taking all the sunshine. The willow-bushes over the streamhung as if they were angling with tasseled floats of gold and silver,bursting like a bean-pod. Between them came the water laughing, likea maid at her own dancing, and spread with that young blue which neverlives beyond the April. And on either bank, the meadow ruffled asthe breeze came by, opening (through new tuft, of green) daisy-bud orcelandine, or a shy glimpse now and then of the love-lorn primrose.

  Though I am so blank of wit, or perhaps for that same reason, theselittle things come and dwell with me, and I am happy about them, andlong for nothing better. I feel with every blade of grass, as if it hada history; and make a child of every bud as though it knew and loved me.And being so, they seem to tell me of my own delusions, how I am no morethan they, except in self-importance.

  While I was forgetting much of many things that harm one, and letting ofmy thoughts go wild to sounds and sights of nature, a sweeter note thanthrush or ouzel ever wooed a mate in, floated on the valley breeze atthe quiet turn of sundown. The words were of an ancient song, fit tolaugh or cry at.

  Love, an if there be one, Come my love to be, My love is for the oneLoving unto me.

  Not for me the show, love, Of a gilded bliss; Only thou must know, love,What my value is.

  If in all the earth, love, Thou hast none but me, This shall be myworth, love: To be cheap to thee.

  But, if so thou ever Strivest to be free, 'Twill be my endeavour To bedear to thee.

  So shall I have plea, love, Is thy heart andbreath Clinging still tothee, love, In the doom of death.

  All this I took in with great eagerness, not for the sake of the meaning(which is no doubt an allegory), but for the power and richness, andsoftness of the singing, which seemed to me better than we ever had evenin Oare church. But all the time I kept myself in a black niche of therock, where the fall of the water began, lest the sweet singer (espyingme) should be alarmed, and flee away. But presently I ventured to lookforth where a bush was; and then I beheld the loveliest sight--oneglimpse of which was enough to make me kneel in the coldest water.

  By the side of the stream she was coming to me, even among theprimroses, as if she loved them all; and every flower looked thebrighter, as her eyes were on them, I could not see what her face was,my heart so awoke and trembled; only that her hair was flowing froma wreath of white violets, and the grace of her coming was like theappearance of the first wind-flower. The pale gleam over the westerncliffs threw a shadow of light behind her, as if the sun were lingering.Never do I see that light from the closing of the west, even in these myaged days, without thinking of her. Ah me, if it comes to that, what doI see of earth or heaven, without thinking of her?

  The tremulous thrill of her song was hanging on her open lips; and sheglanced around, as if the birds were accustomed to make answer. To me itwas a thing of terror to behold such beauty, and feel myself the whileto be so very low and common. But scarcely knowing what I did, as ifa rope were drawing me, I came from the dark mouth of the chasm; andstood, afraid to look at her.

  She was turning to fly, not knowing me, and frightened, perhaps, atmy stature, when I fell on the grass (as I fell before her seven yearsagone that day), and I just said, 'Lorna Doone!'

  She knew me at once, from my manner and ways, and a smile broke throughher trembling, as sunshine comes through aspen-leaves; and being soclever, she saw, of course, that she needed not to fear me.

  'Oh, indeed,' she cried, with a feint of anger (because she had shownher cowardice, and yet in her heart she was laughing); 'oh, if youplease, who are you, sir, and how do you know my name?'

  'I am John Ridd,' I answered; 'the boy who gave you those beautifulfish, when you were only a little thing, seven years ago to-day.'

  'Yes, the poor boy who was frightened so, and obliged to hide here inthe water.'

  'And do you remember how kind you were, and saved my life by yourquickness, and went away riding upon a great man's shoulder, as if youhad never seen me, and yet looked back through the willow-trees?
'

  'Oh, yes, I remember everything; because it was so rare to see anyexcept--I mean because I happen to remember. But you seem not toremember, sir, how perilous this place is.'

  For she had kept her eyes upon me; large eyes of a softness, abrightness, and a dignity which made me feel as if I must for ever loveand yet for ever know myself unworthy. Unless themselves should fillwith love, which is the spring of all things. And so I could not answerher, but was overcome with thinking and feeling and confusion. Neithercould I look again; only waited for the melody which made every wordlike a poem to me, the melody of her voice. But she had not the leastidea of what was going on with me, any more than I myself had.

  'I think, Master Ridd, you cannot know,' she said, with her eyes takenfrom me, 'what the dangers of this place are, and the nature of thepeople.'

  'Yes, I know enough of that; and I am frightened greatly, all the time,when I do not look at you.'

  She was too young to answer me in the style some maidens would haveused; the manner, I mean, which now we call from a foreign word'coquettish.' And more than that, she was trembling from real fear ofviolence, lest strong hands might be laid on me, and a miserable endof it. And to tell the truth, I grew afraid; perhaps from a kind ofsympathy, and because I knew that evil comes more readily than good tous.

  Therefore, without more ado, or taking any advantage--although I wouldhave been glad at heart, if needs had been, to kiss her (without anythought of rudeness)--it struck me that I had better go, and have nomore to say to her until next time of coming. So would she look the morefor me and think the more about me, and not grow weary of my words andthe want of change there is in me. For, of course, I knew what a churl Iwas compared to her birth and appearance; but meanwhile I might improvemyself and learn a musical instrument. 'The wind hath a draw afterflying straw' is a saying we have in Devonshire, made, peradventure, bysomebody who had seen the ways of women.

  'Mistress Lorna, I will depart'--mark you, I thought that a powerfulword--'in fear of causing disquiet. If any rogue shot me it would grieveyou; I make bold to say it, and it would be the death of mother. Fewmothers have such a son as me. Try to think of me now and then, and Iwill bring you some new-laid eggs, for our young blue hen is beginning.'

  'I thank you heartily,' said Lorna; 'but you need not come to see me.You can put them in my little bower, where I am almost always--I meanwhither daily I repair to read and to be away from them.'

  'Only show me where it is. Thrice a day I will come and stop--'

  'Nay, Master Ridd, I would never show thee--never, because ofperil--only that so happens it thou hast found the way already.'

  And she smiled with a light that made me care to cry out for no otherway, except to her dear heart. But only to myself I cried for anythingat all, having enough of man in me to be bashful with young maidens. SoI touched her white hand softly when she gave it to me, and (fancyingthat she had sighed) was touched at heart about it, and resolved toyield her all my goods, although my mother was living; and then grewangry with myself (for a mile or more of walking) to think she wouldcondescend so; and then, for the rest of the homeward road, was mad withevery man in the world who would dare to think of having her.