Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XVIII

  WITCHERY LEADS TO WITCHCRAFT

  Although wellnigh the end of March, the wind blew wild and piercing,as I went on foot that afternoon to Mother Melldrum's dwelling. It wassafer not to take a horse, lest (if anything vexed her) she should puta spell upon him; as had been done to Farmer Snowe's stable by the wisewoman of Simonsbath.

  The sun was low on the edge of the hills by the time I entered thevalley, for I could not leave home till the cattle were tended, andthe distance was seven miles or more. The shadows of rocks fell far anddeep, and the brown dead fern was fluttering, and brambles with theirsere leaves hanging, swayed their tatters to and fro, with a red look onthem. In patches underneath the crags, a few wild goats were browsing;then they tossed their horns, and fled, and leaped on ledges, and staredat me. Moreover, the sound of the sea came up, and went the length ofthe valley, and there it lapped on a butt of rocks, and murmured like ashell.

  Taking things one with another, and feeling all the lonesomeness, andhaving no stick with me, I was much inclined to go briskly back,and come at a better season. And when I beheld a tall grey shape, ofsomething or another, moving at the lower end of the valley, where theshade was, it gave me such a stroke of fear, after many others, that mythumb which lay in mother's Bible (brought in my big pocket for the sakeof safety) shook so much that it came out, and I could not get it inagain. 'This serves me right,' I said to myself, 'for tampering withBeelzebub. Oh that I had listened to parson!'

  And thereupon I struck aside; not liking to run away quite, as somepeople might call it; but seeking to look like a wanderer who was cometo see the valley, and had seen almost enough of it. Herein I shouldhave succeeded, and gone home, and then been angry at my want ofcourage, but that on the very turn and bending of my footsteps, thewoman in the distance lifted up her staff to me, so that I was bound tostop.

  And now, being brought face to face, by the will of God (as one mightsay) with anything that might come of it, I kept myself quite straightand stiff, and thrust away all white feather, trusting in my Biblestill, hoping that it would protect me, though I had disobeyed it. Butupon that remembrance, my conscience took me by the leg, so that I couldnot go forward.

  All this while, the fearful woman was coming near and more near to me;and I was glad to sit down on a rock because my knees were shaking so. Itried to think of many things, but none of them would come to me; and Icould not take my eyes away, though I prayed God to be near me.

  But when she was come so nigh to me that I could descry her features,there was something in her countenance that made me not dislike her. Shelooked as if she had been visited by many troubles, and had felt themone by one, yet held enough of kindly nature still to grieve for others.Long white hair, on either side, was falling down below her chin; andthrough her wrinkles clear bright eyes seemed to spread themselves uponme. Though I had plenty of time to think, I was taken by surprise noless, and unable to say anything; yet eager to hear the silence broken,and longing for a noise or two.

  'Thou art not come to me,' she said, looking through my simple face, asif it were but glass, 'to be struck for bone-shave, nor to be blessedfor barn-gun. Give me forth thy hand, John Ridd; and tell why thou artcome to me.'

  But I was so much amazed at her knowing my name and all about me, that Ifeared to place my hand in her power, or even my tongue by speaking.

  'Have no fear of me, my son I have no gift to harm thee; and if I had,it should be idle. Now, if thou hast any wit, tell me why I love thee.'

  'I never had any wit, mother,' I answered in our Devonshire way; 'andnever set eyes on thee before, to the furthest of my knowledge.'

  'And yet I know thee as well, John, as if thou wert my grandson.Remember you the old Oare oak, and the bog at the head of Exe, and thechild who would have died there, but for thy strength and courage, andmost of all thy kindness? That was my granddaughter, John; and all Ihave on earth to love.'

  Now that she came to speak of it, with the place and that, so clearly, Iremembered all about it (a thing that happened last August), and thoughthow stupid I must have been not to learn more of the little girl who hadfallen into the black pit, with a basketful of whortleberries, andwho might have been gulfed if her little dog had not spied me in thedistance. I carried her on my back to mother; and then we dressed herall anew, and took her where she ordered us; but she did not tell uswho she was, nor anything more than her Christian name, and that she waseight years old, and fond of fried batatas. And we did not seek to askher more; as our manner is with visitors.

  But thinking of this little story, and seeing how she looked at me, Ilost my fear of Mother Melldrum, and began to like her; partly because Ihad helped her grandchild, and partly that if she were so wise, no needwould have been for me to save the little thing from drowning. ThereforeI stood up and said, though scarcely yet established in my power againsthers,--

  'Good mother, the shoe she lost was in the mire, and not with us. And wecould not match it, although we gave her a pair of sister Lizzie's.'

  'My son, what care I for her shoe? How simple thou art, and foolish!according to the thoughts of some. Now tell me, for thou canst not lie,what has brought thee to me.'

  Being so ashamed and bashful, I was half-inclined to tell her a lie,until she said that I could not do it; and then I knew that I could not.

  'I am come to know,' I said, looking at a rock the while, to keep myvoice from shaking, 'when I may go to see Lorna Doone.'

  No more could I say, though my mind was charged to ask fifty otherquestions. But although I looked away, it was plain that I had askedenough. I felt that the wise woman gazed at me in wrath as well assorrow; and then I grew angry that any one should seem to make light ofLorna.

  'John Ridd,' said the woman, observing this (for now I faced herbravely), 'of whom art thou speaking? Is it a child of the men who slewyour father?'

  'I cannot tell, mother. How should I know? And what is that to thee?'

  'It is something to thy mother, John, and something to thyself, I trow;and nothing worse could befall thee.'

  I waited for her to speak again, because she had spoken so sadly that ittook my breath away.

  'John Ridd, if thou hast any value for thy body or thy soul, thy mother,or thy father's name, have nought to do with any Doone.'

  She gazed at me in earnest so, and raised her voice in saying it, untilthe whole valley, curving like a great bell echoed 'Doone,' that itseemed to me my heart was gone for every one and everything. If it wereGod's will for me to have no more of Lorna, let a sign come out of therocks, and I would try to believe it. But no sign came, and I turned tothe woman, and longed that she had been a man.

  'You poor thing, with bones and blades, pails of water, and door-keys,what know you about the destiny of a maiden such as Lorna? Chilblainsyou may treat, and bone-shave, ringworm, and the scaldings; even scabbysheep may limp the better for your strikings. John the Baptist and hiscousins, with the wool and hyssop, are for mares, and ailing dogs, andfowls that have the jaundice. Look at me now, Mother Melldrum, am I likea fool?'

  'That thou art, my son. Alas that it were any other! Now behold the endof that; John Ridd, mark the end of it.'

  She pointed to the castle-rock, where upon a narrow shelf, betwixt usand the coming stars, a bitter fight was raging. A fine fat sheep, withan honest face, had clomb up very carefully to browse on a bit of juicygrass, now the dew of the land was upon it. To him, from an upper crag,a lean black goat came hurrying, with leaps, and skirmish of the horns,and an angry noise in his nostrils. The goat had grazed the placebefore, to the utmost of his liking, cropping in and out with jerks, astheir manner is of feeding. Nevertheless he fell on the sheep with furyand great malice.

  The simple wether was much inclined to retire from the contest, butlooked around in vain for any way to peace and comfort. His enemy stoodbetween him and the last leap he had taken; there was nothing left himbut to fight, or be hurled into the sea, five hundred feet below.

  'Lie d
own, lie down!' I shouted to him, as if he were a dog, for I hadseen a battle like this before, and knew that the sheep had no chance oflife except from his greater weight, and the difficulty of moving him.

  'Lie down, lie down, John Ridd!' cried Mother Melldrum, mocking me, butwithout a sign of smiling.

  The poor sheep turned, upon my voice, and looked at me so piteously thatI could look no longer; but ran with all my speed to try and save himfrom the combat. He saw that I could not be in time, for the goat wasbucking to leap at him, and so the good wether stooped his forehead,with the harmless horns curling aside of it; and the goat flung hisheels up, and rushed at him, with quick sharp jumps and tricks ofmovement, and the points of his long horns always foremost, and hislittle scut cocked like a gun-hammer.

  As I ran up the steep of the rock, I could not see what they were doing,but the sheep must have fought very bravely at last, and yielded hisground quite slowly, and I hoped almost to save him. But just as my headtopped the platform of rock, I saw him flung from it backward, with asad low moan and a gurgle. His body made quite a short noise in the air,like a bucket thrown down a well shaft, and I could not tell when itstruck the water, except by the echo among the rocks. So wroth was Iwith the goat at the moment (being somewhat scant of breath and unableto consider), that I caught him by the right hind-leg, before he couldturn from his victory, and hurled him after the sheep, to learn how heliked his own compulsion.