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<h2> CHAPTER XLIV </h2>
<h3> BROUGHT HOME AT LAST </h3>
<p>To my great delight I found that the weather, not often friendly to
lovers, and lately seeming so hostile, had in the most important matter
done me a signal service. For when I had promised to take my love from the
power of those wretches, the only way of escape apparent lay through the
main Doone-gate. For though I might climb the cliffs myself, especially
with the snow to aid me, I durst not try to fetch Lorna up them, even if
she were not half-starved, as well as partly frozen; and as for Gwenny's
door, as we called it (that is to say, the little entrance from the wooded
hollow), it was snowed up long ago to the level of the hills around.
Therefore I was at my wit's end how to get them out; the passage by the
Doone-gate being long, and dark, and difficult, and leading to such a
weary circuit among the snowy moors and hills.</p>
<p>But now, being homeward-bound by the shortest possible track, I slipped
along between the bonfire and the boundary cliffs, where I found a caved
way of snow behind a sort of avalanche: so that if the Doones had been
keeping watch (which they were not doing, but revelling), they could
scarcely have discovered me. And when I came to my old ascent, where I had
often scaled the cliff and made across the mountains, it struck me that I
would just have a look at my first and painful entrance, to wit, the
water-slide. I never for a moment imagined that this could help me now;
for I never had dared to descend it, even in the finest weather; still I
had a curiosity to know what my old friend was like, with so much snow
upon him. But, to my very great surprise, there was scarcely any snow
there at all, though plenty curling high overhead from the cliff, like
bolsters over it. Probably the sweeping of the north-east wind up the
narrow chasm had kept the showers from blocking it, although the water had
no power under the bitter grip of frost. All my water-slide was now less a
slide than path of ice; furrowed where the waters ran over fluted ridges;
seamed where wind had tossed and combed them, even while congealing; and
crossed with little steps wherever the freezing torrent lingered. And here
and there the ice was fibred with the trail of sludge-weed, slanting from
the side, and matted, so as to make resting-place.</p>
<p>Lo it was easy track and channel, as if for the very purpose made, down
which I could guide my sledge with Lorna sitting in it. There were only
two things to be feared; one lest the rolls of snow above should fall in
and bury us; the other lest we should rush too fast, and so be carried
headlong into the black whirlpool at the bottom, the middle of which was
still unfrozen, and looking more horrible by the contrast. Against this
danger I made provision, by fixing a stout bar across; but of the other we
must take our chance, and trust ourselves to Providence.</p>
<p>I hastened home at my utmost speed, and told my mother for God's sake to
keep the house up till my return, and to have plenty of fire blazing, and
plenty of water boiling, and food enough hot for a dozen people, and the
best bed aired with the warming-pan. Dear mother smiled softly at my
excitement, though her own was not much less, I am sure, and enhanced by
sore anxiety. Then I gave very strict directions to Annie, and praised her
a little, and kissed her; and I even endeavoured to flatter Eliza, lest
she should be disagreeable.</p>
<p>After this I took some brandy, both within and about me; the former,
because I had sharp work to do; and the latter in fear of whatever might
happen, in such great cold, to my comrades. Also I carried some other
provisions, grieving much at their coldness: and then I went to the upper
linhay, and took our new light pony-sledd, which had been made almost as
much for pleasure as for business; though God only knows how our girls
could have found any pleasure in bumping along so. On the snow, however,
it ran as sweetly as if it had been made for it; yet I durst not take the
pony with it; in the first place, because his hoofs would break through
the ever-shifting surface of the light and piling snow; and secondly,
because these ponies, coming from the forest, have a dreadful trick of
neighing, and most of all in frosty weather.</p>
<p>Therefore I girded my own body with a dozen turns of hay-rope, twisting
both the ends in under at the bottom of my breast, and winding the hay on
the skew a little, that the hempen thong might not slip between, and so
cut me in the drawing. I put a good piece of spare rope in the sledd, and
the cross-seat with the back to it, which was stuffed with our own wool,
as well as two or three fur coats; and then, just as I was starting, out
came Annie, in spite of the cold, panting for fear of missing me, and with
nothing on her head, but a lanthorn in one hand.</p>
<p>'Oh, John, here is the most wonderful thing! Mother has never shown it
before; and I can't think how she could make up her mind. She had gotten
it in a great well of a cupboard, with camphor, and spirits, and lavender.
Lizzie says it is a most magnificent sealskin cloak, worth fifty pounds,
or a farthing.'</p>
<p>'At any rate it is soft and warm,' said I, very calmly flinging it into
the bottom of the sledd. 'Tell mother I will put it over Lorna's feet.'</p>
<p>'Lorna's feet! Oh, you great fool,' cried Annie, for the first time
reviling me; 'over her shoulders; and be proud, you very stupid John.'</p>
<p>'It is not good enough for her feet,' I answered, with strong emphasis;
'but don't tell mother I said so, Annie. Only thank her very kindly.'</p>
<p>With that I drew my traces hard, and set my ashen staff into the snow, and
struck out with my best foot foremost (the best one at snow-shoes, I
mean), and the sledd came after me as lightly as a dog might follow; and
Annie, with the lanthorn, seemed to be left behind and waiting like a
pretty lamp-post.</p>
<p>The full moon rose as bright behind me as a paten of pure silver, casting
on the snow long shadows of the few things left above, burdened rock, and
shaggy foreland, and the labouring trees. In the great white desolation,
distance was a mocking vision; hills looked nigh, and valleys far; when
hills were far and valleys nigh. And the misty breath of frost, piercing
through the ribs of rock, striking to the pith of trees, creeping to the
heart of man, lay along the hollow places, like a serpent sloughing. Even
as my own gaunt shadow (travestied as if I were the moonlight's
daddy-longlegs), went before me down the slope; even I, the shadow's
master, who had tried in vain to cough, when coughing brought good
liquorice, felt a pressure on my bosom, and a husking in my throat.</p>
<p>However, I went on quietly, and at a very tidy speed; being only too
thankful that the snow had ceased, and no wind as yet arisen. And from the
ring of low white vapour girding all the verge of sky, and from the rosy
blue above, and the shafts of starlight set upon a quivering bow, as well
as from the moon itself and the light behind it, having learned the signs
of frost from its bitter twinges, I knew that we should have a night as
keen as ever England felt. Nevertheless, I had work enough to keep me warm
if I managed it. The question was, could I contrive to save my darling
from it?</p>
<p>Daring not to risk my sledd by any fall from the valley-cliffs, I dragged
it very carefully up the steep incline of ice, through the narrow chasm,
and so to the very brink and verge where first I had seen my Lorna, in the
fishing days of boyhood. As I then had a trident fork, for sticking of the
loaches, so I now had a strong ash stake, to lay across from rock to rock,
and break the speed of descending. With this I moored the sledd quite
safe, at the very lip of the chasm, where all was now substantial ice,
green and black in the moonlight; and then I set off up the valley,
skirting along one side of it.</p>
<p>The stack-fire still was burning strongly, but with more of heat than
blaze; and many of the younger Doones were playing on the verge of it, the
children making rings of fire, and their mothers watching them. All the
grave and reverend warriors having heard of rheumatism, were inside of log
and stone, in the two lowest houses, with enough of candles burning to
make our list of sheep come short.</p>
<p>All these I passed, without the smallest risk or difficulty, walking up
the channel of drift which I spoke of once before. And then I crossed,
with more of care, and to the door of Lorna's house, and made the sign,
and listened, after taking my snow-shoes off.</p>
<p>But no one came, as I expected, neither could I espy a light. And I seemed
to hear a faint low sound, like the moaning of the snow-wind. Then I
knocked again more loudly, with a knocking at my heart: and receiving no
answer, set all my power at once against the door. In a moment it flew
inwards, and I glided along the passage with my feet still slippery. There
in Lorna's room I saw, by the moonlight flowing in, a sight which drove me
beyond sense.</p>
<p>Lorna was behind a chair, crouching in the corner, with her hands up, and
a crucifix, or something that looked like it. In the middle of the room
lay Gwenny Carfax, stupid, yet with one hand clutching the ankle of a
struggling man. Another man stood above my Lorna, trying to draw the chair
away. In a moment I had him round the waist, and he went out of the window
with a mighty crash of glass; luckily for him that window had no bars like
some of them. Then I took the other man by the neck; and he could not
plead for mercy. I bore him out of the house as lightly as I would bear a
baby, yet squeezing his throat a little more than I fain would do to an
infant. By the bright moonlight I saw that I carried Marwood de
Whichehalse. For his father's sake I spared him, and because he had been
my schoolfellow; but with every muscle of my body strung with indignation,
I cast him, like a skittle, from me into a snowdrift, which closed over
him. Then I looked for the other fellow, tossed through Lorna's window,
and found him lying stunned and bleeding, neither able to groan yet.
Charleworth Doone, if his gushing blood did not much mislead me.</p>
<p>It was no time to linger now; I fastened my shoes in a moment, and caught
up my own darling with her head upon my shoulder, where she whispered
faintly; and telling Gwenny to follow me, or else I would come back for
her, if she could not walk the snow, I ran the whole distance to my sledd,
caring not who might follow me. Then by the time I had set up Lorna,
beautiful and smiling, with the seal-skin cloak all over her, sturdy
Gwenny came along, having trudged in the track of my snow-shoes, although
with two bags on her back. I set her in beside her mistress, to support
her, and keep warm; and then with one look back at the glen, which had
been so long my home of heart, I hung behind the sledd, and launched it
down the steep and dangerous way.</p>
<p>Though the cliffs were black above us, and the road unseen in front, and a
great white grave of snow might at a single word come down, Lorna was as
calm and happy as an infant in its bed. She knew that I was with her; and
when I told her not to speak, she touched my hand in silence. Gwenny was
in a much greater fright, having never seen such a thing before, neither
knowing what it is to yield to pure love's confidence. I could hardly keep
her quiet, without making a noise myself. With my staff from rock to rock,
and my weight thrown backward, I broke the sledd's too rapid way, and
brought my grown love safely out, by the selfsame road which first had led
me to her girlish fancy, and my boyish slavery.</p>
<p>Unpursued, yet looking back as if some one must be after us, we skirted
round the black whirling pool, and gained the meadows beyond it. Here
there was hard collar work, the track being all uphill and rough; and
Gwenny wanted to jump out, to lighten the sledd and to push behind. But I
would not hear of it; because it was now so deadly cold, and I feared that
Lorna might get frozen, without having Gwenny to keep her warm. And after
all, it was the sweetest labour I had ever known in all my life, to be
sure that I was pulling Lorna, and pulling her to our own farmhouse.</p>
<p>Gwenny's nose was touched with frost, before we had gone much farther,
because she would not keep it quiet and snug beneath the sealskin. And
here I had to stop in the moonlight (which was very dangerous) and rub it
with a clove of snow, as Eliza had taught me; and Gwenny scolding all the
time, as if myself had frozen it. Lorna was now so far oppressed with all
the troubles of the evening, and the joy that followed them, as well as by
the piercing cold and difficulty of breathing, that she lay quite
motionless, like fairest wax in the moonlight—when we stole a glance
at her, beneath the dark folds of the cloak; and I thought that she was
falling into the heavy snow-sleep, whence there is no awaking.</p>
<p>Therefore, I drew my traces tight, and set my whole strength to the
business; and we slipped along at a merry pace, although with many
joltings, which must have sent my darling out into the cold snowdrifts but
for the short strong arm of Gwenny. And so in about an hour's time, in
spite of many hindrances, we came home to the old courtyard, and all the
dogs saluted us. My heart was quivering, and my cheeks as hot as the
Doones' bonfire, with wondering both what Lorna would think of our
farm-yard, and what my mother would think of her. Upon the former subject
my anxiety was wasted, for Lorna neither saw a thing, nor even opened her
heavy eyes. And as to what mother would think of her, she was certain not
to think at all, until she had cried over her.</p>
<p>And so indeed it came to pass. Even at this length of time, I can hardly
tell it, although so bright before my mind, because it moves my heart so.
The sledd was at the open door, with only Lorna in it; for Gwenny Carfax
had jumped out, and hung back in the clearing, giving any reason rather
than the only true one—that she would not be intruding. At the door
were all our people; first, of course, Betty Muxworthy, teaching me how to
draw the sledd, as if she had been born in it, and flourishing with a
great broom, wherever a speck of snow lay. Then dear Annie, and old Molly
(who was very quiet, and counted almost for nobody), and behind them,
mother, looking as if she wanted to come first, but doubted how the
manners lay. In the distance Lizzie stood, fearful of encouraging, but
unable to keep out of it.</p>
<p>Betty was going to poke her broom right in under the sealskin cloak, where
Lorna lay unconscious, and where her precious breath hung frozen, like a
silver cobweb; but I caught up Betty's broom, and flung it clean away over
the corn chamber; and then I put the others by, and fetched my mother
forward.</p>
<p>'You shall see her first,' I said: 'is she not your daughter? Hold the
light there, Annie.'</p>
<p>Dear mother's hands were quick and trembling, as she opened the shining
folds; and there she saw my Lorna sleeping, with her black hair all
dishevelled, and she bent and kissed her forehead, and only said, 'God
bless her, John!' And then she was taken with violent weeping, and I was
forced to hold her.</p>
<p>'Us may tich of her now, I rackon,' said Betty in her most jealous way;
'Annie, tak her by the head, and I'll tak her by the toesen. No taime to
stand here like girt gawks. Don'ee tak on zo, missus. Ther be vainer vish
in the zea—Lor, but, her be a booty!'</p>
<p>With this, they carried her into the house, Betty chattering all the
while, and going on now about Lorna's hands, and the others crowding round
her, so that I thought I was not wanted among so many women, and should
only get the worst of it, and perhaps do harm to my darling. Therefore I
went and brought Gwenny in, and gave her a potful of bacon and peas, and
an iron spoon to eat it with, which she did right heartily.</p>
<p>Then I asked her how she could have been such a fool as to let those two
vile fellows enter the house where Lorna was; and she accounted for it so
naturally, that I could only blame myself. For my agreement had been to
give one loud knock (if you happen to remember) and after that two little
knocks. Well these two drunken rogues had come; and one, being very drunk
indeed, had given a great thump; and then nothing more to do with it; and
the other, being three-quarters drunk, had followed his leader (as one
might say) but feebly, and making two of it. Whereupon up jumped Lorna,
and declared that her John was there.</p>
<p>All this Gwenny told me shortly, between the whiles of eating, and even
while she licked the spoon; and then there came a message for me that my
love was sensible, and was seeking all around for me. Then I told Gwenny
to hold her tongue (whatever she did among us), and not to trust to
women's words; and she told me they all were liars, as she had found out
long ago; and the only thing to believe in was an honest man, when found.
Thereupon I could have kissed her as a sort of tribute, liking to be
appreciated; yet the peas upon her lips made me think about it; and
thought is fatal to action. So I went to see my dear.</p>
<p>That sight I shall not forget; till my dying head falls back, and my
breast can lift no more. I know not whether I were then more blessed, or
harrowed by it. For in the settle was my Lorna, propped with pillows round
her, and her clear hands spread sometimes to the blazing fireplace. In her
eyes no knowledge was of anything around her, neither in her neck the
sense of leaning towards anything. Only both her lovely hands were
entreating something, to spare her, or to love her; and the lines of
supplication quivered in her sad white face.</p>
<p>'All go away, except my mother,' I said very quietly, but so that I would
be obeyed; and everybody knew it. Then mother came to me alone; and she
said, 'The frost is in her brain; I have heard of this before, John.'
'Mother, I will have it out,' was all that I could answer her; 'leave her
to me altogether; only you sit there and watch.' For I felt that Lorna
knew me, and no other soul but me; and that if not interfered with, she
would soon come home to me. Therefore I sat gently by her, leaving nature,
as it were, to her own good time and will. And presently the glance that
watched me, as at distance and in doubt, began to flutter and to brighten,
and to deepen into kindness, then to beam with trust and love, and then
with gathering tears to falter, and in shame to turn away. But the small
entreating hands found their way, as if by instinct, to my great
projecting palms; and trembled there, and rested there.</p>
<p>For a little while we lingered thus, neither wishing to move away, neither
caring to look beyond the presence of the other; both alike so full of
hope, and comfort, and true happiness; if only the world would let us be.
And then a little sob disturbed us, and mother tried to make believe that
she was only coughing. But Lorna, guessing who she was, jumped up so very
rashly that she almost set her frock on fire from the great ash log; and
away she ran to the old oak chair, where mother was by the clock-case
pretending to be knitting, and she took the work from mother's hands, and
laid them both upon her head, kneeling humbly, and looking up.</p>
<p>'God bless you, my fair mistress!' said mother, bending nearer, and then
as Lorna's gaze prevailed, 'God bless you, my sweet child!'</p>
<p>And so she went to mother's heart by the very nearest road, even as she
had come to mine; I mean the road of pity, smoothed by grace, and youth,
and gentleness.</p>
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