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CHAPTER XXXV
RUTH IS NOT LIKE LORNA
Although by our mother's reluctant consent a large
part of the obstacles between Annie and her lover
appeared to be removed, on the other hand Lorna and
myself gained little, except as regarded comfort of
mind, and some ease to the conscience. Moreover, our
chance of frequent meetings and delightful converse was
much impaired, at least for the present; because though
mother was not aware of my narrow escape from Carver
Doone, she made me promise never to risk my life by
needless visits. And upon this point, that is to say,
the necessity of the visit, she was well content, as
she said, to leave me to my own good sense and honour;
only begging me always to tell her of my intention
beforehand. This pledge, however, for her own sake, I
declined to give; knowing how wretched she would be
during all the time of my absence; and, on that
account, I promised instead, that I would always give
her a full account of my adventure upon returning.
Now my mother, as might be expected, began at once to
cast about for some means of relieving me from all
further peril, and herself from great anxiety. She was
full of plans for fetching Lorna, in some wonderful
manner, out of the power of the Doones entirely, and
into her own hands, where she was to remain for at
least a twelve-month, learning all mother and Annie
could teach her of dairy business, and farm-house life,
and the best mode of packing butter. And all this
arose from my happening to say, without meaning
anything, how the poor dear had longed for quiet, and a
life of simplicity, and a rest away from violence!
Bless thee, mother--now long in heaven, there is no
need to bless thee; but it often makes a dimness now in
my well-worn eyes, when I think of thy loving-kindness,
warmth, and romantic innocence.
As to stealing my beloved from that vile Glen Doone,
the deed itself was not impossible, nor beyond my
daring; but in the first place would she come, leaving
her old grandfather to die without her tendence? And
even if, through fear of Carver and that wicked
Counsellor, she should consent to fly, would it be
possible to keep her without a regiment of soldiers?
Would not the Doones at once ride forth to scour the
country for their queen, and finding her (as they must
do), burn our house, and murder us, and carry her back
triumphantly?
All this I laid before my mother, and to such effect
that she acknowledged, with a sigh that nothing else
remained for me (in the present state of matters)
except to keep a careful watch upon Lorna from safe
distance, observe the policy of the Doones, and wait
for a tide in their affairs. Meanwhile I might even
fall in love (as mother unwisely hinted) with a certain
more peaceful heiress, although of inferior blood, who
would be daily at my elbow. I am not sure but what
dear mother herself would have been disappointed, had I
proved myself so fickle; and my disdain and indignation
at the mere suggestion did not so much displease her;
for she only smiled and answered,--
'Well, it is not for me to say; God knows what is good
for us. Likings will not come to order; otherwise I
should not be where I am this day. And of one thing I
am rather glad; Uncle Reuben well deserves that his pet
scheme should miscarry. He who called my boy a coward,
an ignoble coward, because he would not join some
crack-brained plan against the valley which sheltered
his beloved one! And all the time this dreadful
"coward" risking his life daily there, without a word
to any one! How glad I am that you will not have, for
all her miserable money, that little dwarfish
granddaughter of the insolent old miser!'
She turned, and by her side was standing poor Ruth
Huckaback herself, white, and sad, and looking steadily
at my mother's face, which became as red as a plum
while her breath deserted her.
'If you please, madam,' said the little maiden, with
her large calm eyes unwavering, 'it is not my fault,
but God Almighty's, that I am a little dwarfish
creature. I knew not that you regarded me with so much
contempt on that account; neither have you told my
grandfather, at least within my hearing, that he was an
insolent old miser. When I return to Dulverton, which
I trust to do to-morrow (for it is too late to-day), I
shall be careful not to tell him your opinion of him,
lest I should thwart any schemes you may have upon his
property. I thank you all for your kindness to me,
which has been very great, far more than a little
dwarfish creature could, for her own sake, expect. I
will only add for your further guidance one more little
truth. It is by no means certain that my grandfather
will settle any of his miserable money upon me. If I
offend him, as I would in a moment, for the sake of a
brave and straightforward man'--here she gave me a
glance which I scarcely knew what to do with--'my
grandfather, upright as he is, would leave me without a
shilling. And I often wish it were so. So many
miseries come upon me from the miserable money--' Here
she broke down, and burst out crying, and ran away with
a faint good-bye; while we three looked at one another,
and felt that we had the worst of it.
'Impudent little dwarf!' said my mother, recovering her
breath after ever so long. 'Oh, John, how thankful you
ought to be! What a life she would have led you!'
'Well, I am sure!' said Annie, throwing her arms around
poor mother: 'who could have thought that little atomy
had such an outrageous spirit! For my part I cannot
think how she can have been sly enough to hide it in
that crafty manner, that John might think her an
angel!'
'Well, for my part,' I answered, laughing, 'I never
admired Ruth Huckaback half, or a quarter so much
before. She is rare stuff. I would have been glad to
have married her to-morrow, if I had never seen my
Lorna.'
'And a nice nobody I should have been, in my own
house!' cried mother: 'I never can be thankful enough
to darling Lorna for saving me. Did you see how her
eyes flashed?'
'That I did; and very fine they were. Now nine maidens
out of ten would have feigned not to have heard one
word that was said, and have borne black malice in
their hearts. Come, Annie, now, would not you have
done so?'
'I think,' said Annie, 'although of course I cannot
tell, you know, John, that I should have been ashamed
at hearing what was never meant for me, and should have
been almost as angry with myself as anybody.'
'So you would,' replied my mother; 'so any daughter of
mine would have done, instead of railing and reviling.
However, I am very sorry that any words of mine which
the poor little thing chose to overhear should have
made her so forget herself. I shall beg her pardon
before she goes, and I shall expect her to beg mine.'
'That she will never do,' said I; 'a more resolute
little maiden never yet had right upon her side;
although it was a mere accident. I might have said the
same thing myself, and she was hard upon you, mother
dear.'
After this, we said no more, at least about that
matter; and little Ruth, the next morning, left us, in
spite of all that we could do. She vowed an
everlasting friendship to my younger sister Eliza; but
she looked at Annie with some resentment, when they
said good-bye, for being so much taller. At any rate
so Annie fancied, but she may have been quite wrong. I
rode beside the little maid till far beyond Exeford,
when all danger of the moor was past, and then I left
her with John Fry, not wishing to be too particular,
after all the talk about her money. She had tears in
her eyes when she bade me farewell, and she sent a kind
message home to mother, and promised to come again at
Christmas, if she could win permission.
Upon the whole, my opinion was that she had behaved
uncommonly well for a maid whose self-love was
outraged, with spirit, I mean, and proper pride; and
yet with a great endeavour to forgive, which is,
meseems, the hardest of all things to a woman, outside
of her own family.
After this, for another month, nothing worthy of notice
happened, except of course that I found it needful,
according to the strictest good sense and honour, to
visit Lorna immediately after my discourse with mother,
and to tell her all about it. My beauty gave me one
sweet kiss with all her heart (as she always did, when
she kissed at all), and I begged for one more to take
to our mother, and before leaving, I obtained it. It
is not for me to tell all she said, even supposing
(what is not likely) that any one cared to know it,
being more and more peculiar to ourselves and no one
else. But one thing that she said was this, and I took
good care to carry it, word for word, to my mother and
Annie:--
'I never can believe, dear John, that after all the
crime and outrage wrought by my reckless family, it
ever can be meant for me to settle down to peace and
comfort in a simple household. With all my heart I
long for home; any home, however dull and wearisome to
those used to it, would seem a paradise to me, if only
free from brawl and tumult, and such as I could call my
own. But even if God would allow me this, in lieu of
my wild inheritance, it is quite certain that the
Doones never can and never will.'
Again, when I told her how my mother and Annie, as well
as myself, longed to have her at Plover's Barrows, and
teach her all the quiet duties in which she was sure to
take such delight, she only answered with a bright
blush, that while her grandfather was living she would
never leave him; and that even if she were free,
certain ruin was all she should bring to any house that
received her, at least within the utmost reach of her
amiable family. This was too plain to be denied, and
seeing my dejection at it, she told me bravely that we
must hope for better times, if possible, and asked how
long I would wait for her.
'Not a day if I had my will,' I answered very warmly;
at which she turned away confused, and would not look
at me for awhile; 'but all my life,' I went on to say,
'if my fortune is so ill. And how long would you wait
for me, Lorna?'
'Till I could get you,' she answered slyly, with a
smile which was brighter to me than the brightest wit
could be. 'And now,' she continued, 'you bound me,
John, with a very beautiful ring to you, and when I
dare not wear it, I carry it always on my heart. But I
will bind you to me, you dearest, with the very poorest
and plainest thing that ever you set eyes on. I could
give you fifty fairer ones, but they would not be
honest; and I love you for your honesty, and nothing
else of course, John; so don't you be conceited. Look
at it, what a queer old thing! There are some ancient
marks upon it, very grotesque and wonderful; it looks
like a cat in a tree almost, but never mind what it
looks like. This old ring must have been a giant's;
therefore it will fit you perhaps, you enormous John.
It has been on the front of my old glass necklace
(which my grandfather found them taking away, and very
soon made them give back again) ever since I can
remember; and long before that, as some woman told me.
Now you seem very greatly amazed; pray what thinks my
lord of it?'
'That is worth fifty of the pearl thing which I gave
you, you darling; and that I will not take it from
you.'
'Then you will never take me, that is all. I will have
nothing to do with a gentleman'--
'No gentleman, dear--a yeoman.'
'Very well, a yeoman--nothing to do with a yeoman who
will not accept my love-gage. So, if you please, give
it back again, and take your lovely ring back.'
She looked at me in such a manner, half in earnest,
half in jest, and three times three in love, that in
spite of all good resolutions, and her own faint
protest, I was forced to abandon all firm ideas, and
kiss her till she was quite ashamed, and her head hung
on my bosom, with the night of her hair shed over me.
Then I placed the pearl ring back on the soft elastic
bend of the finger she held up to scold me; and on my
own smallest finger drew the heavy hoop she had given
me. I considered this with satisfaction, until my
darling recovered herself; and then I began very
gravely about it, to keep her (if I could) from chiding
me:--
'Mistress Lorna, this is not the ring of any giant. It
is nothing more nor less than a very ancient
thumb-ring, such as once in my father's time was
ploughed up out of the ground in our farm, and sent to
learned doctors, who told us all about it, but kept the
ring for their trouble. I will accept it, my own one
love; and it shall go to my grave with me.' And so it
shall, unless there be villains who would dare to rob
the dead.
Now I have spoken about this ring (though I scarcely
meant to do so, and would rather keep to myself things
so very holy) because it holds an important part in the
history of my Lorna. I asked her where the glass
necklace was from which the ring was fastened, and
which she had worn in her childhood, and she answered
that she hardly knew, but remembered that her
grandfather had begged her to give it up to him, when
she was ten years old or so, and had promised to keep
it for her until she could take care of it; at the same
time giving her back the ring, and fastening it from
her pretty neck, and telling her to be proud of it.
And so she always had been, and now from her sweet
breast she took it, and it became John Ridd's delight.
All this, or at least great part of it, I told my
mother truly, according to my promise; and she was
greatly pleased with Lorna for having been so good to
me, and for speaking so very sensibly; and then she
looked at the great gold ring, but could by no means
interpret it. Only she was quite certain, as indeed I
myself was, that it must have belonged to an ancient
race of great consideration, and high rank, in their
time. Upon which I was for taking it off, lest it
should be degraded by a common farmer's finger. But
mother said 'No,' with tears in her eyes; 'if the
common farmer had won the great lady of the ancient
race, what were rings and old-world trinkets, when
compared to the living jewel?' Being quite of her
opinion in this, and loving the ring (which had no gem
in it) as the token of my priceless gem, I resolved to
wear it at any cost, except when I should be ploughing,
or doing things likely to break it; although I must own
that it felt very queer (for I never had throttled a
finger before), and it looked very queer, for a length
of time, upon my great hard-working hand.
And before I got used to my ring, or people could think
that it belonged to me (plain and ungarnished though it
was), and before I went to see Lorna again, having
failed to find any necessity, and remembering my duty
to mother, we all had something else to think of, not so
pleasant, and more puzzling.
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