CHAPTER XLIII

NOT TOO SOON

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When I started on my road across the hills and valleys (which now were

pretty much alike), the utmost I could hope to do was to gain the crest

of hills, and look into the Doone Glen. Hence I might at least descry

whether Lorna still was safe, by the six nests still remaining, and the

view of the Captain's house. When I was come to the open country, far

beyond the sheltered homestead, and in the full brunt of the wind, the

keen blast of the cold broke on me, and the mighty breadth of snow. Moor

and highland, field and common, cliff and vale, and watercourse, over

all the rolling folds of misty white were flung. There was nothing

square or jagged left, there was nothing perpendicular; all the rugged

lines were eased, and all the breaches smoothly filled. Curves, and

mounds, and rounded heavings, took the place of rock and stump; and all

the country looked as if a woman's hand had been on it.

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Through the sparkling breadth of white, which seemed to glance my eyes

away, and outside the humps of laden trees, bowing their backs like a

woodman, I contrived to get along, half-sliding and half-walking, in

places where a plain-shodden man must have sunk, and waited freezing

till the thaw should come to him. For although there had been such

violent frost, every night, upon the snow, the snow itself, having never

thawed, even for an hour, had never coated over. Hence it was as soft

and light as if all had fallen yesterday. In places where no drift had

been, but rather off than on to them, three feet was the least of

depth; but where the wind had chased it round, or any draught led like a

funnel, or anything opposed it; there you might very safely say that

it ran up to twenty feet, or thirty, or even fifty, and I believe some

times a hundred.

At last I got to my spy-hill (as I had begun to call it), although I

never should have known it but for what it looked on. And even to

know this last again required all the eyes of love, soever sharp

and vigilant. For all the beautiful Glen Doone (shaped from out

the mountains, as if on purpose for the Doones, and looking in the

summer-time like a sharp cut vase of green) now was besnowed half up

the sides, and at either end so, that it was more like the white basins

wherein we boil plum-puddings. Not a patch of grass was there, not

a black branch of a tree; all was white; and the little river flowed

beneath an arch of snow; if it managed to flow at all.

Now this was a great surprise to me; not only because I believed Glen

Doone to be a place outside all frost, but also because I thought

perhaps that it was quite impossible to be cold near Lorna. And now it

struck me all at once that perhaps her ewer was frozen (as mine had been

for the last three weeks, requiring embers around it), and perhaps her

window would not shut, any more than mine would; and perhaps she wanted

blankets. This idea worked me up to such a chill of sympathy, that

seeing no Doones now about, and doubting if any guns would go off, in

this state of the weather, and knowing that no man could catch me up

(except with shoes like mine), I even resolved to slide the cliffs, and

bravely go to Lorna.

It helped me much in this resolve, that the snow came on again, thick

enough to blind a man who had not spent his time among it, as I had done

now for days and days. Therefore I took my neatsfoot oil, which now was

clogged like honey, and rubbed it hard into my leg-joints, so far as

I could reach them. And then I set my back and elbows well against a

snowdrift, hanging far adown the cliff, and saying some of the Lord's

Prayer, threw myself on Providence. Before there was time to think or

dream, I landed very beautifully upon a ridge of run-up snow in a quiet

corner. My good shoes, or boots, preserved me from going far beneath it;

though one of them was sadly strained, where a grub had gnawed the ash,

in the early summer-time. Having set myself aright, and being in good

spirits, I made boldly across the valley (where the snow was furrowed

hard), being now afraid of nobody.

If Lorna had looked out of the window she would not have known me, with

those boots upon my feet, and a well-cleaned sheepskin over me, bearing

my own (J.R.) in red, just between my shoulders, but covered now in

snow-flakes. The house was partly drifted up, though not so much as ours

was; and I crossed the little stream almost without knowing that it was

under me. At first, being pretty safe from interference from the other

huts, by virtue of the blinding snow and the difficulty of walking, I

examined all the windows; but these were coated so with ice, like ferns

and flowers and dazzling stars, that no one could so much as guess what

might be inside of them. Moreover I was afraid of prying narrowly into

them, as it was not a proper thing where a maiden might be; only I

wanted to know just this, whether she were there or not.

Taking nothing by this movement, I was forced, much against my will, to

venture to the door and knock, in a hesitating manner, not being sure

but what my answer might be the mouth of a carbine. However it was not

so, for I heard a pattering of feet and a whispering going on, and then

a shrill voice through the keyhole, asking, “Who's there?”

“Only me, John Ridd,” I answered; upon which I heard a little laughter,

and a little sobbing, or something that was like it; and then the door

was opened about a couple of inches, with a bar behind it still; and

then the little voice went on,--

“Put thy finger in, young man, with the old ring on it. But mind thee,

if it be the wrong one, thou shalt never draw it back again.”

Laughing at Gwenny's mighty threat, I showed my finger in the opening;

upon which she let me in, and barred the door again like lightning.

“What is the meaning of all this, Gwenny?” I asked, as I slipped

about on the floor, for I could not stand there firmly with my great

snow-shoes on.

“Maning enough, and bad maning too,” the Cornish girl made answer. “Us be

shut in here, and starving, and durstn't let anybody in upon us. I wish

thou wer't good to ate, young man: I could manage most of thee.”

I was so frightened by her eyes, full of wolfish hunger, that I could

only say “Good God!” having never seen the like before. Then drew I

forth a large piece of bread, which I had brought in case of accidents,

and placed it in her hands. She leaped at it, as a starving dog leaps at

sight of his supper, and she set her teeth in it, and then withheld

it from her lips, with something very like an oath at her own vile

greediness; and then away round the corner with it, no doubt for her

young mistress. I meanwhile was occupied, to the best of my ability, in

taking my snow-shoes off, yet wondering much within myself why Lorna did

not come to me.

But presently I knew the cause, for Gwenny called me, and I ran, and

found my darling quite unable to say so much as, “John, how are you?”

Between the hunger and the cold, and the excitement of my coming, she

had fainted away, and lay back on a chair, as white as the snow around

us. In betwixt her delicate lips, Gwenny was thrusting with all her

strength the hard brown crust of the rye-bread, which she had snatched

from me so.

“Get water, or get snow,” I said; “don't you know what fainting is, you

very stupid child?”

“Never heerd on it, in Cornwall,” she answered, trusting still to the

bread; “be un the same as bleeding?”

“It will be directly, if you go on squeezing away with that crust so.

Eat a piece: I have got some more. Leave my darling now to me.”

Hearing that I had some more, the starving girl could resist no longer,

but tore it in two, and had swallowed half before I had coaxed my Lorna

back to sense, and hope, and joy, and love.

“I never expected to see you again. I had made up my mind to die, John;

and to die without your knowing it.”

As I repelled this fearful thought in a manner highly fortifying, the

tender hue flowed back again into her famished cheeks and lips, and a

softer brilliance glistened from the depth of her dark eyes. She gave me

one little shrunken hand, and I could not help a tear for it.

“After all, Mistress Lorna,” I said, pretending to be gay, for a smile

might do her good; “you do not love me as Gwenny does; for she even

wanted to eat me.”

“And shall, afore I have done, young man,” Gwenny answered laughing;

“you come in here with they red chakes, and make us think o' sirloin.”

“Eat up your bit of brown bread, Gwenny. It is not good enough for

your mistress. Bless her heart, I have something here such as she never

tasted the like of, being in such appetite. Look here, Lorna; smell it

first. I have had it ever since Twelfth Day, and kept it all the time

for you. Annie made it. That is enough to warrant it good cooking.”

And then I showed my great mince-pie in a bag of tissue paper, and I

told them how the mince-meat was made of golden pippins finely shred,

with the undercut of the sirloin, and spice and fruit accordingly and

far beyond my knowledge. But Lorna would not touch a morsel until she

had thanked God for it, and given me the kindest kiss, and put a piece

in Gwenny's mouth.

I have eaten many things myself, with very great enjoyment, and keen

perception of their merits, and some thanks to God for them. But I never

did enjoy a thing, that had found its way between my own lips, half, or

even a quarter as much as I now enjoyed beholding Lorna, sitting

proudly upwards (to show that she was faint no more) entering into

that mince-pie, and moving all her pearls of teeth (inside her little

mouth-place) exactly as I told her. For I was afraid lest she should be

too fast in going through it, and cause herself more damage so, than she

got of nourishment. But I had no need to fear at all, and Lorna could

not help laughing at me for thinking that she had no self-control.

Some creatures require a deal of food (I myself among the number), and

some can do with a very little; making, no doubt, the best of it. And I

have often noticed that the plumpest and most perfect women never eat so

hard and fast as the skinny and three-cornered ones. These last be often

ashamed of it, and eat most when the men be absent. Hence it came to

pass that Lorna, being the loveliest of all maidens, had as much as she

could do to finish her own half of pie; whereas Gwenny Carfax (though

generous more than greedy), ate up hers without winking, after finishing

the brown loaf; and then I begged to know the meaning of this state of

things.

“The meaning is sad enough,” said Lorna; “and I see no way out of it. We

are both to be starved until I let them do what they like with me.

“That is to say until you choose to marry Carver Doone, and be slowly

killed by him?”

“Slowly! No, John, quickly. I hate him so intensely, that less than a

week would kill me.”

“Not a doubt of that,” said Gwenny; “oh, she hates him nicely then; but

not half so much as I do.”

I told them that this state of things could be endured no longer, on

which point they agreed with me, but saw no means to help it. For

even if Lorna could make up her mind to come away with me and live at

Plover's Barrows farm, under my good mother's care, as I had urged so

often, behold the snow was all around us, heaped as high as mountains,

and how could any delicate maiden ever get across it?

Then I spoke with a strange tingle upon both sides of my heart, knowing

that this undertaking was a serious one for all, and might burn our farm

down,--

“If I warrant to take you safe, and without much fright or hardship,

Lorna, will you come with me?”

“To be sure I will, dear,” said my beauty, with a smile and a glance to

follow it; “I have small alternative, to starve, or go with you, John.”

“Gwenny, have you courage for it? Will you come with your young

mistress?”

“Will I stay behind?” cried Gwenny, in a voice that settled it. And so

we began to arrange about it; and I was much excited. It was useless

now to leave it longer; if it could be done at all, it could not be too

quickly done. It was the Counsellor who had ordered, after all other

schemes had failed, that his niece should have no food until she would

obey him. He had strictly watched the house, taking turns with Carver,

to ensure that none came nigh it bearing food or comfort. But this

evening, they had thought it needless to remain on guard; and it

would have been impossible, because themselves were busy offering high

festival to all the valley, in right of their own commandership. And

Gwenny said that nothing made her so nearly mad with appetite as

the account she received from a woman of all the dishes preparing.

Nevertheless she had answered bravely,--

“Go and tell the Counsellor, and go and tell the Carver, who sent you to

spy upon us, that we shall have a finer dish than any set before them.”

And so in truth they did, although so little dreaming it; for no Doone

that was ever born, however much of a Carver, might vie with our Annie

for mince-meat.

Now while we sat reflecting much, and talking a good deal more, in spite

of all the cold--for I never was in a hurry to go, when I had Lorna with

me--she said, in her silvery voice, which always led me so along, as if

I were a slave to a beautiful bell,--

“Now, John, we are wasting time, dear. You have praised my hair, till it

curls with pride, and my eyes till you cannot see them, even if they are

brown diamonds which I have heard for the fiftieth time at least; though

I never saw such a jewel. Don't you think it is high time to put on your

snow-shoes, John?”

“Certainly not,” I answered, “'till we have settled something more. I was

so cold when I came in; and now I am as warm as a cricket. And so are

you, you lively soul; though you are not upon my hearth yet.”

“Remember, John,” said Lorna, nestling for a moment to me; “the severity

of the weather makes a great difference between us. And you must never

take advantage.”

“I quite understand all that, dear. And the harder it freezes the

better, while that understanding continues. Now do try to be serious.”

“I try to be serious! And I have been trying fifty times, and could

not bring you to it, John! Although I am sure the situation, as the

Counsellor says at the beginning of a speech, the situation, to say the

least, is serious enough for anything. Come, Gwenny, imitate him.”

Gwenny was famed for her imitation of the Counsellor making a speech;

and she began to shake her hair, and mount upon a footstool; but I

really could not have this, though even Lorna ordered it. The truth

was that my darling maiden was in such wild spirits, at seeing me so

unexpected, and at the prospect of release, and of what she had never

known, quiet life and happiness, that like all warm and loving natures,

she could scarce control herself.

“Come to this frozen window, John, and see them light the stack-fire.

They will little know who looks at them. Now be very good, John. You

stay in that corner, dear, and I will stand on this side; and try to

breathe yourself a peep-hole through the lovely spears and banners. Oh,

you don't know how to do it. I must do it for you. Breathe three times,

like that, and that; and then you rub it with your fingers, before it

has time to freeze again.”

All this she did so beautifully, with her lips put up like cherries, and

her fingers bent half back, as only girls can bend them, and her little

waist thrown out against the white of the snowed-up window, that I made

her do it three times over; and I stopped her every time and let it

freeze again, that so she might be the longer. Now I knew that all her

love was mine, every bit as much as mine was hers; yet I must have her

to show it, dwelling upon every proof, lengthening out all certainty.

Perhaps the jealous heart is loath to own a life worth twice its own. Be

that as it may, I know that we thawed the window nicely.

And then I saw, far down the stream (or rather down the bed of it, for

there was no stream visible), a little form of fire arising, red, and

dark, and flickering. Presently it caught on something, and went upward

boldly; and then it struck into many forks, and then it fell, and rose

again.

“Do you know what all that is, John?” asked Lorna, smiling cleverly at

the manner of my staring.

“How on earth should I know? Papists burn Protestants in the flesh; and

Protestants burn Papists in effigy, as we mock them. Lorna, are they

going to burn any one to-night?”

“No, you dear. I must rid you of these things. I see that you are

bigoted. The Doones are firing Dunkery beacon, to celebrate their new

captain.”

“But how could they bring it here through the snow? If they have

sledges, I can do nothing.”

“They brought it before the snow began. The moment poor grandfather was

gone, even before his funeral, the young men, having none to check them,

began at once upon it. They had always borne a grudge against it; not

that it ever did them harm; but because it seemed so insolent. 'Can't a

gentleman go home, without a smoke behind him?' I have often heard them

saying. And though they have done it no serious harm, since they threw

the firemen on the fire, many, many years ago, they have often promised

to bring it here for their candle; and now they have done it. Ah, now

look! The tar is kindled.”

Though Lorna took it so in joke, I looked upon it very gravely, knowing

that this heavy outrage to the feelings of the neighbourhood would cause

more stir than a hundred sheep stolen, or a score of houses sacked. Not

of course that the beacon was of the smallest use to any one, neither

stopped anybody from stealing, nay, rather it was like the parish knell,

which begins when all is over, and depresses all the survivors; yet

I knew that we valued it, and were proud, and spoke of it as a mighty

institution; and even more than that, our vestry had voted, within

the last two years, seven shillings and six-pence to pay for it, in

proportion with other parishes. And one of the men who attended to

it, or at least who was paid for doing so, was our Jem Slocombe's

grandfather.

However, in spite of all my regrets, the fire went up very merrily,

blazing red and white and yellow, as it leaped on different things.

And the light danced on the snow-drifts with a misty lilac hue. I was

astonished at its burning in such mighty depths of snow; but Gwenny said

that the wicked men had been three days hard at work, clearing, as it

were, a cock-pit, for their fire to have its way. And now they had a

mighty pile, which must have covered five land-yards square, heaped up

to a goodly height, and eager to take fire.

In this I saw great obstacle to what I wished to manage. For when this

pyramid should be kindled thoroughly, and pouring light and blazes

round, would not all the valley be like a white room full of candles?

Thinking thus, I was half inclined to abide my time for another night:

and then my second thoughts convinced me that I would be a fool in this.

For lo, what an opportunity! All the Doones would be drunk, of course,

in about three hours' time, and getting more and more in drink as the

night went on. As for the fire, it must sink in about three hours or

more, and only cast uncertain shadows friendly to my purpose. And then

the outlaws must cower round it, as the cold increased on them, helping

the weight of the liquor; and in their jollity any noise would be

cheered as a false alarm. Most of all, and which decided once for all my

action,--when these wild and reckless villains should be hot with ardent

spirits, what was door, or wall, to stand betwixt them and my Lorna?

This thought quickened me so much that I touched my darling reverently,

and told her in a few short words how I hoped to manage it.

“Sweetest, in two hours' time, I shall be again with you. Keep the bar

up, and have Gwenny ready to answer any one. You are safe while they are

dining, dear, and drinking healths, and all that stuff; and before they

have done with that, I shall be again with you. Have everything you care

to take in a very little compass, and Gwenny must have no baggage. I

shall knock loud, and then wait a little; and then knock twice, very

softly.”

With this I folded her in my arms; and she looked frightened at me; not

having perceived her danger; and then I told Gwenny over again what I

had told her mistress: but she only nodded her head and said, “Young

man, go and teach thy grandmother.”

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