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CHAPTER LXXV
LIFE AND LORNA COME AGAIN
When the little boy came back with the bluebells,
which he had managed to find--as children always do
find flowers, when older eyes see none--the only sign
of his father left was a dark brown bubble, upon a
newly formed patch of blackness. But to the center of
its pulpy gorge the greedy slough was heaving, and
sullenly grinding its weltering jaws among the flags
and the sedges.
With pain, and ache, both of mind and body, and shame
at my own fury, I heavily mounted my horse again, and,
looked down at the innocent Ensie. Would this playful,
loving child grow up like his cruel father, and end a
godless life of hatred with a death of violence? He
lifted his noble forehead towards me, as if to answer,
"Nay, I will not": but the words he spoke were these:--
'Don,'--for he could never say 'John'--'oh, Don, I am
so glad that nasty naughty man is gone away. Take me
home, Don. Take me home.'
It has been said of the wicked, 'not even their own
children love them.' And I could easily believe that
Carver Doone's cold-hearted ways had scared from him
even his favorite child. No man would I call truly
wicked, unless his heart be cold.
It hurt me, more than I can tell, even through all
other grief, to take into my arms the child of the man
just slain by me. The feeling was a foolish one, and a
wrong one, as the thing has been --for I would fain
have saved that man, after he was conquered--
nevertheless my arms went coldly round that little
fellow; neither would they have gone at all, if there
had been any help for it. But I could not leave him
there, till some one else might fetch him; on account
of the cruel slough, and the ravens which had come
hovering over the dead horse; neither could I, with my
wound, tie him on my horse and walk.
For now I had spent a great deal of blood, and was
rather faint and weary. And it was lucky for me that
Kickums had lost spirit, like his master, and went home
as mildly as a lamb. For, when we came towards the
farm, I seemed to be riding in a dream almost; and the
voices both of man and women (who had hurried forth
upon my track), as they met me, seemed to wander from a
distant muffling cloud. Only the thought of Lorna's
death, like a heavy knell, was tolling in the belfry of
my brain.
When we came to the stable door, I rather fell from my
horse than got off; and John Fry, with a look of wonder
took Kickum's head, and led him in. Into the old
farmhouse I tottered, like a weanling child, with
mother in her common clothes, helping me along, yet
fearing, except by stealth, to look at me.
'I have killed him,' was all I said; 'even as he killed
Lorna. Now let me see my wife, mother. She belongs
to me none the less, though dead.'
'You cannot see her now, dear John,' said Ruth
Huckaback, coming forward; since no one else had the
courage. 'Annie is with her now, John.'
'What has that to do with it? Let me see my dead one;
and pray myself to die.'
All the women fell away, and whispered, and looked at
me, with side glances, and some sobbing; for my face
was hard as flint. Ruth alone stood by me, and
dropped her eyes, and trembled. Then one little hand
of hers stole into my great shaking palm, and the other
was laid on my tattered coat: yet with her clothes she
shunned my blood, while she whispered gently,--
'John, she is not your dead one. She may even be your
living one yet, your wife, your home, and your
happiness. But you must not see her now.'
'Is there any chance for her? For me, I mean; for me,
I mean?'
'God in heaven knows, dear John. But the sight of you,
and in this sad plight, would be certain death to her.
Now come first, and be healed yourself.'
I obeyed her, like a child, whispering only as I went,
for none but myself knew her goodness--'Almighty God
will bless you, darling, for the good you are doing
now.'
Tenfold, ay and a thousandfold, I prayed and I believed
it, when I came to know the truth. If it had not been
for this little maid, Lorna must have died at once, as
in my arms she lay for dead, from the dastard and
murderous cruelty. But the moment I left her Ruth came
forward and took the command of every one, in right of
her firmness and readiness.
She made them bear her home at once upon the door of
the pulpit, with the cushion under the drooping head.
With her own little hands she cut off, as tenderly as a
pear is peeled, the bridal-dress, so steeped and
stained, and then with her dainty transparent fingers
(no larger than a pencil) she probed the vile wound in
the side, and fetched the reeking bullet forth; and
then with the coldest water stanched the flowing of the
life-blood. All this while my darling lay insensible,
and white as death; and needed nothing but her maiden
shroud.
But Ruth still sponged the poor side and forehead, and
watched the long eyelashes flat upon the marble cheek;
and laid her pure face on the faint heart, and bade
them fetch her Spanish wine. Then she parted the
pearly teeth (feebly clenched on the hovering breath),
and poured in wine from a christening spoon, and raised
the graceful neck and breast, and stroked the delicate
throat, and waited; and then poured in a little more.
Annie all the while looked on with horror and
amazement, counting herself no second-rate nurse, and
this as against all theory. But the quiet lifting of
Ruth's hand, and one glance from her dark bright eyes,
told Annie just to stand away, and not intercept the
air so. And at the very moment when all the rest had
settled that Ruth was a simple idiot, but could not
harm the dead much, a little flutter in the throat,
followed by a short low sigh, made them pause, and look
and hope.
For hours, however, and days, she lay at the very verge
of death, kept alive by nothing but the care, the
skill, the tenderness, and the perpetual watchfulness
of Ruth. Luckily Annie was not there very often, so as
to meddle; for kind and clever nurse as she was, she
must have done more harm than good. But my broken rib,
which was set by a doctor, who chanced to be at the
wedding, was allotted to Annie's care; and great
inflammation ensuing, it was quite enough to content
her. This doctor had pronounced poor Lorna dead;
wherefore Ruth refused most firmly to have aught to do
with him. She took the whole case on herself; and with
God's help she bore it through.
Now whether it were the light and brightness of my
Lorna's nature; or the freedom from anxiety--for she
knew not of my hurt;--or, as some people said, her
birthright among wounds and violence, or her manner of
not drinking beer--I leave that doctor to determine who
pronounced her dead. But anyhow, one thing is certain;
sure as stars of hope above us; Lorna recovered, long
ere I did.
For the grief was on me still of having lost my love
and lover at the moment she was mine. With the power
of fate upon me, and the black cauldron of the wizard's
death boiling in my heated brain, I had no faith in the
tales they told. I believed that Lorna was in the
churchyard, while these rogues were lying to me. For
with strength of blood like mine, and power of heart
behind it, a broken bone must burn itself.
Mine went hard with fires of pain, being of such size
and thickness; and I was ashamed of him for breaking by
reason of a pistol-ball, and the mere hug of a man.
And it fetched me down in conceit of strength; so that
I was careful afterwards.
All this was a lesson to me. All this made me very
humble; illness being a thing, as yet, altogether
unknown to me. Not that I cried small, or skulked, or
feared the death which some foretold; shaking their
heads about mortification, and a green appearance.
Only that I seemed quite fit to go to heaven, and
Lorna. For in my sick distracted mind (stirred with
many tossings), like the bead in the spread of
frog-spawn carried by the current, hung the black and
central essence of my future life. A life without
Lorna; a tadpole life. All stupid head; and no body.
Many men may like such life; anchorites, fakirs,
high-priests, and so on; but to my mind, it is not the
native thing God meant for us. My dearest mother was a
show, with crying and with fretting. The Doones, as
she thought, were born to destroy us. Scarce had she
come to some liveliness (though sprinkled with tears,
every now and then) after her great bereavement, and
ten years' time to dwell on it--when lo, here was her
husband's son, the pet child of her own good John,
murdered like his father! Well, the ways of God were
wonderful!
So they were, and so they are; and so they ever will
be. Let us debate them as we will, are ways are His,
and much the same; only second-hand from Him. And I
expected something from Him, even in my worst of times,
knowing that I had done my best.
This is not edifying talk--as our Nonconformist parson
says, when he can get no more to drink--therefore let
me only tell what became of Lorna. One day, I was
sitting in my bedroom, for I could not get downstairs,
and there was no one strong enough to carry me, even if
I would have allowed it.
Though it cost me sore trouble and weariness, I had put
on all my Sunday clothes, out of respect for the
doctor, who was coming to bleed me again (as he always
did twice a week); and it struck me that he had seemed
hurt in his mind, because I wore my worst clothes to be
bled in--for lie in bed I would not, after six o'clock;
and even that was great laziness.
I looked at my right hand, whose grasp had been like
that of a blacksmith's vice; and it seemed to myself
impossible that this could be John Ridd's. The great
frame of the hand was there, as well as the muscles,
standing forth like the guttering of a candle, and the
broad blue veins, going up the back, and crossing every
finger. But as for colour, even Lorna's could scarcely
have been whiter; and as for strength, little Ensie
Doone might have come and held it fast. I laughed as I
tried in vain to lift the basin set for bleeding me.
Then I thought of all the lovely things going on
out-of-doors just now, concerning which the drowsy song
of the bees came to me. These must be among the
thyme, by the sound of their great content. Therefore
the roses must be in blossom, and the woodbine, and
clove-gilly-flower; the cherries on the wall must be
turning red, the yellow Sally must be on the brook,
wheat must be callow with quavering bloom, and the
early meadows swathed with hay.
Yet here was I, a helpless creature quite unfit to stir
among them, gifted with no sight, no scent of all the
changes that move our love, and lead our hearts, from
month to month, along the quiet path of life. And what
was worse, I had no hope of caring ever for them more.
Presently a little knock sounded through my gloomy
room, and supposing it to be the doctor, I tried to
rise and make my bow. But to my surprise it was
little Ruth, who had never once come to visit me, since
I was placed under the doctor's hands. Ruth was
dressed so gaily, with rosettes, and flowers, and what
not, that I was sorry for her bad manners; and thought
she was come to conquer me, now that Lorna was done
with.
Ruth ran towards me with sparkling eyes, being rather
short of sight; then suddenly she stopped, and I saw
entire amazement in her face.
'Can you receive visitors, Cousin Ridd?--why, they
never told me of this!' she cried: 'I knew that you
were weak, dear John; but not that you were dying.
Whatever is that basin for?'
'I have no intention of dying, Ruth; and I like not to
talk about it. But that basin, if you must know, is
for the doctor's purpose.'
'What, do you mean bleeding you? You poor weak cousin!
Is it possible that he does that still?'
'Twice a week for the last six weeks, dear. Nothing
else has kept me alive.'
'Nothing else has killed you, nearly. There!' and she
set her little boot across the basin, and crushed it.
'Not another drop shall they have from you. Is Annie
such a fool as that? And Lizzie, like a zany, at her
books! And killing her brother, between them!'
I was surprised to see Ruth excited; her character
being so calm and quiet. And I tried to soothe her
with my feeble hand, as now she knelt before me.
'Dear cousin, the doctor must know best. Annie says
so, every day. What has he been brought up for?'
'Brought up for slaying and murdering. Twenty doctors
killed King Charles, in spite of all the women. Will
you leave it to me, John? I have a little will of my
own; and I am not afraid of doctors. Will you leave it
to me, dear John? I have saved your Lorna's life. And
now I will save yours; which is a far, far easier
business.'
'You have saved my Lorna's life! What do you mean by
talking so?'
'Only what I say, Cousin John. Though perhaps I
overprize my work. But at any rate she says so.'
'I do not understand,' I said, falling back with
bewilderment; 'all women are such liars.'
'Have you ever known me tell a lie?' Ruth in great
indignation--more feigned, I doubt, than real--'your
mother may tell a story, now and then when she feels it
right; and so may both your sisters. But so you cannot
do, John Ridd; and no more than you can I do it.'
If ever there was virtuous truth in the eyes of any
woman, it was now in Ruth Huckaback's: and my brain
began very slowly to move, the heart being almost
torpid from perpetual loss of blood.
'I do not understand,' was all I could say for a very
long time.
'Will you understand, if I show you Lorna? I have
feared to do it, for the sake of you both. But now
Lorna is well enough, if you think that you are, Cousin
John. Surely you will understand, when you see your
wife.'
Following her, to the very utmost of my mind and heart,
I felt that all she said was truth; and yet I could not
make it out. And in her last few words there was such
a power of sadness rising through the cover of gaiety,
that I said to myself, half in a dream, 'Ruth is very
beautiful.'
Before I had time to listen much for the approach of
footsteps, Ruth came back, and behind her Lorna; coy as
if of her bridegroom; and hanging back with her beauty.
Ruth banged the door, and ran away; and Lorna stood
before me.
But she did not stand for an instant, when she saw what
I was like. At the risk of all thick bandages, and
upsetting a dozen medicine bottles, and scattering
leeches right and left, she managed to get into my
arms, although they could not hold her. She laid her
panting warm young breast on the place where they meant
to bleed me, and she set my pale face up; and she would
not look at me, having greater faith in kissing.
I felt my life come back, and warm; I felt my trust in
women flow; I felt the joys of living now, and the
power of doing it. It is not a moment to describe; who
feels can never tell of it. But the rush of Lorna's
tears, and the challenge of my bride's lips, and the
throbbing of my wife's heart (now at last at home on
mine), made me feel that the world was good, and not a
thing to be weary of.
Little more have I to tell. The doctor was turned out
at once; and slowly came back my former strength, with
a darling wife, and good victuals. As for Lorna, she
never tired of sitting and watching me eat and eat.
And such is her heart that she never tires of being
with me here and there, among the beautiful places, and
talking with her arm around me--so far at least as it
can go, though half of mine may go round her--of the
many fears and troubles, dangers and discouragements,
and worst of all the bitter partings, which we used to
have, somehow.
There is no need for my farming harder than becomes a
man of weight. Lorna has great stores of money, though
we never draw it out, except for some poor neighbor;
unless I find her a sumptuous dress, out of her own
perquisites. And this she always looks upon as a
wondrous gift from me; and kisses me much when she puts
it on, and walks like the noble woman she is. And yet
I may never behold it again; for she gets back to her
simple clothes, and I love her the better in them. I
believe that she gives half the grandeur away, and
keeps the other half for the children.
As for poor Tom Faggus, every one knows his bitter
adventures, when his pardon was recalled, because of
his journey to Sedgemoor. Not a child in the country,
I doubt, but knows far more than I do of Tom's most
desperate doings. The law had ruined him once, he
said; and then he had been too much for the law: and
now that a quiet life was his object, here the base
thing came after him. And such was his dread of this
evil spirit, that being caught upon Barnstaple Bridge,
with soldiers at either end of it (yet doubtful about
approaching him), he set his strawberry mare, sweet
Winnie, at the left-hand parapet, with a whisper into
her dove-coloured ear. Without a moment's doubt she
leaped it, into the foaming tide, and swam, and landed
according to orders. Also his flight from a
public-house (where a trap was set for him, but Winnie
came and broke down the door, and put two men under,
and trod on them,) is as well known as any ballad. It
was reported for awhile that poor Tom had been caught
at last, by means of his fondness for liquor, and was
hanged before Taunton Jail; but luckily we knew better.
With a good wife, and a wonderful horse, and all the
country attached to him, he kept the law at a wholesome
distance, until it became too much for its master; and
a new king arose. Upon this, Tom sued his pardon
afresh; and Jeremy Stickles, who suited the times, was
glad to help him in getting it, as well as a
compensation. Thereafter the good and respectable Tom
lived a godly (though not always sober) life; and
brought up his children to honesty, as the first of all
qualifications.
My dear mother was as happy as possibly need be with
us; having no cause for jealousy, as others arose
around her. And everybody was well pleased, when Lizzy
came in one day and tossed her bookshelf over, and
declared that she would have Captain Bloxham, and
nobody should prevent her. For that he alone, of all
the men she had ever met with, knew good writing when
he saw it, and could spell a word when told. As he had
now succeeded to Captain Stickle's position (Stickles
going up the tree), and had the power of collecting,
and of keeping, what he liked, there was nothing to be
said against it; and we hoped that he would pay her
out.
I sent little Ensie to Blundell's school, at my own
cost and charges, having changed his name, for fear of
what anyone might do to him. I called him Ensie Jones;
and we got him a commission, and after many scrapes of
spirit, he did great things in the Low Countries. He
looks upon me as his father; and without my leave will
not lay claim to the heritage and title of the Doones,
which clearly belong to him.
Ruth Huckaback is not married yet; although upon Uncle
Reuben's death she came into all his property; except,
indeed, 2000 pounds, which Uncle Ben, in his driest
manner, bequeathed 'to Sir John Ridd, the worshipful
knight, for greasing of the testator's boots.' And he
left almost a mint of money, not from the mine, but
from the shop, and the good use of usury. For the mine
had brought in just what it cost, when the vein of gold
ended suddenly; leaving all concerned much older, and
some, I fear, much poorer; but no one utterly ruined,
as is the case with most of them. Ruth herself was his
true mine, as upon death-bed he found. I know a man
even worthy of her: and though she is not very young,
he loves her, as I love Lorna. It is my firm
conviction, that in the end he will win her; and I do
not mean to dance again, except at dear Ruth's wedding;
if the floor be strong enough.
Of Lorna, of my lifelong darling, of my more and more
loved wife, I will not talk; for it is not seemly that
a man should exalt his pride. Year by year her beauty
grows, with the growth of goodness, kindness, and true
happiness--above all with loving. For change, she
makes a joke of this, and plays with it, and laughs at
it; and then, when my slow nature marvels, back she
comes to the earnest thing. And if I wish to pay her
out for something very dreadful--as may happen once or
twice, when we become too gladsome--I bring her to
forgotten sadness, and to me for cure of it, by the two
words 'Lorna Doone.'
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