|
Prev
| Next
| Contents
CHAPTER LV
GETTING INTO CHANCERY
Two of the Devonshire officers (Captains Pyke and
Dallan) now took command of the men who were left, and
ordered all to go home again, commending much the
bravery which had been displayed on all sides, and the
loyalty to the King, and the English constitution.
This last word always seems to me to settle everything
when said, because nobody understands it, and yet all
can puzzle their neighbours. So the Devonshire men,
having beans to sow (which they ought to have done on
Good Friday) went home; and our Somerset friends only
stayed for two days more to backbite them.
To me the whole thing was purely grievous; not from any
sense of defeat (though that was bad enough) but from
the pain and anguish caused by death, and wounds, and
mourning. 'Surely we have woes enough,' I used to
think of an evening, when the poor fellows could not
sleep or rest, or let others rest around them; 'surely
all this smell of wounds is not incense men should pay
to the God who made them. Death, when it comes and is
done with, may be a bliss to any one; but the doubt of
life or death, when a man lies, as it were, like a
trunk upon a sawpit and a grisly head looks up at him,
and the groans of pain are cleaving him, this would be
beyond all bearing--but for Nature's sap--sweet hope.'
Jeremy Stickles lay and tossed, and thrust up his feet
in agony, and bit with his lipless mouth the clothes,
and was proud to see blood upon them. He looked at us
ever so many times, as much as to say, 'Fools, let me
die, then I shall have some comfort'; but we nodded at
him sagely, especially the women, trying to convey to
him, on no account to die yet. And then we talked to
one another (on purpose for him to hear us), how brave
he was, and not the man to knock under in a hurry, and
how he should have the victory yet; and how well he
looked, considering.
These things cheered him a little now, and a little
more next time; and every time we went on so, he took
it with less impatience. Then once when he had been
very quiet, and not even tried to frown at us, Annie
leaned over, and kissed his forehead, and spread the
pillows and sheet, with a curve as delicate as his own
white ears; and then he feebly lifted hands, and prayed
to God to bless her. And after that he came round
gently; though never to the man he had been, and never
to speak loud again.
For a time (as I may have implied before) Master
Stickles's authority, and manner of levying duties, had
not been taken kindly by the people round our
neighbourhood. The manors of East Lynn and West Lynn,
and even that of Woolhanger--although just then all
three were at issue about some rights of wreck, and the
hanging of a sheep-stealer (a man of no great eminence,
yet claimed by each for the sake of his clothes)--these
three, having their rights impugned, or even
superseded, as they declared by the quartering of
soldiers in their neighbourhood, united very kindly to
oppose the King's Commissioner. However, Jeremy had
contrived to conciliate the whole of them, not so much
by anything engaging in his deportment or delicate
address, as by holding out bright hopes that the
plunder of the Doone Glen might become divisible among
the adjoining manors. Now I have never discovered a
thing which the lords of manors (at least in our part
of the world) do not believe to belong to themselves,
if only they could get their rights. And it did seem
natural enough that if the Doones were ousted, and a
nice collection of prey remained, this should be parted
among the people having ancient rights of plunder.
Nevertheless, Master Jeremy knew that the soldiers
would have the first of it, and the King what they
could not carry.
And perhaps he was punished justly for language so
misleading, by the general indignation of the people
all around us, not at his failure, but at himself, for
that which he could in no wise prevent. And the
stewards of the manors rode up to our house on purpose
to reproach him, and were greatly vexed with all of us,
because he was too ill to see them.
To myself (though by rights the last to be thought of,
among so much pain and trouble) Jeremy's wound was a
great misfortune, in more ways than one. In the first
place, it deferred my chance of imparting either to my
mother or to Mistress Lorna my firm belief that the
maid I loved was not sprung from the race which had
slain my father; neither could he in any way have
offended against her family. And this discovery I was
yearning more and more to declare to them; being forced
to see (even in the midst of all our warlike troubles)
that a certain difference was growing betwixt them
both, and betwixt them and me. For although the words
of the Counsellor had seemed to fail among us, being
bravely met and scattered, yet our courage was but as
wind flinging wide the tare-seeds, when the sower
casts them from his bag. The crop may not come evenly,
many places may long lie bare, and the field be all in
patches; yet almost every vetch will spring, and tiller
out, and stretch across the scatterings where the wind
puffed.
And so dear mother and darling Lorna now had been for
many a day thinking, worrying, and wearing, about the
matter between us. Neither liked to look at the
other, as they used to do; with mother admiring Lorna's
eyes, and grace, and form of breeding; and Lorna loving
mother's goodness, softness, and simplicity. And the
saddest and most hurtful thing was that neither could
ask the other of the shadow falling between them. And
so it went on, and deepened.
In the next place Colonel Stickles's illness was a
grievous thing to us, in that we had no one now to
command the troopers. Ten of these were still alive,
and so well approved to us, that they could never fancy
aught, whether for dinner or supper, without its being
forth-coming. If they wanted trout they should have
it; if colloped venison, or broiled ham, or salmon from
Lynmouth and Trentisoe, or truffles from the woodside,
all these were at the warriors' service, until they
lusted for something else. Even the wounded men ate
nobly; all except poor Jeremy, who was forced to have a
young elder shoot, with the pith drawn, for to feed
him. And once, when they wanted pickled loach (from
my description of it), I took up my boyish sport again,
and pronged them a good jarful. Therefore, none of
them could complain; and yet they were not satisfied;
perhaps for want of complaining.
Be that as it might, we knew that if they once resolved
to go (as they might do at any time, with only a
corporal over them) all our house, and all our goods,
ay, and our own precious lives, would and must be at
the mercy of embittered enemies. For now the Doones,
having driven back, as every one said, five hundred
men--though not thirty had ever fought with them--were
in such feather all round the country, that nothing was
too good for them. Offerings poured in at the Doone
gate, faster than Doones could away with them, and the
sympathy both of Devon and Somerset became almost
oppressive. And perhaps this wealth of congratulation,
and mutual good feeling between plundered and victim,
saved us from any piece of spite; kindliness having won
the day, and every one loving every one.
But yet another cause arose, and this the strongest one
of all, to prove the need of Stickles's aid, and
calamity of his illness. And this came to our
knowledge first, without much time to think of it. For
two men appeared at our gate one day, stripped to their
shirts, and void of horses, and looking very sorrowful.
Now having some fear of attack from the Doones, and
scarce knowing what their tricks might be, we received
these strangers cautiously, desiring to know who they
were before we let them see all our premises.
However, it soon became plain to us that although they
might not be honest fellows, at any rate they were not
Doones; and so we took them in, and fed, and left them
to tell their business. And this they were glad enough
to do; as men who have been maltreated almost always
are. And it was not for us to contradict them, lest
our victuals should go amiss.
These two very worthy fellows--nay, more than that by
their own account, being downright martyrs--were come,
for the public benefit, from the Court of Chancery,
sitting for everybody's good, and boldly redressing
evil. This court has a power of scent unknown to the
Common-law practitioners, and slowly yet surely tracks
its game; even as the great lumbering dogs, now
introduced from Spain, and called by some people
'pointers,' differ from the swift gaze-hound, who sees
his prey and runs him down in the manner of the common
lawyers. If a man's ill fate should drive him to make
a choice between these two, let him rather be chased by
the hounds of law, than tracked by the dogs of Equity.
Now, as it fell in a very black day (for all except the
lawyers) His Majesty's Court of Chancery, if that be
what it called itself, gained scent of poor Lorna's
life, and of all that might be made of it. Whether
through that brave young lord who ran into such peril,
or through any of his friends, or whether through that
deep old Counsellor, whose game none might penetrate;
or through any disclosures of the Italian woman, or
even of Jeremy himself; none just now could tell us;
only this truth was too clear--Chancery had heard of
Lorna, and then had seen how rich she was; and never
delaying in one thing, had opened mouth, and swallowed
her.
The Doones, with a share of that dry humour which was
in them hereditary, had welcomed the two apparitors (if
that be the proper name for them) and led them kindly
down the valley, and told them then to serve their
writ. Misliking the look of things, these poor men
began to fumble among their clothes; upon which the
Doones cried, 'off with them! Let us see if your
message he on your skins.' And with no more manners
than that, they stripped, and lashed them out of the
valley; only bidding them come to us, if they wanted
Lorna Doone; and to us they came accordingly. Neither
were they sure at first but that we should treat them
so; for they had no knowledge of the west country, and
thought it quite a godless place, wherein no writ was
holy.
We however comforted and cheered them so considerably,
that, in gratitude, they showed their writs, to which
they had stuck like leeches. And these were twofold;
one addressed to Mistress Lorna Doone, so called, and
bidding her keep in readiness to travel whenever called
upon, and commit herself to nobody, except the
accredited messengers of the right honourable Court;
while the other was addressed to all subjects of His
Majesty, having custody of Lorna Doone, or any power
over her. And this last threatened and exhorted, and
held out hopes of recompense, if she were rendered
truly. My mother and I held consultation, over both
these documents, with a mixture of some wrath and fear,
and a fork of great sorrow to stir them. And now
having Jeremy Stickles's leave, which he gave with a
nod when I told him all, and at last made him
understand it, I laid bare to my mother as well what I
knew, as what I merely surmised, or guessed, concerning
Lorna's parentage. All this she received with great
tears, and wonder, and fervent thanks to God, and still
more fervent praise of her son, who had nothing
whatever to do with it. However, now the question was,
how to act about these writs. And herein it was most
unlucky that we could not have Master Stickles, with
his knowledge of the world, and especially of the
law-courts, to advise us what to do, and to help in
doing it. And firstly of the first I said, 'We have
rogues to deal with; but try we not to rogue them.'
To this, in some measure, dear mother agreed, though
she could not see the justice of it, yet thought that
it might he wiser, because of our want of practice.
And then I said, 'Now we are bound to tell Lorna, and
to serve her citation upon her, which these good
fellows have given us.'
'Then go, and do it thyself, my son,' mother replied
with a mournful smile, misdoubting what the end might
be. So I took the slip of brown parchment, and went to
seek my darling.
Lorna was in her favourite place, the little garden
which she tended with such care and diligence. Seeing
how the maiden loved it, and was happy there, I had
laboured hard to fence it from the dangers of the wood.
And here she had corrected me, with better taste, and
sense of pleasure, and the joys of musing. For I meant
to shut out the brook, and build my fence inside of it;
but Lorna said no; if we must have a fence, which could
not but be injury, at any rate leave the stream inside,
and a pleasant bank beyond it. And soon I perceived
that she was right, though not so much as afterwards;
for the fairest of all things in a garden, and in
summer-time most useful, is a brook of crystal water;
where a man may come and meditate, and the flowers may
lean and see themselves, and the rays of the sun are
purfied. Now partly with her own white hands, and
partly with Gwenny's red ones, Lorna had made of this
sunny spot a haven of beauty to dwell in. It was not
only that colours lay in the harmony we would seek of
them, neither was it the height of plants, sloping to
one another; nor even the delicate tone of foliage
following suit, and neighbouring. Even the breathing
of the wind, soft and gentle in and out, moving things
that need not move, and passing longer-stalked ones,
even this was not enough among the flush of fragrance,
to tell a man the reason of his quiet satisfaction.
But so it shall for ever be. As the river we float
upon (with wine, and flowers, and music,) is nothing at
the well-spring but a bubble without reason.
Feeling many things, but thinking without much to guide
me, over the grass-plats laid between, I went up to
Lorna. She in a shower of damask roses, raised her
eyes and looked at me. And even now, in those sweet
eyes, so deep with loving-kindness, and soft maiden
dreamings, there seemed to be a slight unwilling, half
confessed withdrawal; overcome by love and duty, yet a
painful thing to see.
'Darling,' I said, 'are your spirits good? Are you
strong enough to-day, to bear a tale of cruel sorrow;
but which perhaps, when your tears are shed, will leave
you all the happier?'
'What can you mean?' she answered trembling, not having
been vey strong of late, and now surprised at my
manner; 'are you come to give me up, John?'
'Not very likely,' I replied; 'neither do I hope such a
thing would leave you all the happier. Oh, Lorna, if
you can think that so quickly as you seem to have done,
now you have every prospect and strong temptation to
it. You are far, far above me in the world, and I have
no right to claim you. Perhaps, when you have heard
these tidings you will say, "John Ridd, begone; your
life and mine are parted."'
'Will I?' cried Lorna, with all the brightness of her
playful ways returning: 'you very foolish and jealous
John, how shall I punish you for this? Am I to forsake
every flower I have, and not even know that the world
goes round, while I look up at you, the whole day long
and say, "John, I love, love, love you?"'
During these words she leaned upon me, half in gay
imitation of what I had so often made her do, and half
in depth of earnestness, as the thrice-repeated word
grew stronger, and grew warmer, with and to her heart.
And as she looked up at the finish, saying, 'you,' so
musically, I was much inclined to clasp her round; but
remembering who she was, forbore; at which she seemed
surprised with me.
'Mistress Lorna, I replied, with I know not what
temptation, making little of her caresses, though more
than all my heart to me: 'Mistress Lorna, you must keep
your rank and proper dignity. You must never look at
me with anything but pity now.'
'I shall look at you with pity, John,' said Lorna,
trying to laugh it off, yet not knowing what to make of
me, 'if you talk any more of this nonsense, knowing me
as you ought to do. I shall even begin to think that
you, and your friends, are weary of me, and of so long
supporting me; and are only seeking cause to send me
back to my old misery. If it be so, I will go. My
life matters little to any one.' Here the great bright
tears arose; but the maiden was too proud to sob.
'Sweetest of all sweet loves,' I cried, for the sign of
a tear defeated me; 'what possibility could make me
ever give up Lorna?'
'Dearest of all dears,' she answered; 'if you dearly
love me, what possibility could ever make me give you
up, dear?'
Upon that there was no more forbearing, but I kissed
and clasped her, whether she were Countess, or whether
Queen of England; mine she was, at least in heart; and
mine she should be wholly. And she being of the same
opinion, nothing was said between us.
'Now, Lorna,' said I, as she hung on my arm, willing to
trust me anywhere, 'come to your little plant-house,
and hear my moving story.'
'No story can move me much, dear,' she answered rather
faintly, for any excitement stayed with her; 'since I
know your strength of kindness, scarcely any tale can
move me, unless it be of yourself, love; or of my poor
mother.'
'It is of your poor mother, darling. Can you bear to
hear it?' And yet I wondered why she did not say as
much of her father.
'Yes, I can bear anything. But although I cannot see
her, and have long forgotten, I could not bear to hear
ill of her.'
'There is no ill to hear, sweet child, except of evil
done to her. Lorna, you are of an ill-starred race.'
'Better that than a wicked race,' she answered with her
usual quickness, leaping at conclusion; 'tell me I am
not a Doone, and I will--but I cannot love you more.'
'You are not a Doone, my Lorna, for that, at least, I
can answer; though I know not what your name is.'
'And my father--your father--what I mean is--'
'Your father and mine never met one another. Your
father was killed by an accident in the Pyrenean
mountains, and your mother by the Doones; or at least
they caused her death, and carried you away from her.'
All this, coming as in one breath upon the sensitive
maiden, was more than she could bear all at once; as
any but a fool like me must of course have known. She
lay back on the garden bench, with her black hair shed
on the oaken bark, while her colour went and came and
only by that, and her quivering breath, could any one
say that she lived and thought. And yet she pressed my
hand with hers, that I might tell her all of it.
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|
