CHAPTER XL
TWO FOOLS TOGETHER
That story of John Fry's, instead of causing any amusement, gave usgreat disquietude; not only because it showed that Tom Faggus could notresist sudden temptation and the delight of wildness, but also that wegreatly feared lest the King's pardon might be annulled, and all hiskindness cancelled, by a reckless deed of that sort. It was true (asAnnie insisted continually, even with tears, to wear in her arguments)that Tom had not brought away anything, except the warrants, which wereof no use at all, after receipt of the pardon neither had he used anyviolence, except just to frighten people; but could it be established,even towards Christmas-time, that Tom had a right to give alms, rightand left, out of other people's money?
Dear Annie appeared to believe that it could; saying that if the richcontinually chose to forget the poor, a man who forced them to remember,and so to do good to themselves and to others, was a public benefactor,and entitled to every blessing. But I knew, and so Lizzie knew--John Frybeing now out of hearing--that this was not sound argument. For, if itcame to that, any man might take the King by the throat, and make himcast away among the poor the money which he wanted sadly for Her Gracethe Duchess, and the beautiful Countess, of this, and of that. Lizzie,of course, knew nothing about His Majesty's diversions, which were notfit for a young maid's thoughts; but I now put the form of the argumentas it occurred to me.
Therefore I said, once for all (and both my sisters always listened whenI used the deep voice from my chest):
'Tom Faggus hath done wrong herein; wrong to himself, and to our Annie.All he need have done was to show his pardon, and the magistrates wouldhave rejoiced with him. He might have led a most godly life, and havebeen respected by everybody; and knowing how brave Tom is, I thoughtthat he would have done as much. Now if I were in love with a maid'--Iput it thus for the sake of poor Lizzie--'never would I so imperil mylife, and her fortune in life along with me, for the sake of a poordiversion. A man's first duty is to the women, who are forced to hangupon him'--
'Oh, John, not that horrible word,' cried Annie, to my great surprise,and serious interruption 'oh, John, any word but that!' And she burstforth crying terribly.
'What word, Lizzie? What does the wench mean?' I asked, in the saddestvexation seeing no good to ask Annie at all, for she carried on mostdreadfully.
'Don't you know, you stupid lout?' said Lizzie, completing mywonderment, by the scorn of her quicker intelligence; 'if you don'tknow, axe about?'
And with that, I was forced to be content; for Lizzie took Annie in sucha manner (on purpose to vex me, as I could see) with her head droopingdown, and her hair coming over, and tears and sobs rising and falling,to boot, without either order or reason, that seeing no good for aman to do (since neither of them was Lorna), I even went out into thecourtyard, and smoked a pipe, and wondered what on earth is the meaningof women.
Now in this I was wrong and unreasonable (as all women willacknowledge); but sometimes a man is so put out, by the way they takeon about nothing, that he really cannot help thinking, for at leasta minute, that women are a mistake for ever, and hence are for evermistaken. Nevertheless I could not see that any of these great thoughtsand ideas applied at all to my Lorna; but that she was a differentbeing; not woman enough to do anything bad, yet enough of a woman forman to adore.
And now a thing came to pass which tested my adoration pretty sharply,inasmuch as I would far liefer faced Carver Doone and his father, nay,even the roaring lion himself with his hoofs and flaming nostrils, thanhave met, in cold blood, Sir Ensor Doone, the founder of all the colony,and the fear of the very fiercest.
But that I was forced to do at this time, and in the manner following.When I went up one morning to look for my seven rooks' nests, beholdthere were but six to be seen; for the topmost of them all was gone,and the most conspicuous. I looked, and looked, and rubbed my eyes, andturned to try them by other sights; and then I looked again; yes, therecould be no doubt about it; the signal was made for me to come, becausemy love was in danger. For me to enter the valley now, during the broaddaylight, could have brought no comfort, but only harm to the maiden,and certain death to myself. Yet it was more than I could do to keepaltogether at distance; therefore I ran to the nearest place where Icould remain unseen, and watched the glen from the wooded height, forhours and hours, impatiently.
However, no impatience of mine made any difference in the scene uponwhich I was gazing. In the part of the valley which I could see, therewas nothing moving, except the water, and a few stolen cows, going sadlyalong, as if knowing that they had no honest right there. It sank veryheavily into my heart, with all the beds of dead leaves around it, andthere was nothing I cared to do, except blow on my fingers, and long formore wit.
For a frost was beginning, which made a great difference to Lorna and tomyself, I trow; as well as to all the five million people who dwell inthis island of England; such a frost as never I saw before,* neitherhope ever to see again; a time when it was impossible to milk a cow foricicles, or for a man to shave some of his beard (as I liked to do forLorna's sake, because she was so smooth) without blunting his razoron hard gray ice. No man could 'keep yatt' (as we say), even though heabandoned his work altogether, and thumped himself, all on the chest andthe front, till his frozen hands would have been bleeding except for thecold that kept still all his veins.
* If John Ridd lived until the year 1740 (as so strong a man was bound to do), he must have seen almost a harder frost; and perhaps it put an end to him; for then he would be some fourscore years old. But tradition makes him 'keep yatt,' as he says, up to fivescore years.--ED.
However, at present there was no frost, although for a fortnightthreatening; and I was too young to know the meaning of the way the deadleaves hung, and the worm-casts prickling like women's combs, andthe leaden tone upon everything, and the dead weight of the sky. WillWatcombe, the old man at Lynmouth, who had been half over the worldalmost, and who talked so much of the Gulf-stream, had (as I afterwardscalled to mind) foretold a very bitter winter this year. But no onewould listen to him because there were not so many hips and haws asusual; whereas we have all learned from our grandfathers that Providencenever sends very hard winters, without having furnished a large supplyof berries for the birds to feed upon.
It was lucky for me, while I waited here, that our very best sheep-dog,old Watch, had chosen to accompany me that day. For otherwise I musthave had no dinner, being unpersuaded, even by that, to quit my surveyof the valley. However, by aid of poor Watch, I contrived to obtain asupply of food; for I sent him home with a note to Annie fastened uponhis chest; and in less than an hour back he came, proud enough to waghis tail off, with his tongue hanging out from the speed of his journey,and a large lump of bread and of bacon fastened in a napkin around hisneck. I had not told my sister, of course, what was toward; for whyshould I make her anxious?
When it grew towards dark, I was just beginning to prepare for mycircuit around the hills; but suddenly Watch gave a long low growl; Ikept myself close as possible, and ordered the dog to be silent, andpresently saw a short figure approaching from a thickly-wooded hollow onthe left side of my hiding-place. It was the same figure I had seen oncebefore in the moonlight, at Plover's Barrows; and proved, to my greatdelight, to be the little maid Gwenny Carfax. She started a moment, atseeing me, but more with surprise than fear; and then she laid both herhands upon mine, as if she had known me for twenty years.
'Young man,' she said, 'you must come with me. I was gwain' all theway to fetch thee. Old man be dying; and her can't die, or at least herwon't, without first considering thee.'
'Considering me!' I cried; 'what can Sir Ensor Doone want withconsidering me? Has Mistress Lorna told him?'
'All concerning thee, and thy doings; when she knowed old man were sonear his end. That vexed he was about thy low blood, a' thought herwould come to life again, on purpose for to bate 'ee. But after all,there can't be scarcely such bad luck as that. Now, if he
r strook thee,thou must take it; there be no denaying of un. Fire I have seen afore,hot and red, and raging; but I never seen cold fire afore, and it makethme burn and shiver.'
And in truth, it made me both burn and shiver, to know that I musteither go straight to the presence of Sir Ensor Doone, or give up Lorna,once for all, and rightly be despised by her. For the first time of mylife, I thought that she had not acted fairly. Why not leave the old manin peace, without vexing him about my affair? But presently I saw againthat in this matter she was right; that she could not receive the oldman's blessing (supposing that he had one to give, which even a worseman might suppose), while she deceived him about herself, and the lifeshe had undertaken.
Therefore, with great misgiving of myself, but no ill thought of mydarling, I sent Watch home, and followed Gwenny; who led me along veryrapidly, with her short broad form gliding down the hollow, from whichshe had first appeared. Here at the bottom, she entered a thicket ofgray ash stubs and black holly, with rocks around it gnarled with roots,and hung with masks of ivy. Here in a dark and lonely corner, with apixie ring before it, she came to a narrow door, very brown and solid,looking like a trunk of wood at a little distance. This she opened,without a key, by stooping down and pressing it, where the threshold metthe jamb; and then she ran in very nimbly, but I was forced to bebent in two, and even so without comfort. The passage was close anddifficult, and as dark as any black pitch; but it was not long (be it asit might), and in that there was some comfort. We came out soon at theother end, and were at the top of Doone valley. In the chilly dusk air,it looked most untempting, especially during that state of mind underwhich I was labouring. As we crossed towards the Captain's house, wemet a couple of great Doones lounging by the waterside. Gwenny saidsomething to them, and although they stared very hard at me, they let mepass without hindrance. It is not too much to say that when the littlemaid opened Sir Ensor's door, my heart thumped, quite as much withterror as with hope of Lorna's presence.
But in a moment the fear was gone, for Lorna was trembling in my arms,and my courage rose to comfort her. The darling feared, beyond allthings else, lest I should be offended with her for what she had said toher grandfather, and for dragging me into his presence; but I told heralmost a falsehood (the first, and the last, that ever I did tell her),to wit, that I cared not that much--and showed her the tip of my thumbas I said it--for old Sir Ensor, and all his wrath, so long as I had hisgranddaughter's love.
Now I tried to think this as I said it, so as to save it from being alie; but somehow or other it did not answer, and I was vexed with myselfboth ways. But Lorna took me by the hand as bravely as she could, andled me into a little passage where I could hear the river moaning andthe branches rustling.
Here I passed as long a minute as fear ever cheated time of, sayingto myself continually that there was nothing to be frightened at, yetgrowing more and more afraid by reason of so reasoning. At last my Lornacame back very pale, as I saw by the candle she carried, and whispered,'Now be patient, dearest. Never mind what he says to you; neitherattempt to answer him. Look at him gently and steadfastly, and, if youcan, with some show of reverence; but above all things, no compassionit drives him almost mad. Now come; walk very quietly.'
She led me into a cold, dark room, rough and very gloomy, although withtwo candles burning. I took little heed of the things in it, though Imarked that the window was open. That which I heeded was an old man,very stern and comely, with death upon his countenance; yet not lying inhis bed, but set upright in a chair, with a loose red cloak thrown overhim. Upon this his white hair fell, and his pallid fingers lay in aghastly fashion without a sign of life or movement or of the power thatkept him up; all rigid, calm, and relentless. Only in his great blackeyes, fixed upon me solemnly, all the power of his body dwelt, all thelife of his soul was burning.
I could not look at him very nicely, being afeared of the death in hisface, and most afeared to show it. And to tell the truth, my poorblue eyes fell away from the blackness of his, as if it had been mycoffin-plate. Therefore I made a low obeisance, and tried not to shiver.Only I groaned that Lorna thought it good manners to leave us twotogether.
'Ah,' said the old man, and his voice seemed to come from a cavern ofskeletons; 'are you that great John Ridd?'
'John Ridd is my name, your honour,' was all that I could answer; 'and Ihope your worship is better.'
'Child, have you sense enough to know what you have been doing?'
'Yes, I knew right well,' I answered, 'that I have set mine eyes farabove my rank.'
'Are you ignorant that Lorna Doone is born of the oldest familiesremaining in North Europe?'
'I was ignorant of that, your worship; yet I knew of her high descentfrom the Doones of Bagworthy.'
The old man's eyes, like fire, probed me whether I was jesting; thenperceiving how grave I was, and thinking that I could not laugh (as manypeople suppose of me), he took on himself to make good the deficiencywith a very bitter smile.
'And know you of your own low descent from the Ridds of Oare?'
'Sir,' I answered, being as yet unaccustomed to this style of speech,'the Ridds, of Oare, have been honest men twice as long as the Dooneshave been rogues.'
'I would not answer for that, John,' Sir Ensor replied, very quietly,when I expected fury. 'If it be so, thy family is the very oldest inEurope. Now hearken to me, boy, or clown, or honest fool, or whateverthou art; hearken to an old man's words, who has not many hours to live.There is nothing in this world to fear, nothing to revere or trust,nothing even to hope for; least of all, is there aught to love.'
'I hope your worship is not quite right,' I answered, with greatmisgivings; 'else it is a sad mistake for anybody to live, sir.'
'Therefore,' he continued, as if I had never spoken, 'though it may seemhard for a week or two, like the loss of any other toy, I deprive you ofnothing, but add to your comfort, and (if there be such a thing) to yourhappiness, when I forbid you ever to see that foolish child again. Allmarriage is a wretched farce, even when man and wife belong to the samerank of life, have temper well assorted, similar likes and dislikes, andabout the same pittance of mind. But when they are not so matched,the farce would become a long, dull tragedy, if anything were worthlamenting. There, I have reasoned enough with you; I am not in the habitof reasoning. Though I have little confidence in man's honour, I havesome reliance in woman's pride. You will pledge your word in Lorna'spresence never to see or to seek her again; never even to think of hermore. Now call her, for I am weary.'
He kept his great eyes fixed upon me with their icy fire (as if hescorned both life and death), and on his haughty lips some slightamusement at my trouble; and then he raised one hand (as if I were apoor dumb creature), and pointed to the door. Although my heart rebelledand kindled at his proud disdain, I could not disobey him freely; butmade a low salute, and went straightway in search of Lorna.
I found my love (or not my love; according as now she should behave; forI was very desperate, being put upon so sadly); Lorna Doone was cryingsoftly at a little window, and listening to the river's grief. I laidmy heavy arm around her, not with any air of claiming or of forcingher thoughts to me, but only just to comfort her, and ask what she wasthinking of. To my arm she made no answer, neither to my seeking eyes;but to my heart, once for all, she spoke with her own upon it. Not aword, nor sound between us; not even a kiss was interchanged; but man,or maid, who has ever loved hath learned our understanding.
Therefore it came to pass, that we saw fit to enter Sir Ensor's room inthe following manner. Lorna, with her right hand swallowed entirely bythe palm of mine, and her waist retired from view by means of my leftarm. All one side of her hair came down, in a way to be remembered, uponthe left and fairest part of my favourite otter-skin waistcoat; andher head as well would have lain there doubtless, but for the dangerof walking so. I, for my part, was too far gone to lag behind in thematter; but carried my love bravely, fearing neither death nor hell,while she abode beside me.
Old Sir Ensor looked much astonished. For forty years he had been obeyedand feared by all around him; and he knew that I had feared him vastly,before I got hold of Lorna. And indeed I was still afraid of him; onlyfor loving Lorna so, and having to protect her.
Then I made him a bow, to the very best of all I had learned both atTiverton and in London after that I waited for him to begin, as becamehis age and rank in life.
'Ye two fools!' he said at last, with a depth of contempt which no wordsmay express; 'ye two fools!'
'May it please your worship,' I answered softly; 'maybe we are not suchfools as we look. But though we be, we are well content, so long as wemay be two fools together.'
'Why, John,' said the old man, with a spark, as of smiling in his eyes;'thou art not altogether the clumsy yokel, and the clod, I took theefor.'
'Oh, no, grandfather; oh, dear grandfather,' cried Lorna, with such zealand flashing, that her hands went forward; 'nobody knows what John Riddis, because he is so modest. I mean, nobody except me, dear.' And hereshe turned to me again, and rose upon tiptoe, and kissed me.
'I have seen a little o' the world,' said the old man, while I was halfashamed, although so proud of Lorna; 'but this is beyond all I haveseen, and nearly all I have heard of. It is more fit for southernclimates than for the fogs of Exmoor.'
'It is fit for all the world, your worship; with your honour's goodleave, and will,' I answered in humility, being still ashamed of it;'when it happens so to people, there is nothing that can stop it, sir.'
Now Sir Ensor Doone was leaning back upon his brown chair-rail, whichwas built like a triangle, as in old farmhouses (from one of which ithad come, no doubt, free from expense or gratitude); and as I spoke hecoughed a little; and he sighed a good deal more; and perhaps his dyingheart desired to open time again, with such a lift of warmth and hope ashe descried in our eyes, and arms. I could not understand him then; anymore than a baby playing with his grandfather's spectacles; neverthelessI wondered whether, at his time of life, or rather on the brink ofdeath, he was thinking of his youth and pride.
'Fools you are; be fools for ever,' said Sir Ensor Doone, at last; whilewe feared to break his thoughts, but let each other know our own, withlittle ways of pressure; 'it is the best thing I can wish you; boy andgirl, be boy and girl, until you have grandchildren.'
Partly in bitterness he spoke, and partly in pure weariness, and thenhe turned so as not to see us; and his white hair fell, like a shroud,around him.