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CHAPTER L
A MERRY MEETING A SAD ONE
Now the business I had most at heart (as every one
knows by this time) was to marry Lorna as soon as might
be, if she had no objection, and then to work the farm
so well, as to nourish all our family. And herein I
saw no difficulty; for Annie would soon be off our
hands, and somebody might come and take a fancy to
little Lizzie (who was growing up very nicely now,
though not so fine as Annie); moreover, we were almost
sure to have great store of hay and corn after so much
snow, if there be any truth in the old saying,--
"A foot deep of rain
Will kill hay and grain;
But three feet of snow
Will make them come mo'."
And although it was too true that we had lost a many
cattle, yet even so we had not lost money; for the few
remaining fetched such prices as were never known
before. And though we grumbled with all our hearts,
and really believed, at one time, that starvation was
upon us, I doubt whether, on the whole, we were not the
fatter, and the richer, and the wiser for that winter.
And I might have said the happier, except for the
sorrow which we felt at the failures among our
neighbours. The Snowes lost every sheep they had, and
nine out of ten horned cattle; and poor Jasper Kebby
would have been forced to throw up the lease of his
farm, and perhaps to go to prison, but for the help we
gave him.
However, my dear mother would have it that Lorna was
too young, as yet, to think of being married: and
indeed I myself was compelled to admit that her form
was becoming more perfect and lovely; though I had not
thought it possible. And another difficulty was, that
as we had all been Protestants from the time of Queen
Elizabeth, the maiden must be converted first, and
taught to hate all Papists. Now Lorna had not the
smallest idea of ever being converted. She said that
she loved me truly, but wanted not to convert me; and
if I loved her equally, why should I wish to convert
her? With this I was tolerably content, not seeing so
very much difference between a creed and a credo, and
believing God to be our Father, in Latin as well as
English. Moreover, my darling knew but little of the
Popish ways--whether excellent or otherwise--inasmuch
as the Doones, though they stole their houses, or at
least the joiner's work, had never been tempted enough
by the devil to steal either church or chapel.
Lorna came to our little church, when Parson Bowden
reappeared after the snow was over; and she said that
all was very nice, and very like what she had seen in
the time of her Aunt Sabina, when they went far away to
the little chapel, with a shilling in their gloves. It
made the tears come into her eyes, by the force of
memory, when Parson Bowden did the things, not so
gracefully nor so well, yet with pleasant imitation of
her old Priest's sacred rites.
'He is a worthy man,' she said, being used to talk in
the service time, and my mother was obliged to cough:
'I like him very much indeed: but I wish he would let
me put his things the right way on his shoulders.'
Everybody in our parish, who could walk at all, or hire
a boy and a wheelbarrow, ay, and half the folk from
Countisbury, Brendon, and even Lynmouth, was and were
to be found that Sunday, in our little church of Oare.
People who would not come anigh us, when the Doones
were threatening with carbine and with fire-brand,
flocked in their very best clothes, to see a lady Doone
go to church. Now all this came of that vile John Fry;
I knew it as well as possible; his tongue was worse
than the clacker of a charity-school bell, or the ladle
in the frying-pan, when the bees are swarming.
However, Lorna was not troubled; partly because of her
natural dignity and gentleness; partly because she
never dreamed that the people were come to look at her.
But when we came to the Psalms of the day, with some
vague sense of being stared at more than ought to be,
she dropped the heavy black lace fringing of the velvet
hat she wore, and concealed from the congregation all
except her bright red lips, and the oval snowdrift of
her chin. I touched her hand, and she pressed mine;
and we felt that we were close together, and God saw no
harm in it.
As for Parson Bowden (as worthy a man as ever lived,
and one who could shoot flying), he scarcely knew what
he was doing, without the clerk to help him. He had
borne it very well indeed, when I returned from London;
but to see a live Doone in his church, and a lady
Doone, and a lovely Doone, moreover one engaged to me,
upon whom he almost looked as the Squire of his parish
(although not rightly an Armiger), and to feel that
this lovely Doone was a Papist, and therefore of higher
religion--as all our parsons think--and that she knew
exactly how he ought to do all the service, of which he
himself knew little; I wish to express my firm belief
that all these things together turned Parson Bowden's
head a little, and made him look to me for orders.
My mother, the very best of women, was (as I could well
perceive) a little annoyed and vexed with things. For
this particular occasion, she had procured from
Dulverton, by special message to Ruth Huckaback
(whereof more anon), a head-dress with a feather never
seen before upon Exmoor, to the best of every one's
knowledge. It came from a bird called a flaming
something--a flaming oh, or a flaming ah, I will not be
positive--but I can assure you that it did flame; and
dear mother had no other thought, but that all the
congregation would neither see nor think of any other
mortal thing, or immortal even, to the very end of the
sermon.
Herein she was so disappointed, that no sooner did she
get home, but upstairs she went at speed, not even
stopping at the mirror in our little parlour, and flung
the whole thing into a cupboard, as I knew by the bang
of the door, having eased the lock for her lately.
Lorna saw there was something wrong; and she looked at
Annie and Lizzie (as more likely to understand it) with
her former timid glance; which I knew so well, and
which had first enslaved me.
'I know not what ails mother,' said Annie, who looked
very beautiful, with lilac lute-string ribbons, which I
saw the Snowe girls envying; 'but she has not attended
to one of the prayers, nor said "Amen," all the
morning. Never fear, darling Lorna, it is nothing
about you. It is something about our John, I am sure;
for she never worries herself very much about anybody
but him.' And here Annie made a look at me, such as I
had had five hundred of.
'You keep your opinions to yourself,' I replied;
because I knew the dear, and her little bits of
jealousy; 'it happens that you are quite wrong, this
time. Lorna, come with me, my darling.'
'Oh yes, Lorna; go with him,' cried Lizzie, dropping
her lip, in a way which you must see to know its
meaning; 'John wants nobody now but you; and none can
find fault with his taste, dear.'
'You little fool, I should think not,' I answered, very
rudely; for, betwixt the lot of them, my Lorna's
eyelashes were quivering; 'now, dearest angel, come
with me; and snap your hands at the whole of them.'
My angel did come, with a sigh, and then with a smile,
when we were alone; but without any unangelic attempt
at snapping her sweet white fingers.
These little things are enough to show that while every
one so admired Lorna, and so kindly took to her, still
there would, just now and then, be petty and paltry
flashes of jealousy concerning her; and perhaps it
could not be otherwise among so many women. However,
we were always doubly kind to her afterwards; and
although her mind was so sensitive and quick that she
must have suffered, she never allowed us to perceive
it, nor lowered herself by resenting it.
Possibly I may have mentioned that little Ruth
Huckaback had been asked, and had even promised to
spend her Christmas with us; and this was the more
desirable, because she had left us through some
offence, or sorrow, about things said of her. Now my
dear mother, being the kindest and best-hearted of all
women, could not bear that poor dear Ruth (who would
some day have such a fortune), should be entirely lost
to us. 'It is our duty, my dear children,' she said
more than once about it, 'to forgive and forget, as
freely as we hope to have it done to us. If dear
little Ruth has not behaved quite as we might have
expected, great allowance should be made for a girl
with so much money. Designing people get hold of her,
and flatter her, and coax her, to obtain a base
influence over her; so that when she falls among simple
folk, who speak the honest truth of her, no wonder the
poor child is vexed, and gives herself airs, and so on.
Ruth can be very useful to us in a number of little
ways; and I consider it quite a duty to pardon her
freak of petulance.'
Now one of the little ways in which Ruth had been very
useful, was the purchase of the scarlet feathers of the
flaming bird; and now that the house was quite safe
from attack, and the mark on my forehead was healing, I
was begged, over and over again, to go and see Ruth,
and make all things straight, and pay for the gorgeous
plumage. This last I was very desirous to do, that I
might know the price of it, having made a small bet on
the subject with Annie; and having held counsel with
myself, whether or not it were possible to get
something of the kind for Lorna, of still more
distinguished appearance. Of course she could not wear
scarlet as yet, even if I had wished it; but I believed
that people of fashion often wore purple for mourning;
purple too was the royal colour, and Lorna was by right
a queen; therefore I was quite resolved to ransack
Uncle Reuben's stores, in search of some bright purple
bird, if nature had kindly provided one.
All this, however, I kept to myself, intending to trust
Ruth Huckaback, and no one else in the matter. And so,
one beautiful spring morning, when all the earth was
kissed with scent, and all the air caressed with song,
up the lane I stoutly rode, well armed, and well
provided.
Now though it is part of my life to heed, it is no part
of my tale to tell, how the wheat was coming on. I
reckon that you, who read this story, after I am dead
and gone (and before that none shall read it), will
say, 'Tush! What is his wheat to us? We are not wheat:
we are human beings: and all we care for is human
doings.' This may be very good argument, and in the
main, I believe that it is so. Nevertheless, if a man
is to tell only what he thought and did, and not what
came around him, he must not mention his own clothes,
which his father and mother bought for him. And more
than my own clothes to me, ay, and as much as my own
skin, are the works of nature round about, whereof a
man is the smallest.
And now I will tell you, although most likely only to
be laughed at, because I cannot put it in the style of
Mr. Dryden--whom to compare to Shakespeare! but if once
I begin upon that, you will never hear the last of
me--nevertheless, I will tell you this; not wishing to
be rude, but only just because I know it; the more a
man can fling his arms (so to say) round Nature's neck,
the more he can upon her bosom, like an infant, lie and
suck,--the more that man shall earn the trust and love
of all his fellow men.
In this matter is no jealousy (when the man is dead);
because thereafter all others know how much of the milk
be had; and he can suck no longer; and they value him
accordingly, for the nourishment he is to them. Even
as when we keep a roaster of the sucking-pigs, we
choose, and praise at table most, the favourite of its
mother. Fifty times have I seen this, and smiled, and
praised our people's taste, and offered them more of
the vitals.
Now here am I upon Shakespeare (who died, of his own
fruition, at the age of fifty-two, yet lived more than
fifty thousand men, within his little span of life),
when all the while I ought to be riding as hard as I
can to Dulverton. But, to tell the truth, I could not
ride hard, being held at every turn, and often without
any turn at all, by the beauty of things around me.
These things grow upon a man if once he stops to notice
them.
It wanted yet two hours to noon, when I came to Master
Huckaback's door, and struck the panels smartly.
Knowing nothing of their manners, only that people in a
town could not be expected to entertain (as we do in
farm-houses), having, moreover, keen expectation of
Master Huckaback's avarice, I had brought some stuff to
eat, made by Annie, and packed by Lorna, and requiring
no thinking about it.
Ruth herself came and let me in, blushing very
heartily; for which colour I praised her health, and my
praises heightened it. That little thing had lovely
eyes, and could be trusted thoroughly. I do like an
obstinate little woman, when she is sure that she is
right. And indeed if love had never sped me straight
to the heart of Lorna (compared to whom, Ruth was no
more than the thief is to the candle), who knows but
what I might have yielded to the law of nature, that
thorough trimmer of balances, and verified the proverb
that the giant loves the dwarf?
'I take the privilege, Mistress Ruth, of saluting you
according to kinship, and the ordering of the Canons.'
And therewith I bussed her well, and put my arm around
her waist, being so terribly restricted in the matter
of Lorna, and knowing the use of practice. Not that I
had any warmth--all that was darling Lorna's--only out
of pure gallantry, and my knowledge of London fashions.
Ruth blushed to such a pitch at this, and looked up at
me with such a gleam; as if I must have my own way;
that all my love of kissing sunk, and I felt that I was
wronging her. Only my mother had told me, when the
girls were out of the way, to do all I could to please
darling Ruth, and I had gone about it accordingly.
Now Ruth as yet had never heard a word about dear
Lorna; and when she led me into the kitchen (where
everything looked beautiful), and told me not to mind,
for a moment, about the scrubbing of my boots, because
she would only be too glad to clean it all up after me,
and told me how glad she was to see me, blushing more
at every word, and recalling some of them, and stooping
down for pots and pans, when I looked at her too
ruddily--all these things came upon me so, without any
legal notice, that I could only look at Ruth, and think
how very good she was, and how bright her handles were;
and wonder if I had wronged her. Once or twice, I
began--this I say upon my honour--to endeavour to
explain exactly, how we were at Plover's Barrows; how
we all had been bound to fight, and had defeated the
enemy, keeping their queen amongst us. But Ruth would
make some great mistake between Lorna and Gwenny
Carfax, and gave me no chance to set her aright, and
cared about nothing much, except some news of Sally
Snowe.
What could I do with this little thing? All my sense
of modesty, and value for my dinner, were against my
over-pressing all the graceful hints I had given about
Lorna. Ruth was just a girl of that sort, who will not
believe one word, except from her own seeing; not so
much from any doubt, as from the practice of using eyes
which have been in business.
I asked Cousin Ruth (as we used to call her, though the
cousinship was distant) what was become of Uncle Ben,
and how it was that we never heard anything of or from
him now. She replied that she hardly knew what to make
of her grandfather's manner of carrying on, for the
last half-year or more. He was apt to leave his home,
she said, at any hour of the day or night; going none
knew whither, and returning no one might say when. And
his dress, in her opinion, was enough to frighten a
hodman, of a scavenger of the roads, instead of the
decent suit of kersey, or of Sabbath doeskins, such as
had won the respect and reverence of his fellow-
townsmen. But the worst of all things was, as she
confessed with tears in her eyes, that the poor old
gentleman had something weighing heavily on his mind.
'It will shorten his days, Cousin Ridd,' she said, for
she never would call me Cousin John; 'he has no
enjoyment of anything that he eats or drinks, nor even
in counting his money, as he used to do all Sunday;
indeed no pleasure in anything, unless it be smoking
his pipe, and thinking and staring at bits of brown
stone, which he pulls, every now and then, out of his
pockets. And the business he used to take such pride
in is now left almost entirely to the foreman, and to
me.'
'And what will become of you, dear Ruth, if anything
happens to the old man?'
'I am sure I know not,' she answered simply; 'and I
cannot bear to think of it. It must depend, I suppose,
upon dear grandfather's pleasure about me.'
'It must rather depend,' said I, though having no
business to say it, 'upon your own good pleasure, Ruth;
for all the world will pay court to you.'
'That is the very thing which I never could endure. I
have begged dear grandfather to leave no chance of
that. When he has threatened me with poverty, as he
does sometimes, I have always met him truly, with the
answer that I feared one thing a great deal worse than
poverty; namely, to be an heiress. But I cannot make
him believe it. Only think how strange, Cousin Ridd, I
cannot make him believe it.'
'It is not strange at all,' I answered; 'considering
how he values money. Neither would any one else
believe you, except by looking into your true, and very
pretty eyes, dear.'
Now I beg that no one will suspect for a single moment,
either that I did not mean exactly what I said, or
meant a single atom more, or would not have said the
same, if Lorna had been standing by. What I had always
liked in Ruth, was the calm, straightforward gaze, and
beauty of her large brown eyes. Indeed I had spoken of
them to Lorna, as the only ones to be compared (though
not for more than a moment) to her own, for truth and
light, but never for depth and softness. But now the
little maiden dropped them, and turned away, without
reply.
'I will go and see to my horse,' I said; 'the boy that
has taken him seemed surprised at his having no horns
on his forehead. Perhaps he will lead him into the
shop, and feed him upon broadcloth.'
'Oh, he is such a stupid boy,' Ruth answered with great
sympathy: 'how quick of you to observe that now: and
you call yourself "Slow John Ridd!" I never did see
such a stupid boy: sometimes he spoils my temper. But
you must be back in half an hour, at the latest, Cousin
Ridd. You see I remember what you are; when once you
get among horses, or cows, or things of that sort.'
'Things of that sort! Well done, Ruth! One would think
you were quite a Cockney.'
Uncle Reuben did not come home to his dinner; and his
granddaughter said she had strictest orders never to
expect him. Therefore we had none to dine with us,
except the foreman of the shop, a worthy man, named
Thomas Cockram, fifty years of age or so. He seemed to
me to have strong intentions of his own about little
Ruth, and on that account to regard me with a wholly
undue malevolence. And perhaps, in order to justify
him, I may have been more attentive to her than
otherwise need have been; at any rate, Ruth and I were
pleasant; and he the very opposite.
'My dear Cousin Ruth,' I said, on purpose to vex Master
Cockram, because he eyed us so heavily, and squinted to
unluckily, 'we have long been looking for you at our
Plover's Barrows farm. You remember how you used to
love hunting for eggs in the morning, and hiding up in
the tallat with Lizzie, for me to seek you among the
hay, when the sun was down. Ah, Master Cockram, those
are the things young people find their pleasure in, not
in selling a yard of serge, and giving
twopence-halfpenny change, and writing "settled" at the
bottom, with a pencil that has blacked their teeth.
Now, Master Cockram, you ought to come as far as our
good farm, at once, and eat two new-laid eggs for
breakfast, and be made to look quite young again. Our
good Annie would cook for you; and you should have the
hot new milk and the pope's eye from the mutton; and
every foot of you would become a yard in about a
fortnight.' And hereupon, I spread my chest, to show
him an example. Ruth could not keep her countenance:
but I saw that she thought it wrong of me; and would
scold me, if ever I gave her the chance of taking those
little liberties. However, he deserved it all,
according to my young ideas, for his great impertinence
in aiming at my cousin.
But what I said was far less grievous to a man of
honest mind than little Ruth's own behaviour. I could
hardly have believed that so thoroughly true a girl,
and one so proud and upright, could have got rid of any
man so cleverly as she got rid of Master Thomas
Cockram. She gave him not even a glass of wine, but
commended to his notice, with a sweet and thoughtful
gravity, some invoice which must be corrected, before
her dear grandfather should return; and to amend which
three great ledgers must be searched from first to
last. Thomas Cockram winked at me, with the worst of
his two wrong eyes; as much as to say, 'I understand
it; but I cannot help myself. Only you look out, if
ever'--and before he had finished winking, the door was
shut behind him. Then Ruth said to me in the simplest
manner, 'You have ridden far today, Cousin Ridd; and
have far to ride to get home again. What will dear
Aunt Ridd say, if we send you away without nourishment?
All the keys are in my keeping, and dear grandfather
has the finest wine, not to be matched in the west of
England, as I have heard good judges say; though I know
not wine from cider. Do you like the wine of Oporto,
or the wine of Xeres?'
'I know not one from the other, fair cousin, except by
the colour,' I answered: 'but the sound of Oporto is
nobler, and richer. Suppose we try wine of Oporto.'
The good little creature went and fetched a black
bottle of an ancient cast, covered with dust and
cobwebs. These I was anxious to shake aside; and
indeed I thought that the wine would be better for
being roused up a little. Ruth, however, would not
hear a single word to that purport; and seeing that she
knew more about it, I left her to manage it. And the
result was very fine indeed, to wit, a sparkling rosy
liquor, dancing with little flakes of light, and
scented like new violets. With this I was so pleased
and gay, and Ruth so glad to see me gay, that we quite
forgot how the time went on; and though my fair cousin
would not be persuaded to take a second glass herself,
she kept on filling mine so fast that it was never
empty, though I did my best to keep it so.
'What is a little drop like this to a man of your size
and strength, Cousin Ridd?' she said, with her cheeks
just brushed with rose, which made her look very
beautiful; 'I have heard you say that your head is so
thick--or rather so clear, you ought to say--that no
liquor ever moves it.'
'That is right enough,' I answered; 'what a witch you
must be, dear Ruth, to have remembered that now!'
'Oh, I remember every word I have ever heard you say,
Cousin Ridd; because your voice is so deep, you know,
and you talk so little. Now it is useless to say
"no". These bottles hold almost nothing. Dear
grandfather will not come home, I fear, until long
after you are gone. What will Aunt Ridd think of me, I
am sure? You are all so dreadfully hospitable. Now
not another "no," Cousin Ridd. We must have another
bottle.'
'Well, must is must,' I answered, with a certain
resignation. 'I cannot bear bad manners, dear; and how
old are you next birthday?'
'Eighteen, dear John;' said Ruth, coming over with the
empty bottle; and I was pleased at her calling me
'John,' and had a great mind to kiss her. However, I
thought of my Lorna suddenly, and of the anger I should
feel if a man went on with her so; therefore I lay back
in my chair, to wait for the other bottle.
'Do you remember how we danced that night?' I asked,
while she was opening it; 'and how you were afraid of
me first, because I looked so tall, dear?'
'Yes, and so very broad, Cousin Ridd. I thought that
you would eat me. But I have come to know, since then,
how very kind and good you are.'
'And will you come and dance again, at my wedding,
Cousin Ruth?'
She nearly let the bottle fall, the last of which she
was sloping carefully into a vessel of bright glass;
and then she raised her hand again, and finished it
judiciously. And after that, she took the window, to
see that all her work was clear; and then she poured me
out a glass and said, with very pale cheeks, but else
no sign of meaning about her, 'What did you ask me,
Cousin Ridd?'
'Nothing of any importance, Ruth; only we are so fond
of you. I mean to be married as soon as I can. Will
you come and help us?'
'To be sure I will, Cousin Ridd--unless, unless, dear
grandfather cannot spare me from the business.' She
went away; and her breast was heaving, like a rick of
under-carried hay. And she stood at the window long,
trying to make yawns of sighs.
For my part, I knew not what to do. And yet I could
think about it, as I never could with Lorna; with whom
I was always in a whirl, from the power of my love. So
I thought some time about it; and perceived that it was
the manliest way, just to tell her everything; except
that I feared she liked me. But it seemed to me
unaccountable that she did not even ask the name of my
intended wife. Perhaps she thought that it must be
Sally; or perhaps she feared to trust her voice.
'Come and sit by me, dear Ruth; and listen to a long,
long story, how things have come about with me.'
'No, thank you, Cousin Ridd,' she answered; 'at least I
mean that I shall be happy--that I shall be ready to
hear you--to listen to you, I mean of course. But I
would rather stay where I am, and have the air--or
rather be able to watch for dear grandfather coming
home. He is so kind and good to me. What should I do
without him?'
Then I told her how, for years and years, I had been
attached to Lorna, and all the dangers and difficulties
which had so long beset us, and how I hoped that these
were passing, and no other might come between us,
except on the score of religion; upon which point I
trusted soon to overcome my mother's objections. And
then I told her how poor, and helpless, and alone in
the world, my Lorna was; and how sad all her youth had
been, until I brought her away at last. And many other
little things I mentioned, which there is no need for
me again to dwell upon. Ruth heard it all without a
word, and without once looking at me; and only by her
attitude could I guess that she was weeping. Then when
all my tale was told, she asked in a low and gentle
voice, but still without showing her face to me,--
'And does she love you, Cousin Ridd? Does she say that
she loves you with--with all her heart?'
'Certainly, she does,' I answered. 'Do you think it
impossible for one like her to do so?'
She said no more; but crossed the room before I had
time to look at her, and came behind my chair, and
kissed me gently on the forehead.
'I hope you may be very happy, with--I mean in your new
life,' she whispered very softly; 'as happy as you
deserve to be, and as happy as you can make others be.
Now how I have been neglecting you! I am quite ashamed
of myself for thinking only of grandfather: and it
makes me so low-spirited. You have told me a very nice
romance, and I have never even helped you to a glass of
wine. Here, pour it for yourself, dear cousin; I shall
be back again directly.'
With that she was out of the door in a moment; and when
she came back, you would not have thought that a tear
had dimmed those large bright eyes, or wandered down
those pale clear cheeks. Only her hands were cold and
trembling: and she made me help myself.
Uncle Reuben did not appear at all; and Ruth, who had
promised to come and see us, and stay for a fortnight
at our house (if her grandfather could spare her), now
discovered, before I left, that she must not think of
doing so. Perhaps she was right in deciding thus; at
any rate it had now become improper for me to press
her. And yet I now desired tenfold that she should
consent to come, thinking that Lorna herself would work
the speediest cure of her passing whim.
For such, I tried to persuade myself, was the nature of
Ruth's regard for me: and upon looking back I could not
charge myself with any misconduct towards the little
maiden. I had never sought her company, I had never
trifled with her (at least until that very day), and
being so engrossed with my own love, I had scarcely
ever thought of her. And the maiden would never have
thought of me, except as a clumsy yokel, but for my
mother's and sister's meddling, and their wily
suggestions. I believe they had told the little soul
that I was deeply in love with her; although they both
stoutly denied it. But who can place trust in a
woman's word, when it comes to a question of
match-making?
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