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<h2> CHAPTER XXI </h2>
<h3> LORNA ENDS HER STORY </h3>
<p>'It is not a twelvemonth yet, although it seems ten years agone, since I
blew the downy globe to learn the time of day, or set beneath my chin the
veinings of the varnished buttercup, or fired the fox-glove cannonade, or
made a captive of myself with dandelion fetters; for then I had not very
much to trouble me in earnest, but went about, romancing gravely, playing
at bo-peep with fear, making for myself strong heroes of gray rock or
fir-tree, adding to my own importance, as the children love to do.</p>
<p>'As yet I had not truly learned the evil of our living, the scorn of law,
the outrage, and the sorrow caused to others. It even was a point with all
to hide the roughness from me, to show me but the gallant side, and keep
in shade the other. My grandfather, Sir Ensor Doone, had given strictest
order, as I discovered afterwards, that in my presence all should be
seemly, kind, and vigilant. Nor was it very difficult to keep most part of
the mischief from me, for no Doone ever robs at home, neither do they
quarrel much, except at times of gambling. And though Sir Ensor Doone is
now so old and growing feeble, his own way he will have still, and no one
dare deny him. Even our fiercest and most mighty swordsmen, seared from
all sense of right or wrong, yet have plentiful sense of fear, when
brought before that white-haired man. Not that he is rough with them, or
querulous, or rebukeful; but that he has a strange soft smile, and a gaze
they cannot answer, and a knowledge deeper far than they have of
themselves. Under his protection, I am as safe from all those men (some of
whom are but little akin to me) as if I slept beneath the roof of the
King's Lord Justiciary.</p>
<p>'But now, at the time I speak of, one evening of last summer, a horrible
thing befell, which took all play of childhood from me. The fifteenth day
of last July was very hot and sultry, long after the time of sundown; and
I was paying heed of it, because of the old saying that if it rain then,
rain will fall on forty days thereafter. I had been long by the waterside
at this lower end of the valley, plaiting a little crown of woodbine
crocketed with sprigs of heath—to please my grandfather, who likes
to see me gay at supper-time. Being proud of my tiara, which had cost some
trouble, I set it on my head at once, to save the chance of crushing, and
carrying my gray hat, ventured by a path not often trod. For I must be
home at the supper-time, or grandfather would be exceeding wrath; and the
worst of his anger is that he never condescends to show it.</p>
<p>'Therefore, instead of the open mead, or the windings of the river, I made
short cut through the ash-trees covert which lies in the middle of our
vale, with the water skirting or cleaving it. You have never been up so
far as that—at least to the best of my knowledge—but you see
it like a long gray spot, from the top of the cliffs above us. Here I was
not likely to meet any of our people because the young ones are afraid of
some ancient tale about it, and the old ones have no love of trees where
gunshots are uncertain.</p>
<p>'It was more almost than dusk, down below the tree-leaves, and I was eager
to go through, and be again beyond it. For the gray dark hung around me,
scarcely showing shadow; and the little light that glimmered seemed to
come up from the ground. For the earth was strown with the winter-spread
and coil of last year's foliage, the lichened claws of chalky twigs, and
the numberless decay which gives a light in its decaying. I, for my part,
hastened shyly, ready to draw back and run from hare, or rabbit, or small
field-mouse.</p>
<p>'At a sudden turn of the narrow path, where it stopped again to the river,
a man leaped out from behind a tree, and stopped me, and seized hold of
me. I tried to shriek, but my voice was still; I could only hear my heart.</p>
<p>'"Now, Cousin Lorna, my good cousin," he said, with ease and calmness;
"your voice is very sweet, no doubt, from all that I can see of you. But I
pray you keep it still, unless you would give to dusty death your very
best cousin and trusty guardian, Alan Brandir of Loch Awe."</p>
<p>'"You my guardian!" I said, for the idea was too ludicrous; and ludicrous
things always strike me first, through some fault of nature.</p>
<p>'"I have in truth that honour, madam," he answered, with a sweeping bow;
"unless I err in taking you for Mistress Lorna Doone."</p>
<p>'"You have not mistaken me. My name is Lorna Doone."</p>
<p>'He looked at me, with gravity, and was inclined to make some claim to
closer consideration upon the score of kinship; but I shrunk back, and
only said, "Yes, my name is Lorna Doone."</p>
<p>'"Then I am your faithful guardian, Alan Brandir of Loch Awe; called Lord
Alan Brandir, son of a worthy peer of Scotland. Now will you confide in
me?"</p>
<p>'"I confide in you!" I cried, looking at him with amazement; "why, you are
not older than I am!"</p>
<p>'"Yes I am, three years at least. You, my ward, are not sixteen. I, your
worshipful guardian, am almost nineteen years of age."</p>
<p>'Upon hearing this I looked at him, for that seemed then a venerable age;
but the more I looked the more I doubted, although he was dressed quite
like a man. He led me in a courtly manner, stepping at his tallest to an
open place beside the water; where the light came as in channel, and was
made the most of by glancing waves and fair white stones.</p>
<p>'"Now am I to your liking, cousin?" he asked, when I had gazed at him,
until I was almost ashamed, except at such a stripling. "Does my Cousin
Lorna judge kindly of her guardian, and her nearest kinsman? In a word, is
our admiration mutual?"</p>
<p>'"Truly I know not," I said; "but you seem good-natured, and to have no
harm in you. Do they trust you with a sword?"</p>
<p>'For in my usage among men of stature and strong presence, this pretty
youth, so tricked and slender, seemed nothing but a doll to me. Although
he scared me in the wood, now that I saw him in good twilight, lo! he was
but little greater than my little self; and so tasselled and so ruffled
with a mint of bravery, and a green coat barred with red, and a slim sword
hanging under him, it was the utmost I could do to look at him
half-gravely.</p>
<p>'"I fear that my presence hath scarce enough of ferocity about it," (he
gave a jerk to his sword as he spoke, and clanked it on the brook-stones);
"yet do I assure you, cousin, that I am not without some prowess; and many
a master of defence hath this good sword of mine disarmed. Now if the
boldest and biggest robber in all this charming valley durst so much as
breathe the scent of that flower coronal, which doth not adorn but is
adorned"—here he talked some nonsense—"I would cleave him from
head to foot, ere ever he could fly or cry."</p>
<p>'"Hush!" I said; "talk not so loudly, or thou mayst have to do both
thyself, and do them both in vain."</p>
<p>'For he was quite forgetting now, in his bravery before me, where he
stood, and with whom he spoke, and how the summer lightning shone above
the hills and down the hollow. And as I gazed on this slight fair youth,
clearly one of high birth and breeding (albeit over-boastful), a chill of
fear crept over me; because he had no strength or substance, and would be
no more than a pin-cushion before the great swords of the Doones.</p>
<p>'"I pray you be not vexed with me," he answered, in a softer voice; "for I
have travelled far and sorely, for the sake of seeing you. I know right
well among whom I am, and that their hospitality is more of the knife than
the salt-stand. Nevertheless I am safe enough, for my foot is the fleetest
in Scotland, and what are these hills to me? Tush! I have seen some border
forays among wilder spirits and craftier men than these be. Once I mind
some years agone, when I was quite a stripling lad—"</p>
<p>'"Worshipful guardian," I said, "there is no time now for history. If thou
art in no haste, I am, and cannot stay here idling. Only tell me how I am
akin and under wardship to thee, and what purpose brings thee here."</p>
<p>'"In order, cousin—all things in order, even with fair ladies.
First, I am thy uncle's son, my father is thy mother's brother, or at
least thy grandmother's—unless I am deceived in that which I have
guessed, and no other man. For my father, being a leading lord in the
councils of King Charles the Second, appointed me to learn the law, not
for my livelihood, thank God, but because he felt the lack of it in
affairs of state. But first your leave, young Mistress Lorna; I cannot lay
down legal maxims, without aid of smoke."</p>
<p>'He leaned against a willow-tree, and drawing from a gilded box a little
dark thing like a stick, placed it between his lips, and then striking a
flint on steel made fire and caught it upon touchwood. With this he
kindled the tip of the stick, until it glowed with a ring of red, and then
he breathed forth curls of smoke, blue and smelling on the air like spice.
I had never seen this done before, though acquainted with tobacco-pipes;
and it made me laugh, until I thought of the peril that must follow it.</p>
<p>'"Cousin, have no fear," he said; "this makes me all the safer; they will
take me for a glow-worm, and thee for the flower it shines upon. But to
return—of law I learned as you may suppose, but little; although I
have capacities. But the thing was far too dull for me. All I care for is
adventure, moving chance, and hot encounter; therefore all of law I
learned was how to live without it. Nevertheless, for amusement's sake, as
I must needs be at my desk an hour or so in the afternoon, I took to the
sporting branch of the law, the pitfalls, and the ambuscades; and of all
the traps to be laid therein, pedigrees are the rarest. There is scarce a
man worth a cross of butter, but what you may find a hole in his shield
within four generations. And so I struck our own escutcheon, and it
sounded hollow. There is a point—but heed not that; enough that
being curious now, I followed up the quarry, and I am come to this at last—we,
even we, the lords of Loch Awe, have an outlaw for our cousin, and I would
we had more, if they be like you."</p>
<p>'"Sir," I answered, being amused by his manner, which was new to me (for
the Doones are much in earnest), "surely you count it no disgrace to be of
kin to Sir Ensor Doone, and all his honest family!"</p>
<p>'"If it be so, it is in truth the very highest honour and would heal ten
holes in our escutcheon. What noble family but springs from a captain
among robbers? Trade alone can spoil our blood; robbery purifies it. The
robbery of one age is the chivalry of the next. We may start anew, and vie
with even the nobility of France, if we can once enrol but half the Doones
upon our lineage."</p>
<p>'"I like not to hear you speak of the Doones, as if they were no more than
that," I exclaimed, being now unreasonable; "but will you tell me, once
for all, sir, how you are my guardian?"</p>
<p>'"That I will do. You are my ward because you were my father's ward, under
the Scottish law; and now my father being so deaf, I have succeeded to
that right—at least in my own opinion—under which claim I am
here to neglect my trust no longer, but to lead you away from scenes and
deeds which (though of good repute and comely) are not the best for young
gentlewomen. There spoke I not like a guardian? After that can you
mistrust me?"</p>
<p>'"But," said I, "good Cousin Alan (if I may so call you), it is not meet
for young gentlewomen to go away with young gentlemen, though fifty times
their guardians. But if you will only come with me, and explain your tale
to my grandfather, he will listen to you quietly, and take no advantage of
you."</p>
<p>'"I thank you much, kind Mistress Lorna, to lead the goose into the fox's
den! But, setting by all thought of danger, I have other reasons against
it. Now, come with your faithful guardian, child. I will pledge my honour
against all harm, and to bear you safe to London. By the law of the realm,
I am now entitled to the custody of your fair person, and of all your
chattels."</p>
<p>'"But, sir, all that you have learned of law, is how to live without it."</p>
<p>'"Fairly met, fair cousin mine! Your wit will do me credit, after a little
sharpening. And there is none to do that better than your aunt, my mother.
Although she knows not of my coming, she is longing to receive you. Come,
and in a few months' time you shall set the mode at Court, instead of
pining here, and weaving coronals of daisies."</p>
<p>'I turned aside, and thought a little. Although he seemed so light of
mind, and gay in dress and manner, I could not doubt his honesty; and saw,
beneath his jaunty air, true mettle and ripe bravery. Scarce had I thought
of his project twice, until he spoke of my aunt, his mother, but then the
form of my dearest friend, my sweet Aunt Sabina, seemed to come and bid me
listen, for this was what she prayed for. Moreover I felt (though not as
now) that Doone Glen was no place for me or any proud young maiden. But
while I thought, the yellow lightning spread behind a bulk of clouds,
three times ere the flash was done, far off and void of thunder; and from
the pile of cloud before it, cut as from black paper, and lit to depths of
blackness by the blaze behind it, a form as of an aged man, sitting in a
chair loose-mantled, seemed to lift a hand and warn.</p>
<p>'This minded me of my grandfather, and all the care I owed him. Moreover,
now the storm was rising and I began to grow afraid; for of all things
awful to me thunder is the dreadfulest. It doth so growl, like a lion
coming, and then so roll, and roar, and rumble, out of a thickening
darkness, then crack like the last trump overhead through cloven air and
terror, that all my heart lies low and quivers, like a weed in water. I
listened now for the distant rolling of the great black storm, and heard
it, and was hurried by it. But the youth before me waved his rolled
tobacco at it, and drawled in his daintiest tone and manner,—</p>
<p>'"The sky is having a smoke, I see, and dropping sparks, and grumbling. I
should have thought these Exmoor hills too small to gather thunder."</p>
<p>'"I cannot go, I will not go with you, Lord Alan Brandir," I answered,
being vexed a little by those words of his. "You are not grave enough for
me, you are not old enough for me. My Aunt Sabina would not have wished
it; nor would I leave my grandfather, without his full permission. I thank
you much for coming, sir; but be gone at once by the way you came; and
pray how did you come, sir?"</p>
<p>'"Fair cousin, you will grieve for this; you will mourn, when you cannot
mend it. I would my mother had been here, soon would she have persuaded
you. And yet," he added, with the smile of his accustomed gaiety, "it
would have been an unco thing, as we say in Scotland, for her ladyship to
have waited upon you, as her graceless son has done, and hopes to do again
ere long. Down the cliffs I came, and up them I must make way back again.
Now adieu, fair Cousin Lorna, I see you are in haste tonight; but I am
right proud of my guardianship. Give me just one flower for token"—here
he kissed his hand to me, and I threw him a truss of woodbine—"adieu,
fair cousin, trust me well, I will soon be here again."</p>
<p>'"That thou never shalt, sir," cried a voice as loud as a culverin; and
Carver Doone had Alan Brandir as a spider hath a fly. The boy made a
little shriek at first, with the sudden shock and the terror; then he
looked, methought, ashamed of himself, and set his face to fight for it.
Very bravely he strove and struggled, to free one arm and grasp his sword;
but as well might an infant buried alive attempt to lift his gravestone.
Carver Doone, with his great arms wrapped around the slim gay body, smiled
(as I saw by the flash from heaven) at the poor young face turned up to
him; then (as a nurse bears off a child, who is loath to go to bed), he
lifted the youth from his feet, and bore him away into the darkness.</p>
<p>'I was young then. I am older now; older by ten years, in thought,
although it is not a twelvemonth since. If that black deed were done
again, I could follow, and could combat it, could throw weak arms on the
murderer, and strive to be murdered also. I am now at home with violence;
and no dark death surprises me.</p>
<p>'But, being as I was that night, the horror overcame me. The crash of
thunder overhead, the last despairing look, the death-piece framed with
blaze of lightning—my young heart was so affrighted that I could not
gasp. My breath went from me, and I knew not where I was, or who, or what.
Only that I lay, and cowered, under great trees full of thunder; and could
neither count, nor moan, nor have my feet to help me.</p>
<p>'Yet hearkening, as a coward does, through the brushing of the wind, and
echo of far noises, I heard a sharp sound as of iron, and a fall of heavy
wood. No unmanly shriek came with it, neither cry for mercy. Carver Doone
knows what it was; and so did Alan Brandir.'</p>
<p>Here Lorna Doone could tell no more, being overcome with weeping. Only
through her tears she whispered, as a thing too bad to tell, that she had
seen that giant Carver, in a few days afterwards, smoking a little round
brown stick, like those of her poor cousin. I could not press her any more
with questions, or for clearness; although I longed very much to know
whether she had spoken of it to her grandfather or the Counsellor. But she
was now in such condition, both of mind and body, from the force of her
own fear multiplied by telling it, that I did nothing more than coax her,
at a distance humbly; and so that she could see that some one was at least
afraid of her. This (although I knew not women in those days, as now I do,
and never shall know much of it), this, I say, so brought her round, that
all her fear was now for me, and how to get me safely off, without
mischance to any one. And sooth to say, in spite of longing just to see if
Master Carver could have served me such a trick—as it grew towards
the dusk, I was not best pleased to be there; for it seemed a lawless
place, and some of Lorna's fright stayed with me as I talked it away from
her.</p>
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