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CHAPTER LXVII
LORNA STILL IS LORNA
Although a man may be as simple as the flowers of the
field; knowing when, but scarcely why, he closes to the
bitter wind; and feeling why, but scarcely when, he
opens to the genial sun; yet without his questing much
into the capsule of himself--to do which is a
misery--he may have a general notion how he happens to
be getting on.
I felt myself to be getting on better than at any time
since the last wheat-harvest, as I took the lane to
Kensington upon the Monday evening. For although no
time was given in my Lorna's letter, I was not inclined
to wait more than decency required. And though I went
and watched the house, decency would not allow me to
knock on the Sunday evening, especially when I found at
the corner that his lordship was at home.
The lanes and fields between Charing Cross and the
village of Kensington, are, or were at that time, more
than reasonably infested with footpads and with
highwaymen. However, my stature and holly club kept
these fellows from doing more than casting sheep's eyes
at me. For it was still broad daylight, and the view
of the distant villages, Chelsea, Battersea, Tyburn,
and others, as well as a few large houses, among the
hams and towards the river, made it seem less lonely.
Therefore I sang a song in the broadest Exmoor dialect,
which caused no little amazement in the minds of all
who met me.
When I came to Earl Brandir's house, my natural modesty
forbade me to appear at the door for guests; therefore
I went to the entrance for servants and retainers.
Here, to my great surprise, who should come and let me
in but little Gwenny Carfax, whose very existence had
almost escaped my recollection. Her mistress, no
doubt, had seen me coming, and sent her to save
trouble. But when I offered to kiss Gwenny, in my joy
and comfort to see a farm-house face again, she looked
ashamed, and turned away, and would hardly speak to me.
I followed her to a little room, furnished very
daintily; and there she ordered me to wait, in a most
ungracious manner. 'Well,' thought I, 'if the
mistress and the maid are alike in temper, better it
had been for me to abide at Master Ramsack's.' But
almost ere my thought was done, I heard the light quick
step which I knew as well as 'Watch,' my dog, knew
mine; and my breast began to tremble, like the
trembling of an arch ere the keystone is put in.
Almost ere I hoped--for fear and hope were so entangled
that they hindered one another--the velvet hangings of
the doorway parted, with a little doubt, and then a
good face put on it. Lorna, in her perfect beauty,
stood before the crimson folds, and her dress was all
pure white, and her cheeks were rosy pink, and her lips
were scarlet.
Like a maiden, with skill and sense checking violent
impulse, she stayed there for one moment only, just to
be admired; and then like a woman, she came to me,
seeing how alarmed I was. The hand she offered me I
took, and raised it to my lips with fear, as a thing
too good for me. 'Is that all?' she whispered; and
then her eyes gleamed up at me; and in another instant,
she was weeping on my breast.
'Darling Lorna, Lady Lorna,' I cried, in astonishment,
yet unable but to keep her closer to me, and closer;
'surely, though I love you so, this is not as it should
be.'
'Yes, it is, John. Yes, it is. Nothing else should
ever be. Oh, why have you behaved so?'
'I am behaving.' I replied, 'to the very best of my
ability. There is no other man in the world could
hold you so, without kissing you.'
'Then why don't you do it, John?' asked Lorna, looking
up at me, with a flash of her old fun.
Now this matter, proverbially, is not for discussion,
and repetition. Enough that we said nothing more than,
'Oh, John, how glad I am!' and 'Lorna, Lorna Lorna!'
for about five minutes. Then my darling drew back
proudly, with blushing cheeks, and tear-bright eyes,
she began to cross-examine me.
'Master John Ridd, you shall tell the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth. I have been in
Chancery, sir; and can detect a story. Now why have
you never, for more than a twelvemonth, taken the
smallest notice of your old friend, Mistress Lorna
Doone?' Although she spoke in this lightsome manner, as
if it made no difference, I saw that her quick heart
was moving, and the flash of her eyes controlled.
'Simply for this cause, I answered, 'that my old friend
and true love, took not the smallest heed of me. Nor
knew I where to find her.'
'What!' cried Lorna; and nothing more; being overcome
with wondering; and much inclined to fall away, but for
my assistance. I told her, over and over again, that
not a single syllable of any message from her, or
tidings of her welfare, had reached me, or any one of
us, since the letter she left behind; except by
soldier's gossip.
'Oh, you poor dear John!' said Lorna, sighing at
thought of my misery: 'how wonderfully good of you,
thinking of me as you must have done, not to marry that
little plain thing (or perhaps I should say that lovely
creature, for I have never seen her), Mistress Ruth--I
forget her name; but something like a towel.'
'Ruth Huckaback is a worthy maid,' I answered with some
dignity; 'and she alone of all our world, except indeed
poor Annie, has kept her confidence in you, and told me
not to dread your rank, but trust your heart, Lady
Lorna.'
'Then Ruth is my best friend,' she answered, 'and is
worthy of you, dear John. And now remember one thing,
dear; if God should part us, as may be by nothing short
of death, try to marry that little Ruth, when you cease
to remember me. And now for the head-traitor. I have
often suspected it: but she looks me in the face, and
wishes--fearful things, which I cannot repeat.'
With these words, she moved an implement such as I had
not seen before, and which made a ringing noise at a
serious distance. And before I had ceased
wondering--for if such things go on, we might ring the
church bells, while sitting in our back-kitchen--little
Gwenny Carfax came, with a grave and sullen face.
'Gwenny,' began my Lorna, in a tone of high rank and
dignity, 'go and fetch the letters which I gave you at
various times for despatch to Mistress Ridd.'
'How can I fetch them, when they are gone? It be no
use for him to tell no lies--'
'Now, Gwenny, can you look at me?' I asked, very
sternly; for the matter was no joke to me, after a
year's unhappiness.
'I don't want to look at 'ee. What should I look at a
young man for, although he did offer to kiss me?'
I saw the spite and impudence of this last remark, and
so did Lorna, although she could not quite refrain from
smiling.
'Now, Gwenny, not to speak of that,' said Lorna, very
demurely, 'if you thought it honest to keep the
letters, was it honest to keep the money?'
At this the Cornish maiden broke into a rage of
honesty: 'A putt the money by for 'ee. 'Ee shall have
every farden of it.' And so she flung out of the room.
'And, Gwenny,' said Lorna very softly, following under
the door-hangings; 'if it is not honest to keep the
money, it is not honest to keep the letters, which
would have been worth more than any gold to those who
were so kind to you. Your father shall know the whole,
Gwenny, unless you tell the truth.'
'Now, a will tell all the truth,' this strange maiden
answered, talking to herself at least as much as to her
mistress, while she went out of sight and hearing. And
then I was so glad at having my own Lorna once again,
cleared of all contempt for us, and true to me through
all of it, that I would have forgiven Gwenny for
treason, or even forgery.
'I trusted her so much,' said Lorna, in her old
ill-fortuned way; 'and look how she has deceived me!
That is why I love you, John (setting other things
aside), because you never told me falsehood; and you
never could, you know.'
'Well, I am not so sure of that. I think I could tell
any lie, to have you, darling, all my own.'
'Yes. And perhaps it might be right. To other people
besides us two. But you could not do it to me, John.
You never could do it to me, you know.'
Before I quite perceived my way to the bottom of the
distinction--although beyond doubt a valid one--Gwenny
came back with a leathern bag, and tossed it upon the
table. Not a word did she vouchsafe to us; but stood
there, looking injured.
'Go, and get your letters, John,' said Lorna very
gravely; 'or at least your mother's letters, made of
messages to you. As for Gwenny, she shall go before
Lord Justice Jeffreys.' I knew that Lorna meant it not;
but thought that the girl deserved a frightening; as
indeed she did. But we both mistook the courage of
this child of Cornwall. She stepped upon a little
round thing, in the nature of a stool, such as I never
had seen before, and thus delivered her sentiments.
'And you may take me, if you please, before the great
Lord Jeffreys. I have done no more than duty, though I
did it crookedly, and told a heap of lies, for your
sake. And pretty gratitude I gets.'
'Much gratitude you have shown,' replied Lorna, 'to
Master Ridd, for all his kindness and his goodness to
you. Who was it that went down, at the peril of his
life, and brought your father to you, when you had lost
him for months and months? Who was it? Answer me,
Gwenny?'
'Girt Jan Ridd,' said the handmaid, very sulkily.
'What made you treat me so, little Gwenny?' I asked,
for Lorna would not ask lest the reply should vex me.
'Because 'ee be'est below her so. Her shanna' have a
poor farmering chap, not even if her were a Carnishman.
All her land, and all her birth--and who be you, I'd
like to know?'
'Gwenny, you may go,' said Lorna, reddening with quiet
anger; 'and remember that you come not near me for the
next three days. It is the only way to punish her,'
she continued to me, when the maid was gone, in a storm
of sobbing and weeping. 'Now, for the next three days,
she will scarcely touch a morsel of food, and scarcely
do a thing but cry. Make up your mind to one thing,
John; if you mean to take me, for better for worse, you
will have to take Gwenny with me.
'I would take you with fifty Gwennies,' said I,
'although every one of them hated me, which I do not
believe this little maid does, in the bottom of her
heart.'
'No one can possibly hate you, John,' she answered very
softly; and I was better pleased with this, than if she
had called me the most noble and glorious man in the
kingdom.
After this, we spoke of ourselves and the way people
would regard us, supposing that when Lorna came to be
her own free mistress (as she must do in the course of
time) she were to throw her rank aside, and refuse her
title, and caring not a fig for folk who cared less
than a fig-stalk for her, should shape her mind to its
native bent, and to my perfect happiness. It was not
my place to say much, lest I should appear to use an
improper and selfish influence. And of course to all
men of common sense, and to everybody of middle age
(who must know best what is good for youth), the
thoughts which my Lorna entertained would be enough to
prove her madness.
Not that we could not keep her well, comfortably, and
with nice clothes, and plenty of flowers, and fruit,
and landscape, and the knowledge of our neighbours'
affairs, and their kind interest in our own. Still
this would not be as if she were the owner of a county,
and a haughty title; and able to lead the first men of
the age, by her mind, and face, and money.
Therefore was I quite resolved not to have a word to
say, while this young queen of wealth and beauty, and
of noblemen's desire, made her mind up how to act for
her purest happiness. But to do her justice, this was
not the first thing she was thinking of: the test of
her judgment was only this, 'How will my love be
happiest?'
'Now, John,' she cried; for she was so quick that she
always had my thoughts beforehand; 'why will you be
backward, as if you cared not for me? Do you dream
that I am doubting? My mind has been made up, good
John, that you must be my husband, for--well, I will
not say how long, lest you should laugh at my folly.
But I believe it was ever since you came, with your
stockings off, and the loaches. Right early for me to
make up my mind; but you know that you made up yours,
John; and, of course, I knew it; and that had a great
effect on me. Now, after all this age of loving, shall
a trifle sever us?'
I told her that it was no trifle, but a most important
thing, to abandon wealth, and honour, and the
brilliance of high life, and be despised by every one
for such abundant folly. Moreover, that I should
appear a knave for taking advantage of her youth, and
boundless generosity, and ruining (as men would say) a
noble maid by my selfishness. And I told her outright,
having worked myself up by my own conversation, that
she was bound to consult her guardian, and that without
his knowledge, I would come no more to see her. Her
flash of pride at these last words made her look like
an empress; and I was about to explain myself better,
but she put forth her hand and stopped me.
'I think that condition should rather have proceeded
from me. You are mistaken, Master Ridd, in supposing
that I would think of receiving you in secret. It was
a different thing in Glen Doone, where all except
yourself were thieves, and when I was but a simple
child, and oppressed with constant fear. You are quite
right in threatening to visit me thus no more; but I
think you might have waited for an invitation, sir.'
'And you are quite right, Lady Lorna, in pointing out
my presumption. It is a fault that must ever be found
in any speech of mine to you.'
This I said so humbly, and not with any bitterness--for
I knew that I had gone too far--and made her so polite
a bow, that she forgave me in a moment, and we begged
each other's pardon.
'Now, will you allow me just to explain my own view of
this matter, John?' said she, once more my darling.
'It may be a very foolish view, but I shall never
change it. Please not to interrupt me, dear, until you
have heard me to the end. In the first place, it is
quite certain that neither you nor I can be happy
without the other. Then what stands between us?
Worldly position, and nothing else. I have no more
education than you have, John Ridd; nay, and not so
much. My birth and ancestry are not one whit more pure
than yours, although they may be better known. Your
descent from ancient freeholders, for five-and-twenty
generations of good, honest men, although you bear no
coat of arms, is better than the lineage of nine proud
English noblemen out of every ten I meet with. In
manners, though your mighty strength, and hatred of any
meanness, sometimes break out in violence--of which I
must try to cure you, dear--in manners, if kindness,
and gentleness, and modesty are the true things wanted,
you are immeasurably above any of our Court-gallants;
who indeed have very little. As for difference of
religion, we allow for one another, neither having been
brought up in a bitterly pious manner.'
Here, though the tears were in my eyes, at the loving
things love said of me, I could not help a little laugh
at the notion of any bitter piety being found among the
Doones, or even in mother, for that matter. Lorna
smiled, in her slyest manner, and went on again:--
'Now, you see, I have proved my point; there is nothing
between us but worldly position--if you can defend me
against the Doones, for which, I trow, I may trust you.
And worldly position means wealth, and title, and the
right to be in great houses, and the pleasure of being
envied. I have not been here for a year, John, without
learning something. Oh, I hate it; how I hate it! Of
all the people I know, there are but two, besides my
uncle, who do not either covet, or detest me. And who
are those two, think you?'
'Gwenny, for one,' I answered.
'Yes, Gwenny, for one. And the queen, for the other.
The one is too far below me (I mean, in her own
opinion), and the other too high above. As for the
women who dislike me, without having even heard my
voice, I simply have nothing to do with them. As for
the men who covet me, for my land and money, I merely
compare them with you, John Ridd; and all thought of
them is over. Oh, John, you must never forsake me,
however cross I am to you. I thought you would have
gone, just now; and though I would not move to stop
you, my heart would have broken.'
'You don't catch me go in a hurry,' I answered very
sensibly, 'when the loveliest maiden in all the world,
and the best, and the dearest, loves me. All my fear
of you is gone, darling Lorna, all my fear--'
'Is it possible you could fear me, John, after all we
have been through together? Now you promised not to
interrupt me; is this fair behaviour? Well, let me see
where I left off--oh, that my heart would have broken.
Upon that point, I will say no more, lest you should
grow conceited, John; if anything could make you so.
But I do assure you that half London--however, upon
that point also I will check my power of speech, lest
you think me conceited. And now to put aside all
nonsense; though I have talked none for a year, John,
having been so unhappy; and now it is such a relief to
me--'
'Then talk it for an hour,' said I; 'and let me sit and
watch you. To me it is the very sweetest of all
sweetest wisdom.'
'Nay, there is no time,' she answered, glancing at a
jewelled timepiece, scarcely larger than an oyster,
which she drew from her waist-band; and then she pushed
it away, in confusion, lest its wealth should startle
me. 'My uncle will come home in less than half an
hour, dear: and you are not the one to take a side-
passage, and avoid him. I shall tell him that you have
been here; and that I mean you to come again.'
As Lorna said this, with a manner as confident as need
be, I saw that she had learned in town the power of her
beauty, and knew that she could do with most men aught
she set her mind upon. And as she stood there, flushed
with pride and faith in her own loveliness, and radiant
with the love itself, I felt that she must do exactly
as she pleased with every one. For now, in turn, and
elegance, and richness, and variety, there was nothing
to compare with her face, unless it were her figure.
Therefore I gave in, and said,--
'Darling, do just what you please. Only make no rogue
of me.'
For that she gave me the simplest, kindest, and
sweetest of all kisses; and I went down the great
stairs grandly, thinking of nothing else but that.
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