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CHAPTER XL
TWO FOOLS TOGETHER
That story of John Fry's, instead of causing any
amusement, gave us great disquietude; not only because
it showed that Tom Faggus could not resist sudden
temptation and the delight of wildness, but also that
we greatly feared lest the King's pardon might be
annulled, and all his kindness cancelled, by a reckless
deed of that sort. It was true (as Annie insisted
continually, even with tears, to wear in her arguments)
that Tom had not brought away anything, except the
warrants, which were of no use at all, after receipt of
the pardon; neither had he used any violence, except
just to frighten people; but could it be established,
even towards Christmas-time, that Tom had a right to
give alms, right and left, out of other people's money?
Dear Annie appeared to believe that it could; saying
that if the rich continually chose to forget the poor,
a man who forced them to remember, and so to do good to
themselves and to others, was a public benefactor, and
entitled to every blessing. But I knew, and so Lizzie
knew--John Fry being now out of hearing--that this was
not sound argument. For, if it came to that, any man
might take the King by the throat, and make him cast
away among the poor the money which he wanted sadly for
Her Grace the Duchess, and the beautiful Countess, of
this, and of that. Lizzie, of course, knew nothing
about His Majesty's diversions, which were not fit for
a young maid's thoughts; but I now put the form of the
argument as it occurred to me.
Therefore I said, once for all (and both my sisters
always listened when I used the deep voice from my
chest):
'Tom Faggus hath done wrong herein; wrong to himself,
and to our Annie. All he need have done was to show
his pardon, and the magistrates would have rejoiced
with him. He might have led a most godly life, and
have been respected by everybody; and knowing how brave
Tom is, I thought that he would have done as much. Now
if I were in love with a maid'--I put it thus for the
sake of poor Lizzie--'never would I so imperil my life,
and her fortune in life along with me, for the sake of
a poor diversion. A man's first duty is to the women,
who are forced to hang upon him'--
'Oh, John, not that horrible word,' cried Annie, to my
great surprise, and serious interruption; 'oh, John,
any word but that!' And she burst forth crying
terribly.
'What word, Lizzie? What does the wench mean?' I
asked, in the saddest vexation; seeing no good to ask
Annie at all, for she carried on most dreadfully.
'Don't you know, you stupid lout?' said Lizzie,
completing my wonderment, by the scorn of her quicker
intelligence; 'if you don't know, axe about?'
And with that, I was forced to be content; for Lizzie
took Annie in such a manner (on purpose to vex me, as I
could see) with her head drooping down, and her hair
coming over, and tears and sobs rising and falling, to
boot, without either order or reason, that seeing no
good for a man to do (since neither of them was Lorna),
I even went out into the courtyard, and smoked a pipe,
and wondered what on earth is the meaning of women.
Now in this I was wrong and unreasonable (as all women
will acknowledge); but sometimes a man is so put out,
by the way they take on about nothing, that he really
cannot help thinking, for at least a minute, that women
are a mistake for ever, and hence are for ever
mistaken. Nevertheless I could not see that any of
these great thoughts and ideas applied at all to my
Lorna; but that she was a different being; not woman
enough to do anything bad, yet enough of a woman for
man to adore.
And now a thing came to pass which tested my adoration
pretty sharply, inasmuch as I would far liefer faced
Carver Doone and his father, nay, even the roaring lion
himself with his hoofs and flaming nostrils, than have
met, in cold blood, Sir Ensor Doone, the founder of all
the colony, and the fear of the very fiercest.
But that I was forced to do at this time, and in the
manner following. When I went up one morning to look
for my seven rooks' nests, behold there were but six to
be seen; for the topmost of them all was gone, and the
most conspicuous. I looked, and looked, and rubbed my
eyes, and turned to try them by other sights; and then
I looked again; yes, there could be no doubt about it;
the signal was made for me to come, because my love was
in danger. For me to enter the valley now, during the
broad daylight, could have brought no comfort, but only
harm to the maiden, and certain death to myself. Yet
it was more than I could do to keep altogether at
distance; therefore I ran to the nearest place where I
could remain unseen, and watched the glen from the
wooded height, for hours and hours, impatiently.
However, no impatience of mine made any difference in
the scene upon which I was gazing. In the part of the
valley which I could see, there was nothing moving,
except the water, and a few stolen cows, going sadly
along, as if knowing that they had no honest right
there. It sank very heavily into my heart, with all
the beds of dead leaves around it, and there was
nothing I cared to do, except blow on my fingers, and
long for more wit.
For a frost was beginning, which made a great
difference to Lorna and to myself, I trow; as well as
to all the five million people who dwell in this island
of England; such a frost as never I saw before,*
neither hope ever to see again; a time when it was
impossible to milk a cow for icicles, or for a man to
shave some of his beard (as I liked to do for Lorna's
sake, because she was so smooth) without blunting his
razor on hard gray ice. No man could 'keep yatt' (as
we say), even though he abandoned his work altogether,
and thumped himself, all on the chest and the front,
till his frozen hands would have been bleeding except
for the cold that kept still all his veins.
* (If John Ridd lived until the year 1740 (as so strong
a man was bound to do), he must have seen almost a
harder frost; and perhaps it put an end to him; for
then he would be some fourscore years old. But
tradition makes him 'keep yatt,' as he says, up to
fivescore years.--ED.)
However, at present there was no frost, although for a
fortnight threatening; and I was too young to know the
meaning of the way the dead leaves hung, and the
worm-casts prickling like women's combs, and the leaden
tone upon everything, and the dead weight of the sky.
Will Watcombe, the old man at Lynmouth, who had been
half over the world almost, and who talked so much of
the Gulf-stream, had (as I afterwards called to mind)
foretold a very bitter winter this year. But no one
would listen to him because there were not so many hips
and haws as usual; whereas we have all learned from our
grandfathers that Providence never sends very hard
winters, without having furnished a large supply of
berries for the birds to feed upon.
It was lucky for me, while I waited here, that our very
best sheep-dog, old Watch, had chosen to accompany me
that day. For otherwise I must have had no dinner,
being unpersuaded, even by that, to quit my survey of
the valley. However, by aid of poor Watch, I contrived
to obtain a supply of food; for I sent him home with a
note to Annie fastened upon his chest; and in less than
an hour back he came, proud enough to wag his tail off,
with his tongue hanging out from the speed of his
journey, and a large lump of bread and of bacon
fastened in a napkin around his neck. I had not told
my sister, of course, what was toward; for why should I
make her anxious?
When it grew towards dark, I was just beginning to
prepare for my circuit around the hills; but suddenly
Watch gave a long low growl; I kept myself close as
possible, and ordered the dog to be silent, and
presently saw a short figure approaching from a
thickly-wooded hollow on the left side of my
hiding-place. It was the same figure I had seen once
before in the moonlight, at Plover's Barrows; and
proved, to my great delight, to be the little maid
Gwenny Carfax. She started a moment, at seeing me, but
more with surprise than fear; and then she laid both
her hands upon mine, as if she had known me for twenty
years.
'Young man,' she said, 'you must come with me. I was
gwain' all the way to fetch thee. Old man be dying;
and her can't die, or at least her won't, without first
considering thee.'
'Considering me!' I cried; 'what can Sir Ensor Doone
want with considering me? Has Mistress Lorna told
him?'
'All concerning thee, and thy doings; when she knowed
old man were so near his end. That vexed he was about
thy low blood, a' thought her would come to life again,
on purpose for to bate 'ee. But after all, there
can't be scarcely such bad luck as that. Now, if her
strook thee, thou must take it; there be no denaying of
un. Fire I have seen afore, hot and red, and raging;
but I never seen cold fire afore, and it maketh me burn
and shiver.'
And in truth, it made me both burn and shiver, to know
that I must either go straight to the presence of Sir
Ensor Doone, or give up Lorna, once for all, and
rightly be despised by her. For the first time of my
life, I thought that she had not acted fairly. Why
not leave the old man in peace, without vexing him
about my affair? But presently I saw again that in
this matter she was right; that she could not receive
the old man's blessing (supposing that he had one to
give, which even a worse man might suppose), while she
deceived him about herself, and the life she had
undertaken.
Therefore, with great misgiving of myself, but no ill
thought of my darling, I sent Watch home, and followed
Gwenny; who led me along very rapidly, with her short
broad form gliding down the hollow, from which she had
first appeared. Here at the bottom, she entered a
thicket of gray ash stubs and black holly, with rocks
around it gnarled with roots, and hung with masks of
ivy. Here in a dark and lonely corner, with a pixie
ring before it, she came to a narrow door, very brown
and solid, looking like a trunk of wood at a little
distance. This she opened, without a key, by stooping
down and pressing it, where the threshold met the jamb;
and then she ran in very nimbly, but I was forced to be
bent in two, and even so without comfort. The passage
was close and difficult, and as dark as any black
pitch; but it was not long (be it as it might), and in
that there was some comfort. We came out soon at the
other end, and were at the top of Doone valley. In the
chilly dusk air, it looked most untempting, especially
during that state of mind under which I was labouring.
As we crossed towards the Captain's house, we met a
couple of great Doones lounging by the waterside.
Gwenny said something to them, and although they stared
very hard at me, they let me pass without hindrance.
It is not too much to say that when the little maid
opened Sir Ensor's door, my heart thumped, quite as
much with terror as with hope of Lorna's presence.
But in a moment the fear was gone, for Lorna was
trembling in my arms, and my courage rose to comfort
her. The darling feared, beyond all things else, lest
I should be offended with her for what she had said to
her grandfather, and for dragging me into his presence;
but I told her almost a falsehood (the first, and the
last, that ever I did tell her), to wit, that I cared
not that much--and showed her the tip of my thumb as I
said it--for old Sir Ensor, and all his wrath, so long
as I had his granddaughter's love.
Now I tried to think this as I said it, so as to save
it from being a lie; but somehow or other it did not
answer, and I was vexed with myself both ways. But
Lorna took me by the hand as bravely as she could, and
led me into a little passage where I could hear the
river moaning and the branches rustling.
Here I passed as long a minute as fear ever cheated
time of, saying to myself continually that there was
nothing to be frightened at, yet growing more and more
afraid by reason of so reasoning. At last my Lorna
came back very pale, as I saw by the candle she
carried, and whispered, 'Now be patient, dearest.
Never mind what he says to you; neither attempt to
answer him. Look at him gently and steadfastly, and,
if you can, with some show of reverence; but above all
things, no compassion; it drives him almost mad. Now
come; walk very quietly.'
She led me into a cold, dark room, rough and very
gloomy, although with two candles burning. I took
little heed of the things in it, though I marked that
the window was open. That which I heeded was an old
man, very stern and comely, with death upon his
countenance; yet not lying in his bed, but set upright
in a chair, with a loose red cloak thrown over him.
Upon this his white hair fell, and his pallid fingers
lay in a ghastly fashion without a sign of life or
movement or of the power that kept him up; all rigid,
calm, and relentless. Only in his great black eyes,
fixed upon me solemnly, all the power of his body
dwelt, all the life of his soul was burning.
I could not look at him very nicely, being afeared of
the death in his face, and most afeared to show it.
And to tell the truth, my poor blue eyes fell away from
the blackness of his, as if it had been my
coffin-plate. Therefore I made a low obeisance, and
tried not to shiver. Only I groaned that Lorna thought
it good manners to leave us two together.
'Ah,' said the old man, and his voice seemed to come
from a cavern of skeletons; 'are you that great John
Ridd?'
'John Ridd is my name, your honour,' was all that I
could answer; 'and I hope your worship is better.'
'Child, have you sense enough to know what you have
been doing?'
'Yes, I knew right well,' I answered, 'that I have set
mine eyes far above my rank.'
'Are you ignorant that Lorna Doone is born of the
oldest families remaining in North Europe?'
'I was ignorant of that, your worship; yet I knew of
her high descent from the Doones of Bagworthy.'
The old man's eyes, like fire, probed me whether I was
jesting; then perceiving how grave I was, and thinking
that I could not laugh (as many people suppose of me),
he took on himself to make good the deficiency with a
very bitter smile.
'And know you of your own low descent from the Ridds of
Oare?'
'Sir,' I answered, being as yet unaccustomed to this
style of speech, 'the Ridds, of Oare, have been honest
men twice as long as the Doones have been rogues.'
'I would not answer for that, John,' Sir Ensor replied,
very quietly, when I expected fury. 'If it be so, thy
family is the very oldest in Europe. Now hearken to
me, boy, or clown, or honest fool, or whatever thou
art; hearken to an old man's words, who has not many
hours to live. There is nothing in this world to fear,
nothing to revere or trust, nothing even to hope for;
least of all, is there aught to love.'
'I hope your worship is not quite right,' I answered,
with great misgivings; 'else it is a sad mistake for
anybody to live, sir.'
'Therefore,' he continued, as if I had never spoken,
'though it may seem hard for a week or two, like the
loss of any other toy, I deprive you of nothing, but
add to your comfort, and (if there be such a thing) to
your happiness, when I forbid you ever to see that
foolish child again. All marriage is a wretched farce,
even when man and wife belong to the same rank of life,
have temper well assorted, similar likes and dislikes,
and about the same pittance of mind. But when they are
not so matched, the farce would become a long, dull
tragedy, if anything were worth lamenting. There, I
have reasoned enough with you; I am not in the habit of
reasoning. Though I have little confidence in man's
honour, I have some reliance in woman's pride. You
will pledge your word in Lorna's presence never to see
or to seek her again; never even to think of her more.
Now call her, for I am weary.'
He kept his great eyes fixed upon me with their icy
fire (as if he scorned both life and death), and on his
haughty lips some slight amusement at my trouble; and
then he raised one hand (as if I were a poor dumb
creature), and pointed to the door. Although my heart
rebelled and kindled at his proud disdain, I could not
disobey him freely; but made a low salute, and went
straightway in search of Lorna.
I found my love (or not my love; according as now she
should behave; for I was very desperate, being put upon
so sadly); Lorna Doone was crying softly at a little
window, and listening to the river's grief. I laid my
heavy arm around her, not with any air of claiming or
of forcing her thoughts to me, but only just to comfort
her, and ask what she was thinking of. To my arm she
made no answer, neither to my seeking eyes; but to my
heart, once for all, she spoke with her own upon it.
Not a word, nor sound between us; not even a kiss was
interchanged; but man, or maid, who has ever loved hath
learned our understanding.
Therefore it came to pass, that we saw fit to enter Sir
Ensor's room in the following manner. Lorna, with her
right hand swallowed entirely by the palm of mine, and
her waist retired from view by means of my left arm.
All one side of her hair came down, in a way to be
remembered, upon the left and fairest part of my
favourite otter-skin waistcoat; and her head as well
would have lain there doubtless, but for the danger of
walking so. I, for my part, was too far gone to lag
behind in the matter; but carried my love bravely,
fearing neither death nor hell, while she abode beside
me.
Old Sir Ensor looked much astonished. For forty years
he had been obeyed and feared by all around him; and he
knew that I had feared him vastly, before I got hold of
Lorna. And indeed I was still afraid of him; only for
loving Lorna so, and having to protect her.
Then I made him a bow, to the very best of all I had
learned both at Tiverton and in London; after that I
waited for him to begin, as became his age and rank in
life.
'Ye two fools!' he said at last, with a depth of
contempt which no words may express; 'ye two fools!'
'May it please your worship,' I answered softly; 'maybe
we are not such fools as we look. But though we be, we
are well content, so long as we may be two fools
together.'
'Why, John,' said the old man, with a spark, as of
smiling in his eyes; 'thou art not altogether the
clumsy yokel, and the clod, I took thee for.'
'Oh, no, grandfather; oh, dear grandfather,' cried
Lorna, with such zeal and flashing, that her hands went
forward; 'nobody knows what John Ridd is, because he is
so modest. I mean, nobody except me, dear.' And here
she turned to me again, and rose upon tiptoe, and
kissed me.
'I have seen a little o' the world,' said the old man,
while I was half ashamed, although so proud of Lorna;
'but this is beyond all I have seen, and nearly all I
have heard of. It is more fit for southern climates
than for the fogs of Exmoor.'
'It is fit for all the world, your worship; with your
honour's good leave, and will,' I answered in humility,
being still ashamed of it; 'when it happens so to
people, there is nothing that can stop it, sir.'
Now Sir Ensor Doone was leaning back upon his brown
chair-rail, which was built like a triangle, as in old
farmhouses (from one of which it had come, no doubt,
free from expense or gratitude); and as I spoke he
coughed a little; and he sighed a good deal more; and
perhaps his dying heart desired to open time again,
with such a lift of warmth and hope as he descried in
our eyes, and arms. I could not understand him then;
any more than a baby playing with his grandfather's
spectacles; nevertheless I wondered whether, at his
time of life, or rather on the brink of death, he was
thinking of his youth and pride.
'Fools you are; be fools for ever,' said Sir Ensor
Doone, at last; while we feared to break his thoughts,
but let each other know our own, with little ways of
pressure; 'it is the best thing I can wish you; boy and
girl, be boy and girl, until you have grandchildren.'
Partly in bitterness he spoke, and partly in pure
weariness, and then he turned so as not to see us; and
his white hair fell, like a shroud, around him.
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