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CHAPTER XIX
ANOTHER DANGEROUS INTERVIEW
Although I left the Denes at once, having little heart
for further questions of the wise woman, and being
afraid to visit her house under the Devil's Cheese-ring
(to which she kindly invited me), and although I ran
most part of the way, it was very late for farm-house
time upon a Sunday evening before I was back at
Plover's Barrows. My mother had great desire to know
all about the matter; but I could not reconcile it with
my respect so to frighten her. Therefore I tried to
sleep it off, keeping my own counsel; and when that
proved of no avail, I strove to work it away, it might
be, by heavy outdoor labour, and weariness, and good
feeding. These indeed had some effect, and helped to
pass a week or two, with more pain of hand than heart
to me.
But when the weather changed in earnest, and the frost
was gone, and the south-west wind blew softly, and the
lambs were at play with the daisies, it was more than I
could do to keep from thought of Lorna. For now the
fields were spread with growth, and the waters clad
with sunshine, and light and shadow, step by step,
wandered over the furzy cleves. All the sides of the
hilly wood were gathered in and out with green,
silver-grey, or russet points, according to the several
manner of the trees beginning. And if one stood
beneath an elm, with any heart to look at it, lo! all
the ground was strewn with flakes (too small to know
their meaning), and all the sprays above were rasped
and trembling with a redness. And so I stopped beneath
the tree, and carved L.D. upon it, and wondered at
the buds of thought that seemed to swell inside me.
The upshot of it all was this, that as no Lorna came to
me, except in dreams or fancy, and as my life was not
worth living without constant sign of her, forth I must
again to find her, and say more than a man can tell.
Therefore, without waiting longer for the moving of the
spring, dressed I was in grand attire (so far as I had
gotten it), and thinking my appearance good, although
with doubts about it (being forced to dress in the
hay-tallat), round the corner of the wood-stack went I
very knowingly--for Lizzie's eyes were wondrous
sharp--and then I was sure of meeting none who would
care or dare to speak of me.
It lay upon my conscience often that I had not made
dear Annie secret to this history; although in all
things I could trust her, and she loved me like a lamb.
Many and many a time I tried, and more than once began
the thing; but there came a dryness in my throat, and a
knocking under the roof of my mouth, and a longing to
put it off again, as perhaps might be the wisest. And
then I would remember too that I had no right to speak
of Lorna as if she were common property.
This time I longed to take my gun, and was half
resolved to do so; because it seemed so hard a thing to
be shot at and have no chance of shooting; but when I
came to remember the steepness and the slippery nature
of the waterslide, there seemed but little likelihood
of keeping dry the powder. Therefore I was armed with
nothing but a good stout holly staff, seasoned well for
many a winter in our back-kitchen chimney.
Although my heart was leaping high with the prospect of
some adventure, and the fear of meeting Lorna, I could
not but be gladdened by the softness of the weather,
and the welcome way of everything. There was that
power all round, that power and that goodness, which
make us come, as it were, outside our bodily selves, to
share them. Over and beside us breathes the joy of
hope and promise; under foot are troubles past; in the
distance bowering newness tempts us ever forward. We
quicken with largesse of life, and spring with vivid
mystery.
And, in good sooth, I had to spring, and no mystery
about it, ere ever I got to the top of the rift leading
into Doone-glade. For the stream was rushing down in
strength, and raving at every corner; a mort of rain
having fallen last night and no wind come to wipe it.
However, I reached the head ere dark with more
difficulty than danger, and sat in a place which
comforted my back and legs desirably.
Hereupon I grew so happy at being on dry land again,
and come to look for Lorna, with pretty trees around
me, that what did I do but fall asleep with the
holly-stick in front of me, and my best coat sunk in a
bed of moss, with water and wood-sorrel. Mayhap I had
not done so, nor yet enjoyed the spring so much, if so
be I had not taken three parts of a gallon of cider at
home, at Plover's Barrows, because of the lowness and
sinking ever since I met Mother Melldrum.
There was a little runnel going softly down beside me,
falling from the upper rock by the means of moss and
grass, as if it feared to make a noise, and had a
mother sleeping. Now and then it seemed to stop, in
fear of its own dropping, and wait for some orders; and
the blades of grass that straightened to it turned
their points a little way, and offered their allegiance
to wind instead of water. Yet before their carkled
edges bent more than a driven saw, down the water came
again with heavy drops and pats of running, and bright
anger at neglect.
This was very pleasant to me, now and then, to gaze at,
blinking as the water blinked, and falling back to
sleep again. Suddenly my sleep was broken by a shade
cast over me; between me and the low sunlight Lorna
Doone was standing.
'Master Ridd, are you mad?' she said, and took my hand
to move me.
'Not mad, but half asleep,' I answered, feigning not to
notice her, that so she might keep hold of me.
'Come away, come away, if you care for life. The
patrol will be here directly. Be quick, Master Ridd,
let me hide thee.'
'I will not stir a step,' said I, though being in the
greatest fright that might be well imagined,' unless
you call me "John."'
'Well, John, then--Master John Ridd, be quick, if you
have any to care for you.'
'I have many that care for me,' I said, just to let her
know; 'and I will follow you, Mistress Lorna, albeit
without any hurry, unless there be peril to more than
me.'
Without another word she led me, though with many timid
glances towards the upper valley, to, and into, her
little bower, where the inlet through the rock was. I
am almost sure that I spoke before (though I cannot now
go seek for it, and my memory is but a worn-out tub) of
a certain deep and perilous pit, in which I was like to
drown myself through hurry and fright of boyhood. And
even then I wondered greatly, and was vexed with Lorna
for sending me in that heedless manner into such an
entrance. But now it was clear that she had been right
and the fault mine own entirely; for the entrance to
the pit was only to he found by seeking it. Inside
the niche of native stone, the plainest thing of all to
see, at any rate by day light, was the stairway hewn
from rock, and leading up the mountain, by means of
which I had escaped, as before related. To the right
side of this was the mouth of the pit, still looking
very formidable; though Lorna laughed at my fear of it,
for she drew her water thence. But on the left was a
narrow crevice, very difficult to espy, and having a
sweep of grey ivy laid, like a slouching beaver, over
it. A man here coming from the brightness of the outer
air, with eyes dazed by the twilight, would never think
of seeing this and following it to its meaning.
Lorna raised the screen for me, but I had much ado to
pass, on account of bulk and stature. Instead of being
proud of my size (as it seemed to me she ought to be)
Lorna laughed so quietly that I was ready to knock my
head or elbows against anything, and say no more about
it. However, I got through at last without a word of
compliment, and broke into the pleasant room, the lone
retreat of Lorna.
The chamber was of unhewn rock, round, as near as might
be, eighteen or twenty feet across, and gay with rich
variety of fern and moss and lichen. The fern was in
its winter still, or coiling for the spring-tide; but
moss was in abundant life, some feathering, and some
gobleted, and some with fringe of red to it. Overhead
there was no ceiling but the sky itself, flaked with
little clouds of April whitely wandering over it. The
floor was made of soft low grass, mixed with moss and
primroses; and in a niche of shelter moved the delicate
wood-sorrel. Here and there, around the sides, were
'chairs of living stone,' as some Latin writer says,
whose name has quite escaped me; and in the midst a
tiny spring arose, with crystal beads in it, and a soft
voice as of a laughing dream, and dimples like a
sleeping babe. Then, after going round a little, with
surprise of daylight, the water overwelled the edge,
and softly went through lines of light to shadows and
an untold bourne.
While I was gazing at all these things with wonder and
some sadness, Lorna turned upon me lightly (as her
manner was) and said,--
'Where are the new-laid eggs, Master Ridd? Or hath
blue hen ceased laying?'
I did not altogether like the way in which she said it
with a sort of dialect, as if my speech could be
laughed at.
'Here be some,' I answered, speaking as if in spite of
her. 'I would have brought thee twice as many, but
that I feared to crush them in the narrow ways,
Mistress Lorna.'
And so I laid her out two dozen upon the moss of the
rock-ledge, unwinding the wisp of hay from each as it
came safe out of my pocket. Lorna looked with growing
wonder, as I added one to one; and when I had placed
them side by side, and bidden her now to tell them, to
my amazement what did she do but burst into a flood of
tears.
'What have I done?' I asked, with shame, scarce daring
even to look at her, because her grief was not like
Annie's--a thing that could be coaxed away, and left a
joy in going--'oh, what have I done to vex you so?'
'It is nothing done by you, Master Ridd,' she answered,
very proudly, as if nought I did could matter; 'it is
only something that comes upon me with the scent of the
pure true clover-hay. Moreover, you have been too
kind; and I am not used to kindness.'
Some sort of awkwardness was on me, at her words and
weeping, as if I would like to say something, but
feared to make things worse perhaps than they were
already. Therefore I abstained from speech, as I would
in my own pain. And as it happened, this was the way
to make her tell me more about it. Not that I was
curious, beyond what pity urged me and the strange
affairs around her; and now I gazed upon the floor,
lest I should seem to watch her; but none the less for
that I knew all that she was doing.
Lorna went a little way, as if she would not think of
me nor care for one so careless; and all my heart gave
a sudden jump, to go like a mad thing after her; until
she turned of her own accord, and with a little sigh
came back to me. Her eyes were soft with trouble's
shadow, and the proud lift of her neck was gone, and
beauty's vanity borne down by woman's want of
sustenance.
'Master Ridd,' she said in the softest voice that ever
flowed between two lips, 'have I done aught to offend
you?'
Hereupon it went hard with me, not to catch her up and
kiss her, in the manner in which she was looking; only
it smote me suddenly that this would be a low advantage
of her trust and helplessness. She seemed to know
what I would be at, and to doubt very greatly about it,
whether as a child of old she might permit the usage.
All sorts of things went through my head, as I made
myself look away from her, for fear of being tempted
beyond what I could bear. And the upshot of it was
that I said, within my heart and through it, 'John
Ridd, be on thy very best manners with this lonely
maiden.'
Lorna liked me all the better for my good forbearance;
because she did not love me yet, and had not thought
about it; at least so far as I knew. And though her
eyes were so beauteous, so very soft and kindly, there
was (to my apprehension) some great power in them, as
if she would not have a thing, unless her judgment
leaped with it.
But now her judgment leaped with me, because I had
behaved so well; and being of quick urgent nature--such
as I delight in, for the change from mine own
slowness--she, without any let or hindrance, sitting
over against me, now raising and now dropping fringe
over those sweet eyes that were the road-lights of her
tongue, Lorna told me all about everything I wished to
know, every little thing she knew, except indeed that
point of points, how Master Ridd stood with her.
Although it wearied me no whit, it might be wearisome
for folk who cannot look at Lorna, to hear the story
all in speech, exactly as she told it; therefore let me
put it shortly, to the best of my remembrance.
Nay, pardon me, whosoever thou art, for seeming fickle
and rude to thee; I have tried to do as first proposed,
to tell the tale in my own words, as of another's
fortune. But, lo! I was beset at once with many heavy
obstacles, which grew as I went onward, until I knew
not where I was, and mingled past and present. And two
of these difficulties only were enough to stop me; the
one that I must coldly speak without the force of pity,
the other that I, off and on, confused myself with
Lorna, as might be well expected.
Therefore let her tell the story, with her own sweet
voice and manner; and if ye find it wearisome, seek in
yourselves the weariness.
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