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CHAPTER LXXIV
DRIVEN BEYOND ENDURANCE
[Also known as BLOOD UPON THE ALTAR in other editions]
Everything was settled smoothly, and without any fear
or fuss, that Lorna might find end of troubles, and
myself of eager waiting, with the help of Parson
Bowden, and the good wishes of two counties. I could
scarce believe my fortune, when I looked upon her
beauty, gentleness, and sweetness, mingled with enough
of humour and warm woman's feeling, never to be dull or
tiring; never themselves to be weary.
For she might be called a woman now; although a very
young one, and as full of playful ways, or perhaps I
may say ten times as full, as if she had known no
trouble. To wit, the spirit of bright childhood,
having been so curbed and straitened, ere its time was
over, now broke forth, enriched and varied with the
garb of conscious maidenhood. And the sense of
steadfast love, and eager love enfolding her, coloured
with so many tinges all her looks, and words, and
thoughts, that to me it was the noblest vision even to
think about her.
But this was far too bright to last, without bitter
break, and the plunging of happiness in horror, and of
passionate joy in agony. My darling in her softest
moments, when she was alone with me, when the spark of
defiant eyes was veiled beneath dark lashes, and the
challenge of gay beauty passed into sweetest
invitation; at such times of her purest love and
warmest faith in me, a deep abiding fear would flutter
in her bounding heart, as of deadly fate's approach.
She would cling to me, and nestle to me, being scared
of coyishness, and lay one arm around my neck, and ask
if I could do without her.
Hence, as all emotions haply, of those who are more to
us than ourselves, find within us stronger echo, and
more perfect answer, so I could not be regardless of
some hidden evil; and my dark misgivings deepened as
the time drew nearer. I kept a steadfast watch on
Lorna, neglecting a field of beans entirely, as well as
a litter of young pigs, and a cow somewhat given to
jaundice. And I let Jem Slocombe go to sleep in the
tallat, all one afternoon, and Bill Dadds draw off a
bucket of cider, without so much as a 'by your leave.'
For these men knew that my knighthood, and my coat of
arms, and (most of all) my love, were greatly against
good farming; the sense of our country being--and
perhaps it may be sensible--that a man who sticks up to
be anything, must allow himself to be cheated.
But I never did stick up, nor would, though all the
parish bade me; and I whistled the same tunes to my
horses, and held my plough-tree, just the same as if no
King, nor Queen, had ever come to spoil my tune or
hand. For this thing, nearly all the men around our
parts upbraided me; but the women praised me: and for
the most part these are right, when themselves are not
concerned.
However humble I might be, no one knowing anything of
our part of the country, would for a moment doubt that
now here was a great to do and talk of John Ridd and
his wedding. The fierce fight with the Doones so
lately, and my leading of the combat (though I fought
not more than need be), and the vanishing of Sir
Counsellor, and the galloping madness of Carver, and
the religious fear of the women that this last was gone
to hell--for he himself had declared that his aim,
while he cut through the yeomanry--also their remorse,
that he should have been made to go thither with all
his children left behind--these things, I say (if ever
I can again contrive to say anything), had led to the
broadest excitement about my wedding of Lorna. We
heard that people meant to come from more than thirty
miles around, upon excuse of seeing my stature and
Lorna's beauty; but in good truth out of sheer
curiosity, and the love of meddling.
Our clerk had given notice, that not a man should come
inside the door of his church without shilling-fee; and
women (as sure to see twice as much) must every one pay
two shillings. I thought this wrong; and as
church-warden, begged that the money might be paid into
mine own hands, when taken. But the clerk said that
was against all law; and he had orders from the parson
to pay it to him without any delay. So as I always
obey the parson, when I care not much about a thing, I
let them have it their own way; though feeling inclined
to believe, sometimes, that I ought to have some of the
money.
Dear mother arranged all the ins and outs of the way in
which it was to be done; and Annie and Lizzie, and all
the Snowes, and even Ruth Huckaback (who was there,
after great persuasion), made such a sweeping of
dresses that I scarcely knew where to place my feet,
and longed for a staff, to put by their gowns. Then
Lorna came out of a pew half-way, in a manner which
quite astonished me, and took my left hand in her
right, and I prayed God that it were done with.
My darling looked so glorious, that I was afraid of
glancing at her, yet took in all her beauty. She was
in a fright, no doubt; but nobody should see it;
whereas I said (to myself at least), 'I will go through
it like a grave-digger.'
Lorna's dress was of pure white, clouded with faint
lavender (for the sake of the old Earl Brandir), and as
simple as need be, except for perfect loveliness. I
was afraid to look at her, as I said before, except
when each of us said, 'I will,' and then each dwelled
upon the other.
It is impossible for any who have not loved as I have
to conceive my joy and pride, when after ring and all
was done, and the parson had blessed us, Lorna turned
to look at me with her glances of subtle fun subdued by
this great act.
Her eyes, which none on earth may ever equal, or
compare with, told me such a depth of comfort, yet
awaiting further commune, that I was almost amazed,
thoroughly as I knew them. Darling eyes, the sweetest
eyes, the loveliest, the most loving eyes--the sound of
a shot rang through the church, and those eyes were
filled with death.
Lorna fell across my knees when I was going to kiss
her, as the bridegroom is allowed to do, and
encouraged, if he needs it; a flood of blood came out
upon the yellow wood of the altar steps, and at my feet
lay Lorna, trying to tell me some last message out of
her faithful eyes. I lifted her up, and petted her,
and coaxed her, but it was no good; the only sign of
life remaining was a spirt of bright red blood.
Some men know what things befall them in the supreme
time of their life--far above the time of death--but to
me comes back as a hazy dream, without any knowledge in
it, what I did, or felt, or thought, with my wife's
arms flagging, flagging, around my neck, as I raised
her up, and softly put them there. She sighed a long
sigh on my breast, for her last farewell to life, and
then she grew so cold, and cold, that I asked the time
of year.
It was Whit-Tuesday, and the lilacs all in blossom; and
why I thought of the time of year, with the young death
in my arms, God or His angels, may decide, having so
strangely given us. Enough that so I did, and looked;
and our white lilacs were beautiful. Then I laid my
wife in my mother's arms, and begging that no one would
make a noise, went forth for my revenge.
Of course, I knew who had done it. There was but one
man in the world, or at any rate, in our part of it,
who could have done such a thing--such a thing. I use
no harsher word about it, while I leaped upon our best
horse, with bridle but no saddle, and set the head of
Kickums towards the course now pointed out to me. Who
showed me the course, I cannot tell. I only know that
I took it. And the men fell back before me.
Weapon of no sort had I. Unarmed, and wondering at my
strange attire (with a bridal vest, wrought by our
Annie, and red with the blood of the bride), I went
forth just to find out this; whether in this world
there be or be not God of justice.
With my vicious horse at a furious speed, I came upon
Black Barrow Down, directed by some shout of men, which
seemed to me but a whisper. And there, about a furlong
before me, rode a man on a great black horse, and I
knew that the man was Carver Doone.
'Your life or mine,' I said to myself; 'as the will of
God may be. But we two live not upon this earth, one
more hour together.'
I knew the strength of this great man; and I knew that
he was armed with a gun--if he had time to load again,
after shooting my Lorna--or at any rate with pistols,
and a horseman's sword as well. Nevertheless, I had no
more doubt of killing the man before me than a cook has
of spitting a headless fowl.
Sometimes seeing no ground beneath me, and sometimes
heeding every leaf, and the crossing of the
grass-blades, I followed over the long moor, reckless
whether seen or not. But only once the other man
turned round and looked back again, and then I was
beside a rock, with a reedy swamp behind me.
Although he was so far before me, and riding as hard as
ride he might, I saw that he had something on the horse
in front of him; something which needed care, and
stopped him from looking backward. In the whirling of
my wits, I fancied first that this was Lorna; until the
scene I had been through fell across hot brain and
heart, like the drop at the close of a tragedy.
Rushing there through crag and quag, at utmost speed of
a maddened horse, I saw, as of another's fate, calmly
(as on canvas laid), the brutal deed, the piteous
anguish, and the cold despair.
The man turned up the gully leading from the moor to
Cloven Rocks, through which John Fry had tracked Uncle
Ben, as of old related. But as Carver entered it, he
turned round, and beheld me not a hundred yards behind;
and I saw that he was bearing his child, little Ensie,
before him. Ensie also descried me, and stretched his
hands and cried to me; for the face of his father
frightened him.
Carver Doone, with a vile oath, thrust spurs into his
flagging horse, and laid one hand on a pistol-stock;
whence I knew that his slung carbine had received no
bullet since the one that had pierced Lorna. And a cry
of triumph rose from the black depths of my heart.
What cared I for pistols? I had no spurs, neither was
my horse one to need the rowel; I rather held him in
than urged him, for he was fresh as ever; and I knew
that the black steed in front, if he breasted the steep
ascent, where the track divided, must be in our reach
at once.
His rider knew this; and, having no room in the rocky
channel to turn and fire, drew rein at the crossways
sharply, and plunged into the black ravine leading to
the Wizard's Slough. 'Is it so?' I said to myself with
a brain and head cold as iron; 'though the foul fiend
come from the slough, to save thee; thou shalt carve
it, Carver.'
I followed my enemy carefully, steadily, even
leisurely; for I had him, as in a pitfall, whence no
escape might be. He thought that I feared to approach
him, for he knew not where he was: and his low
disdainful laugh came back. 'Laugh he who wins,'
thought I.
A gnarled and half-starved oak, as stubborn as my own
resolve, and smitten by some storm of old, hung from
the crag above me. Rising from my horse's back,
although I had no stirrups, I caught a limb, and tore
it (like a mere wheat-awn) from the socket. Men show
the rent even now, with wonder; none with more wonder
than myself.
Carver Doone turned the corner suddenly on the black
and bottomless bog; with a start of fear he reined back
his horse, and I thought he would have turned upon me.
But instead of that, he again rode on; hoping to find a
way round the side.
Now there is a way between cliff and slough for those
who know the ground thoroughly, or have time enough to
search it; but for him there was no road, and he lost
some time in seeking it. Upon this he made up his
mind; and wheeling, fired, and then rode at me.
His bullet struck me somewhere, but I took no heed of
that. Fearing only his escape, I laid my horse across
the way, and with the limb of the oak struck full on
the forehead his charging steed. Ere the slash of the
sword came nigh me, man and horse rolled over, and
wellnigh bore my own horse down, with the power of
their onset.
Carver Doone was somewhat stunned, and could not arise
for a moment. Meanwhile I leaped on the ground and
awaited, smoothing my hair back, and baring my arms, as
though in the ring for wrestling. Then the little boy
ran to me, clasped my leg, and looked up at me, and the
terror in his eyes made me almost fear myself.
'Ensie, dear,' I said quite gently, grieving that he
should see his wicked father killed, 'run up yonder
round the corner and try to find a pretty bunch of
bluebells for the lady.' The child obeyed me, hanging
back, and looking back, and then laughing, while I
prepared for business. There and then I might have
killed mine enemy, with a single blow, while he lay
unconscious; but it would have been foul play.
With a sullen and black scowl, the Carver gathered his
mighty limbs, and arose, and looked round for his
weapons; but I had put them well away. Then he came to
me and gazed; being wont to frighten thus young men.
'I would not harm you, lad,' he said, with a lofty
style of sneering: 'I have punished you enough, for
most of your impertinence. For the rest I forgive you;
because you have been good and gracious to my little
son. Go, and be contented.'
For answer, I smote him on the cheek, lightly, and not
to hurt him: but to make his blood leap up. I would
not sully my tongue by speaking to a man like this.
There was a level space of sward between us and the
slough. With the courtesy derived from London, and the
processions I had seen, to this place I led him. And
that he might breathe himself, and have every fibre
cool, and every muscle ready, my hold upon his coat I
loosed, and left him to begin with me, whenever he
thought proper.
I think that he felt that his time was come. I think
he knew from my knitted muscles, and the firm arch of
my breast, and the way in which I stood; but most of
all from my stern blue eyes; that he had found his
master. At any rate a paleness came, an ashy paleness
on his cheeks, and the vast calves of his legs bowed
in, as if he were out of training.
Seeing this, villain as he was, I offered him first
chance. I stretched forth my left hand, as I do to a
weaker antagonist, and I let him have the hug of me.
But in this I was too generous; having forgotten my
pistol-wound, and the cracking of one of my short lower
ribs. Carver Doone caught me round the waist, with
such a grip as never yet had been laid upon me.
I heard my rib go; I grasped his arm, and tore the
muscle out of it* (as the string comes out of an
orange); then I took him by the throat, which is not
allowed in wrestling; but he had snatched at mine; and
now was no time of dalliance. In vain he tugged, and
strained, and writhed, dashed his bleeding fist into my
face, and flung himself on me with gnashing jaws.
Beneath the iron of my strength--for God that day was
with me--I had him helpless in two minutes, and his
fiery eyes lolled out.
* (A far more terrible clutch than this is handed down,
to weaker ages, of the great John Ridd.--Ed.)
'I will not harm thee any more,' I cried, so far as I
could for panting, the work being very furious: 'Carver
Doone, thou art beaten: own it, and thank God for it;
and go thy way, and repent thyself.'
It was all too late. Even if he had yielded in his
ravening frenzy--for his beard was like a mad dog's
jowl--even if he would have owned that, for the first
time in his life, he had found his master; it was all
too late.
The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the
ground drew on him, like the thirsty lips of death. In
our fury, we had heeded neither wet nor dry; nor
thought of earth beneath us. I myself might scarcely
leap, with the last spring of o'er-laboured legs, from
the engulfing grave of slime. He fell back, with his
swarthy breast (from which my gripe had rent all
clothing), like a hummock of bog-oak, standing out the
quagmire; and then he tossed his arms to heaven, and
they were black to the elbow, and the glare of his eyes
was ghastly. I could only gaze and pant; for my
strength was no more than an infant's, from the fury
and the horror. Scarcely could I turn away, while,
joint by joint, he sank from sight.
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