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<h2> CHAPTER VIII </h2>
<p>A BOY AND A GIRL When I came to myself again, my hands were full of young
grass and mould, and a little girl kneeling at my side was rubbing my
forehead tenderly with a dock-leaf and a handkerchief.</p>
<p>'Oh, I am so glad,' she whispered softly, as I opened my eyes and looked
at her; 'now you will try to be better, won't you?'</p>
<p>I had never heard so sweet a sound as came from between her bright red
lips, while there she knelt and gazed at me; neither had I ever seen
anything so beautiful as the large dark eyes intent upon me, full of pity
and wonder. And then, my nature being slow, and perhaps, for that matter,
heavy, I wandered with my hazy eyes down the black shower of her hair, as
to my jaded gaze it seemed; and where it fell on the turf, among it (like
an early star) was the first primrose of the season. And since that day I
think of her, through all the rough storms of my life, when I see an early
primrose. Perhaps she liked my countenance, and indeed I know she did,
because she said so afterwards; although at the time she was too young to
know what made her take to me. Not that I had any beauty, or ever
pretended to have any, only a solid healthy face, which many girls have
laughed at.</p>
<p>Thereupon I sate upright, with my little trident still in one hand, and
was much afraid to speak to her, being conscious of my country-brogue,
lest she should cease to like me. But she clapped her hands, and made a
trifling dance around my back, and came to me on the other side, as if I
were a great plaything.</p>
<p>'What is your name?' she said, as if she had every right to ask me; 'and
how did you come here, and what are these wet things in this great bag?'</p>
<p>'You had better let them alone,' I said; 'they are loaches for my mother.
But I will give you some, if you like.'</p>
<p>'Dear me, how much you think of them! Why, they are only fish. But how
your feet are bleeding! oh, I must tie them up for you. And no shoes nor
stockings! Is your mother very poor, poor boy?'</p>
<p>'No,' I said, being vexed at this; 'we are rich enough to buy all this
great meadow, if we chose; and here my shoes and stockings be.'</p>
<p>'Why, they are quite as wet as your feet; and I cannot bear to see your
feet. Oh, please to let me manage them; I will do it very softly.'</p>
<p>'Oh, I don't think much of that,' I replied; 'I shall put some
goose-grease to them. But how you are looking at me! I never saw any one
like you before. My name is John Ridd. What is your name?'</p>
<p>'Lorna Doone,' she answered, in a low voice, as if afraid of it, and
hanging her head so that I could see only her forehead and eyelashes; 'if
you please, my name is Lorna Doone; and I thought you must have known it.'</p>
<p>Then I stood up and touched her hand, and tried to make her look at me;
but she only turned away the more. Young and harmless as she was, her name
alone made guilt of her. Nevertheless I could not help looking at her
tenderly, and the more when her blushes turned into tears, and her tears
to long, low sobs.</p>
<p>'Don't cry,' I said, 'whatever you do. I am sure you have never done any
harm. I will give you all my fish Lorna, and catch some more for mother;
only don't be angry with me.'</p>
<p>She flung her little soft arms up in the passion of her tears, and looked
at me so piteously, that what did I do but kiss her. It seemed to be a
very odd thing, when I came to think of it, because I hated kissing so, as
all honest boys must do. But she touched my heart with a sudden delight,
like a cowslip-blossom (although there were none to be seen yet), and the
sweetest flowers of spring.</p>
<p>She gave me no encouragement, as my mother in her place would have done;
nay, she even wiped her lips (which methought was rather rude of her), and
drew away, and smoothed her dress, as if I had used a freedom. Then I felt
my cheeks grow burning red, and I gazed at my legs and was sorry. For
although she was not at all a proud child (at any rate in her
countenance), yet I knew that she was by birth a thousand years in front
of me. They might have taken and framed me, or (which would be more to the
purpose) my sisters, until it was time for us to die, and then have
trained our children after us, for many generations; yet never could we
have gotten that look upon our faces which Lorna Doone had naturally, as
if she had been born to it.</p>
<p>Here was I, a yeoman's boy, a yeoman every inch of me, even where I was
naked; and there was she, a lady born, and thoroughly aware of it, and
dressed by people of rank and taste, who took pride in her beauty and set
it to advantage. For though her hair was fallen down by reason of her
wildness, and some of her frock was touched with wet where she had tended
me so, behold her dress was pretty enough for the queen of all the angels.
The colours were bright and rich indeed, and the substance very sumptuous,
yet simple and free from tinsel stuff, and matching most harmoniously. All
from her waist to her neck was white, plaited in close like a curtain, and
the dark soft weeping of her hair, and the shadowy light of her eyes (like
a wood rayed through with sunset), made it seem yet whiter, as if it were
done on purpose. As for the rest, she knew what it was a great deal better
than I did, for I never could look far away from her eyes when they were
opened upon me.</p>
<p>Now, seeing how I heeded her, and feeling that I had kissed her, although
she was such a little girl, eight years old or thereabouts, she turned to
the stream in a bashful manner, and began to watch the water, and rubbed
one leg against the other.</p>
<p>I, for my part, being vexed at her behaviour to me, took up all my things
to go, and made a fuss about it; to let her know I was going. But she did
not call me back at all, as I had made sure she would do; moreover, I knew
that to try the descent was almost certain death to me, and it looked as
dark as pitch; and so at the mouth I turned round again, and came back to
her, and said, 'Lorna.'</p>
<p>'Oh, I thought you were gone,' she answered; 'why did you ever come here?
Do you know what they would do to us, if they found you here with me?'</p>
<p>'Beat us, I dare say, very hard; or me, at least. They could never beat
you.'</p>
<p>'No. They would kill us both outright, and bury us here by the water; and
the water often tells me that I must come to that.'</p>
<p>'But what should they kill me for?'</p>
<p>'Because you have found the way up here, and they never could believe it.
Now, please to go; oh, please to go. They will kill us both in a moment.
Yes, I like you very much'—for I was teasing her to say it—'very
much indeed, and I will call you John Ridd, if you like; only please to
go, John. And when your feet are well, you know, you can come and tell me
how they are.'</p>
<p>'But I tell you, Lorna, I like you very much indeed—nearly as much
as Annie, and a great deal more than Lizzie. And I never saw any one like
you, and I must come back again to-morrow, and so must you, to see me; and
I will bring you such lots of things—there are apples still, and a
thrush I caught with only one leg broken, and our dog has just had puppies—'</p>
<p>'Oh, dear, they won't let me have a dog. There is not a dog in the valley.
They say they are such noisy things—'</p>
<p>'Only put your hand in mine—what little things they are, Lorna! And
I will bring you the loveliest dog; I will show you just how long he is.'</p>
<p>'Hush!' A shout came down the valley, and all my heart was trembling, like
water after sunset, and Lorna's face was altered from pleasant play to
terror. She shrank to me, and looked up at me, with such a power of
weakness, that I at once made up my mind to save her or to die with her. A
tingle went through all my bones, and I only longed for my carbine. The
little girl took courage from me, and put her cheek quite close to mine.</p>
<p>'Come with me down the waterfall. I can carry you easily; and mother will
take care of you.'</p>
<p>'No, no,' she cried, as I took her up: 'I will tell you what to do. They
are only looking for me. You see that hole, that hole there?'</p>
<p>She pointed to a little niche in the rock which verged the meadow, about
fifty yards away from us. In the fading of the twilight I could just
descry it.</p>
<p>'Yes, I see it; but they will see me crossing the grass to get there.'</p>
<p>'Look! look!' She could hardly speak. 'There is a way out from the top of
it; they would kill me if I told it. Oh, here they come, I can see them.'</p>
<p>The little maid turned as white as the snow which hung on the rocks above
her, and she looked at the water and then at me, and she cried, 'Oh dear!
oh dear!' And then she began to sob aloud, being so young and unready. But
I drew her behind the withy-bushes, and close down to the water, where it
was quiet and shelving deep, ere it came to the lip of the chasm. Here
they could not see either of us from the upper valley, and might have
sought a long time for us, even when they came quite near, if the trees
had been clad with their summer clothes. Luckily I had picked up my fish
and taken my three-pronged fork away.</p>
<p>Crouching in that hollow nest, as children get together in ever so little
compass, I saw a dozen fierce men come down, on the other side of the
water, not bearing any fire-arms, but looking lax and jovial, as if they
were come from riding and a dinner taken hungrily. 'Queen, queen!' they
were shouting, here and there, and now and then: 'where the pest is our
little queen gone?'</p>
<p>'They always call me "queen," and I am to be queen by-and-by,' Lorna
whispered to me, with her soft cheek on my rough one, and her little heart
beating against me: 'oh, they are crossing by the timber there, and then
they are sure to see us.'</p>
<p>'Stop,' said I; 'now I see what to do. I must get into the water, and you
must go to sleep.'</p>
<p>'To be sure, yes, away in the meadow there. But how bitter cold it will be
for you!'</p>
<p>She saw in a moment the way to do it, sooner than I could tell her; and
there was no time to lose.</p>
<p>'Now mind you never come again,' she whispered over her shoulder, as she
crept away with a childish twist hiding her white front from me; 'only I
shall come sometimes—oh, here they are, Madonna!'</p>
<p>Daring scarce to peep, I crept into the water, and lay down bodily in it,
with my head between two blocks of stone, and some flood-drift combing
over me. The dusk was deepening between the hills, and a white mist lay on
the river; but I, being in the channel of it, could see every ripple, and
twig, and rush, and glazing of twilight above it, as bright as in a
picture; so that to my ignorance there seemed no chance at all but what
the men must find me. For all this time they were shouting and swearing,
and keeping such a hullabaloo, that the rocks all round the valley rang,
and my heart quaked, so (what with this and the cold) that the water began
to gurgle round me, and to lap upon the pebbles.</p>
<p>Neither in truth did I try to stop it, being now so desperate, between the
fear and the wretchedness; till I caught a glimpse of the little maid,
whose beauty and whose kindliness had made me yearn to be with her. And
then I knew that for her sake I was bound to be brave and hide myself. She
was lying beneath a rock, thirty or forty yards from me, feigning to be
fast asleep, with her dress spread beautifully, and her hair drawn over
her.</p>
<p>Presently one of the great rough men came round a corner upon her; and
there he stopped and gazed awhile at her fairness and her innocence. Then
he caught her up in his arms, and kissed her so that I heard him; and if I
had only brought my gun, I would have tried to shoot him.</p>
<p>'Here our queen is! Here's the queen, here's the captain's daughter!' he
shouted to his comrades; 'fast asleep, by God, and hearty! Now I have
first claim to her; and no one else shall touch the child. Back to the
bottle, all of you!'</p>
<p>He set her dainty little form upon his great square shoulder, and her
narrow feet in one broad hand; and so in triumph marched away, with the
purple velvet of her skirt ruffling in his long black beard, and the
silken length of her hair fetched out, like a cloud by the wind behind
her. This way of her going vexed me so, that I leaped upright in the
water, and must have been spied by some of them, but for their haste to
the wine-bottle. Of their little queen they took small notice, being in
this urgency; although they had thought to find her drowned; but trooped
away after one another with kindly challenge to gambling, so far as I
could make them out; and I kept sharp watch, I assure you.</p>
<p>Going up that darkened glen, little Lorna, riding still the largest and
most fierce of them, turned and put up a hand to me, and I put up a hand
to her, in the thick of the mist and the willows.</p>
<p>She was gone, my little dear (though tall of her age and healthy); and
when I got over my thriftless fright, I longed to have more to say to her.
Her voice to me was so different from all I had ever heard before, as
might be a sweet silver bell intoned to the small chords of a harp. But I
had no time to think about this, if I hoped to have any supper.</p>
<p>I crept into a bush for warmth, and rubbed my shivering legs on bark, and
longed for mother's fagot. Then as daylight sank below the forget-me-not
of stars, with a sorrow to be quit, I knew that now must be my time to get
away, if there were any.</p>
<p>Therefore, wringing my sodden breaches, I managed to crawl from the bank
to the niche in the cliff which Lorna had shown me.</p>
<p>Through the dusk I had trouble to see the mouth, at even the five
land-yards of distance; nevertheless, I entered well, and held on by some
dead fern-stems, and did hope that no one would shoot me.</p>
<p>But while I was hugging myself like this, with a boyish manner of
reasoning, my joy was like to have ended in sad grief both to myself and
my mother, and haply to all honest folk who shall love to read this
history. For hearing a noise in front of me, and like a coward not knowing
where, but afraid to turn round or think of it, I felt myself going down
some deep passage into a pit of darkness. It was no good to catch the
sides, the whole thing seemed to go with me. Then, without knowing how, I
was leaning over a night of water.</p>
<p>This water was of black radiance, as are certain diamonds, spanned across
with vaults of rock, and carrying no image, neither showing marge nor end,
but centred (at it might be) with a bottomless indrawal.</p>
<p>With that chill and dread upon me, and the sheer rock all around, and the
faint light heaving wavily on the silence of this gulf, I must have lost
my wits and gone to the bottom, if there were any.</p>
<p>But suddenly a robin sang (as they will do after dark, towards spring) in
the brown fern and ivy behind me. I took it for our little Annie's voice
(for she could call any robin), and gathering quick warm comfort, sprang
up the steep way towards the starlight. Climbing back, as the stones glid
down, I heard the cold greedy wave go japping, like a blind black dog,
into the distance of arches and hollow depths of darkness.</p>
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