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CHAPTER XVIII
WITCHERY LEADS TO WITCHCRAFT
Although wellnigh the end of March, the wind blew wild
and piercing, as I went on foot that afternoon to
Mother Melldrum's dwelling. It was safer not to take a
horse, lest (if anything vexed her) she should put a
spell upon him; as had been done to Farmer Snowe's
stable by the wise woman of Simonsbath.
The sun was low on the edge of the hills by the time I
entered the valley, for I could not leave home till the
cattle were tended, and the distance was seven miles or
more. The shadows of rocks fell far and deep, and the
brown dead fern was fluttering, and brambles with their
sere leaves hanging, swayed their tatters to and fro,
with a red look on them. In patches underneath the
crags, a few wild goats were browsing; then they tossed
their horns, and fled, and leaped on ledges, and stared
at me. Moreover, the sound of the sea came up, and
went the length of the valley, and there it lapped on a
butt of rocks, and murmured like a shell.
Taking things one with another, and feeling all the
lonesomeness, and having no stick with me, I was much
inclined to go briskly back, and come at a better
season. And when I beheld a tall grey shape, of
something or another, moving at the lower end of the
valley, where the shade was, it gave me such a stroke
of fear, after many others, that my thumb which lay in
mother's Bible (brought in my big pocket for the sake
of safety) shook so much that it came out, and I could
not get it in again. 'This serves me right,' I said to
myself, 'for tampering with Beelzebub. Oh that I had
listened to parson!'
And thereupon I struck aside; not liking to run away
quite, as some people might call it; but seeking to
look like a wanderer who was come to see the valley,
and had seen almost enough of it. Herein I should
have succeeded, and gone home, and then been angry at
my want of courage, but that on the very turn and
bending of my footsteps, the woman in the distance
lifted up her staff to me, so that I was bound to stop.
And now, being brought face to face, by the will of God
(as one might say) with anything that might come of it,
I kept myself quite straight and stiff, and thrust away
all white feather, trusting in my Bible still, hoping
that it would protect me, though I had disobeyed it.
But upon that remembrance, my conscience took me by the
leg, so that I could not go forward.
All this while, the fearful woman was coming near and
more near to me; and I was glad to sit down on a rock
because my knees were shaking so. I tried to think of
many things, but none of them would come to me; and I
could not take my eyes away, though I prayed God to be
near me.
But when she was come so nigh to me that I could descry
her features, there was something in her countenance
that made me not dislike her. She looked as if she had
been visited by many troubles, and had felt them one by
one, yet held enough of kindly nature still to grieve
for others. Long white hair, on either side, was
falling down below her chin; and through her wrinkles
clear bright eyes seemed to spread themselves upon me.
Though I had plenty of time to think, I was taken by
surprise no less, and unable to say anything; yet eager
to hear the silence broken, and longing for a noise or
two.
'Thou art not come to me,' she said, looking through my
simple face, as if it were but glass, 'to be struck for
bone-shave, nor to be blessed for barn-gun. Give me
forth thy hand, John Ridd; and tell why thou art come
to me.'
But I was so much amazed at her knowing my name and all
about me, that I feared to place my hand in her power,
or even my tongue by speaking.
'Have no fear of me, my son; I have no gift to harm
thee; and if I had, it should be idle. Now, if thou
hast any wit, tell me why I love thee.'
'I never had any wit, mother,' I answered in our
Devonshire way; 'and never set eyes on thee before, to
the furthest of my knowledge.'
'And yet I know thee as well, John, as if thou wert my
grandson. Remember you the old Oare oak, and the bog
at the head of Exe, and the child who would have died
there, but for thy strength and courage, and most of
all thy kindness? That was my granddaughter, John; and
all I have on earth to love.'
Now that she came to speak of it, with the place and
that, so clearly, I remembered all about it (a thing
that happened last August), and thought how stupid I
must have been not to learn more of the little girl who
had fallen into the black pit, with a basketful of
whortleberries, and who might have been gulfed if her
little dog had not spied me in the distance. I carried
her on my back to mother; and then we dressed her all
anew, and took her where she ordered us; but she did
not tell us who she was, nor anything more than her
Christian name, and that she was eight years old, and
fond of fried batatas. And we did not seek to ask her
more; as our manner is with visitors.
But thinking of this little story, and seeing how she
looked at me, I lost my fear of Mother Melldrum, and
began to like her; partly because I had helped her
grandchild, and partly that if she were so wise, no
need would have been for me to save the little thing
from drowning. Therefore I stood up and said, though
scarcely yet established in my power against hers,--
'Good mother, the shoe she lost was in the mire, and
not with us. And we could not match it, although we
gave her a pair of sister Lizzie's.'
'My son, what care I for her shoe? How simple thou
art, and foolish! according to the thoughts of some.
Now tell me, for thou canst not lie, what has brought
thee to me.'
Being so ashamed and bashful, I was half-inclined to
tell her a lie, until she said that I could not do it;
and then I knew that I could not.
'I am come to know,' I said, looking at a rock the
while, to keep my voice from shaking, 'when I may go to
see Lorna Doone.'
No more could I say, though my mind was charged to ask
fifty other questions. But although I looked away, it
was plain that I had asked enough. I felt that the
wise woman gazed at me in wrath as well as sorrow; and
then I grew angry that any one should seem to make
light of Lorna.
'John Ridd,' said the woman, observing this (for now I
faced her bravely), 'of whom art thou speaking? Is it
a child of the men who slew your father?'
'I cannot tell, mother. How should I know? And what
is that to thee?'
'It is something to thy mother, John, and something to
thyself, I trow; and nothing worse could befall thee.'
I waited for her to speak again, because she had spoken
so sadly that it took my breath away.
'John Ridd, if thou hast any value for thy body or thy
soul, thy mother, or thy father's name, have nought to
do with any Doone.'
She gazed at me in earnest so, and raised her voice in
saying it, until the whole valley, curving like a great
bell echoed 'Doone,' that it seemed to me my heart was
gone for every one and everything. If it were God's
will for me to have no more of Lorna, let a sign come
out of the rocks, and I would try to believe it. But
no sign came, and I turned to the woman, and longed
that she had been a man.
'You poor thing, with bones and blades, pails of water,
and door-keys, what know you about the destiny of a
maiden such as Lorna? Chilblains you may treat, and
bone-shave, ringworm, and the scaldings; even scabby
sheep may limp the better for your strikings. John the
Baptist and his cousins, with the wool and hyssop, are
for mares, and ailing dogs, and fowls that have the
jaundice. Look at me now, Mother Melldrum, am I like a
fool?'
'That thou art, my son. Alas that it were any other!
Now behold the end of that; John Ridd, mark the end of
it.'
She pointed to the castle-rock, where upon a narrow
shelf, betwixt us and the coming stars, a bitter fight
was raging. A fine fat sheep, with an honest face, had
clomb up very carefully to browse on a bit of juicy
grass, now the dew of the land was upon it. To him,
from an upper crag, a lean black goat came hurrying,
with leaps, and skirmish of the horns, and an angry
noise in his nostrils. The goat had grazed the place
before, to the utmost of his liking, cropping in and
out with jerks, as their manner is of feeding.
Nevertheless he fell on the sheep with fury and great
malice.
The simple wether was much inclined to retire from the
contest, but looked around in vain for any way to peace
and comfort. His enemy stood between him and the last
leap he had taken; there was nothing left him but to
fight, or be hurled into the sea, five hundred feet
below.
'Lie down, lie down!' I shouted to him, as if he were a
dog, for I had seen a battle like this before, and knew
that the sheep had no chance of life except from his
greater weight, and the difficulty of moving him.
'Lie down, lie down, John Ridd!' cried Mother Melldrum,
mocking me, but without a sign of smiling.
The poor sheep turned, upon my voice, and looked at me
so piteously that I could look no longer; but ran with
all my speed to try and save him from the combat. He
saw that I could not be in time, for the goat was
bucking to leap at him, and so the good wether stooped
his forehead, with the harmless horns curling aside of
it; and the goat flung his heels up, and rushed at him,
with quick sharp jumps and tricks of movement, and the
points of his long horns always foremost, and his
little scut cocked like a gun-hammer.
As I ran up the steep of the rock, I could not see what
they were doing, but the sheep must have fought very
bravely at last, and yielded his ground quite slowly,
and I hoped almost to save him. But just as my head
topped the platform of rock, I saw him flung from it
backward, with a sad low moan and a gurgle. His body
made quite a short noise in the air, like a bucket
thrown down a well shaft, and I could not tell when it
struck the water, except by the echo among the rocks.
So wroth was I with the goat at the moment (being
somewhat scant of breath and unable to consider), that
I caught him by the right hind-leg, before he could
turn from his victory, and hurled him after the sheep,
to learn how he liked his own compulsion.
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