Love Stories That Have Thrilled the World.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume IV, Issue 140, 30 May 1914, Page 4 (Supplement)

Love Stories That Have Thrilled the World.

THE WOOING OF LOKXA DOONE BY BRAVE JOHN RIDD.

[We are unable to disclose the name of the writer of this series of articles, but we may say that lie probably possesses more knowledge of the subject than any other living man—not* only from (personal experience, but also because he has devoted the greater part of his life to the study of the. love stories of all nations. He is now married, and over fifty firears Ot age, so that it will be useless for any of our susceptible young lady readers to endeavour to get into communication with him. He makes it a condition that his n.vue should remain a secret.] (Copyright.)

Blackmore’s novel of “Lorna Doone’ has done for Devonshire what Sir IV alter Scott’s immortal stories did for the Highlands of Scotland. It has surrounded the moors of Devon with the glamour of romance, and thousands have been induced to visit the “fair land” by reading the charming pages o. “Lorna Doone.” Here is the story in brief. ~ , , . When young John Ridd recovered his senses alter his life-and-death struggle to 'the summit of the waterfall, his hands were lull of grass and mould, and a little girl, kneeling at his side, was rubbing his forehtod tenderly with a dock-leaf and a handkerchief. “Oh, I am so glad,” she whispered, soitly, as he opened his eyes and looked at her; “ now you will try to le better, won t vou?” , , Never had the farmer’s boy heard so sweet a sound as came from between her bright red lins, or seen anything so beautiful as the'large dark eyes which looked down on him so full of tenderness and Pity. “What is your name? lie asked, as h‘s hazy eyes wandered down the’ black shower of tne little maid’s hair. “Lorna Doone,” she answered, in a low voice; “if you please, my name is Lorna Doone —and I thought you must have known it.” At the name John sprang to his feet. The word struck terror in every limb ot his body, for the “ bloody Doones” were the awe of all Devon and Somerset, outlaws traitors, murderers. And the valley round which his fear-stricken eyes now wandered, shut in within its oval rampart of towering rock, was their stronghold into which his. too daring steps had innocently led him. At sight of the terror in his iace Lorna's blushes turned into tears, and tears to long, low sobs. She flung her little soft arms up in the passion of her weeping, and looked at the strange boy so piteously that what could he do but kiss her —much as he hated kissing, ns all honest hoys must do. And the kiss touched, his heart with a sudden delight, like a ccwslip-blossom and the sweetest flowers of spring. “Whv. oh, why did you ever come here?” th© child asked, as she wiped her lips and drew away. “If they see us, they will kill us both outiight and bury us here by the water. . . . Hush!” she exclaimed, as a shout came down the vallev. “Here they come! Run for your life! You see that hole. There’s a way out from the top.of it; they would kill me if I told cf it.” But it was already too late. There was r.o time for such escape; for the rocks .all round the valley were ringing with the shouting, and a dozen fierce men were coming racing towards them on the other side of the water. In this desperate extremity John Ridd flung himse’f between two blocks of stone, some flood-drift combing over him, while Lorna, with equally quick resource, lay down beneath a rock, feigning to he fast asleep. “Here our queen is! Here’s the cantain’s daughter!” shouted the foremost Doone to his comrades; “ fast asleep, by God. and hearty!” And se+ting her dai”t-v little form on his great square shoulder be enrrird her off in triumnh, wi’h the mirnlo velvet of her sk’-rt Tiifflinn- his Jorg I’laek ba-rd n-vl th« silken length of her hair floating I'ko a cloud behind her. And rat- until he can.rd’t his last distant glim use of T-oma, waving a tiny hand in farewell, did J-hn creep from his watery hidingrhee: and. climbing the steep face of the reck by the secret wav she had noi'.tc-] cut to him. bo marie bis way h-ouie through the Beg-worthy Forc'd. It was manv weeks before John Ridd, recovered from the terrors of this adventure. To Lave entered the fastness of the Doones and to hare emerged alive was a mirae'e —no less: fop the Doones, ever since Sir Ensor, driven from his north-country lands, a rebel-outlaw in the days of the Civil War, had found a refuge for his family and retainers in Bagworthy Forest, had been the scourge of two counties, plundering and slaying all who crossed the' ’ path. As a child, John had caught glimpses of them, grim, armoured giants, riding across the country, plunder heaped behind their saddles, the carcasses of sheep and deer swinging in front; and his little legs had trembled at the sight. Only a year, too, before his adventure his ownf at —honest, harmless John Ridd, the Exmoor farmer —had been found dead on the moor, his cudgel lying broken under him, ruthlessly shot down by the Doones. But greater for than the terror of his adventure was the sweet wonder of it, which uas to remain a treasured memory as long as life lasted. By day and night he was haunted by the vision of the little maid stooping over him with tender eyes of pity, and the R>i«etness of her voice "as ever in his ears. In the rustling of every bough, in the graceful band of every tree, and most of all in the soft primrose, there was aching ecstasy, delicious pang of Lorna—the little “dove” whoso strange home was “in the eagle’s nest.” * * _ * * Six years passed, years during which the farmer’s boy had grown to lusty' manhood, an Anak for stature, a Hercules for strength, before he set eyes again on the little “queen” cf the outlaws—a fugitive glimpse of a little figure, very light and white, graceful as a fawn, which set his heart beating violently against his ribs before it vanished through the opening in the cliffs. But this sight go fired his blood that, a few days later, he had scaled the waterfa]] again, as on that day of terrible and delicious memory, and once more came face to face with her, as she wandered by the side of the stream, the tremulous thrill of a song banging on her lips, her hair flowing from a wreath ot white violets. •She recognized at once, in the handsome young gaint, the boy of their first romantic meeting; and a smile of pleasure broke through her trembling, ns sunshine comes through aspen-leaves. “Aes. 1 know yon,” she said—and once more the mus’c of her voice thrilled him —“the poor boy who was frightened so, and obliged to hide himself in the water. But you <lo not know how perilous this nl'ice is for yon.” She was trembling le c t strong hands snotild he laid on him ; and gladly as -he would have faced death for n feiv minutes of her sweet comnnnv. she Bade him go. with a smile and ft. toneh nf her ®oft white hand wb’'h intnarirated him like strong wine. With Kunh a. magnet to draw him. it was. not many days before John find n"nin faend the perils of the “lion’s do-. ” t o he m-eeted by T«m» with the exclamation: "Master Ridd, are you

mad? Come away, if you care for life. The patrol will be here directly. Be quick, let me hide you!” And with quick, fearful steps she led him into hei bower —a chamber of unhewn rock, draped with fern and moss and lichen, and carpeted with grass starred with primroses. And in this idyllic retreat she told him the strange story of the Doones and of her own life, amid “violence and robbery, coarse delight and savage pain, reckless joke and hopeless death”; of her grandfather’s (Sir Ensor Doone’s) tyranny to all but her; of the ruthless wooing of her by her cousin Carver, son of Counsellor Doone; and of his brutal murder of her Scottish cousin, Lord Alan Brandir, when he came to claim her as his ward. Such were among the strange stories told by the “princess” of the Doones, the outlowed daughter of centuries of noble ancestors, to the farmer’s son who had so romantically come into, her life.. Thus the stolen and perilous meetings followed one another. Once, while John was waiting at the entrance to the glen, a bullet, fired by Carver Doone, whistled past him, sweeping the hat off his head; but such perils only made his adventures sweeter. And the crown of their delight came one day when, in Lorna’s cavern-bower, John took her hand and poured out the torrent of his love. “I have loved you long and long,” he said, in a voice vibrant with passion. “ I love you more than tongue can tell or heart can hold in silence. I have waited long; and though I am so far below you, I can wait no longer, but must have my answer—l must have all your love.” Then Lorna, opening wide upon him all the glorious depth and softness of her loving eyes, flung both arms around his neck and answered with her heart on his, “Darling, you have won it all. It shall never be my own again. I am yours, my own one. for ever and for ever.” The wonder of it, that “a mere clumsy, blundering yeoman.” without ' wit or wealth or lineage, should have won this dainty princess, as far removi ed from him by birth as a star from a moth! He trod on air through a fairyworld of enchantment, and was prouder of th© old signet-ring which Lorna placed on his finger in exchange for his ring of pearls than if it had held the -nooBut anxious days soon came to dim the glory of his dreaming. Three times he went to their trysting-plaee, and no light footstep came to meet him. In his anxiety he resolved to penetrate Glen Doone from tho upper end, and fight his way if necessary to Lorna, whose silence fi'l-d him with nameless forebodings and fears. Carrying his life in his hands at every perilous step, he evaded the sentinels who guarded the grim entrance; made his fearful way through a maze of rooky chambers, and at last came to Lorna’s house, in the centre of the valley—to learn from her lips that her grandfather was dangerously ill; tKe Counsellor and his son were now masters of the valley and that she dared not venture forth. “Tiie tyrants now make sure of me.” she said. “You must watch this bouse night and day, if you wish to save mo. You see that tree with seven ' rooks’ nests. If you seo but six. I arti in peril and want you. If you see but five, I am carried away by Carver.” Tiie signal was not long in coming. A few days later John saw to his dismay that one of the nests had vanished; and as he ran towards the entrance to the glen he was met by Lorna’s little maid, Gwenny Carfax, with the urgent message, “ You must come with me. Old man be dying; and her can’t die without first seeing thee.” Following his guide, he was led through the valley, and soon had Lorna’s trembling figure clasped in his strong arms; and was conducted by her into the presence of the dying chieftain, a grim figure sitting upright in a chair. Fixing his great black eyes on the giant farmer, Sir Ensor pointed out to him in a few stern words the disparity between him and Lorna, the “descendant of one of the oldest families in Europe” ; and demanded from him a pledge that he “ would never see or seek her again, never even think of her any more.” “Now call her,” he concluded, “for I am very weary” ; and keeping Ins great- eyes fixed with their icy stare on him, he pointed to the door. A moment later John re-entered the room—this time with Lorna’s hand lovingly clasped in his. For forty years Sir Ensor had been obeyed and feared. Here at last were two who dared to show that they had no fear of him and did not mean to obey him. I “Ye two fools!” he ejaculated, amazed and angry, “ye two fools! ” Then, after a few moments’ silence, realizing that all his opposition was useless, and that death was on him, he added in a changed voice : “Fools you are; be fools for ever! It is the best tiling I can wish you; boy and girl, be boy and girl -until you have grandchildren.” A few hours later he drew his last breath, with Lorna and John Ridd standing but not before lie had drawn from under his pillow a glittering something, which flashed like the spray of a fountain in tlio darkness of the room. “ Why,” exclaimed Lorna, “it is my glass necklace, my necklace he always promised me. May I have it now, dear grandfather?” She handed the trinket to John, who, with a smile of approval from the dying man,’ stowed it in his breast for safe custody. Evil days swiftly followed for Lorna. Glen Doone was soon in the grip of the coldest winter within living memory; and to add to its horrors she was kept a prisoner in her room by the Counsellor’s orders, condemned to starve until she submitted to be Carver’s bride. When John discovered her pitiful plight he determined at any cost to rescue her from the clutches of the outlaws; and one night, when the Doones were carousing around the beacon lit in honour of their new chieftain, tho Counsellor, he harnqssed himself ’bo a horjse-sledge, dragged it up the frozen steeps of the waterfall and, after evading a hundred perils, brought her safely to the hearth and arms of his mother.

Then followed a halcvon time for tho young lovers—Lorna ideally hanpy in her new home, with its escape from all the horrors of her glen-orison; John transported to the seventh heaven with nor nearness, his pride in her boautv. his sense of protection. But such da vs of bliss were not to last long. The Doones were not, tho men to nart Jimhtly with their “princess.” On o«e of her ramblings Lorna found herself, to

her horror, face to face with Carver, his gun pointed at her heart; and when at last lie lowered it to the ground at her feet an pulled the trigger, it was with tho ominous words, “ 1 have spared you this time. But unless you come back to-morrow, pure and witli all you took with you, your death is here!” And he pointed significantly to his smoking That very night the Doones made a fierce attack on the fanm, and were only beaten off alter much blood had been shed, leaving two of their dead behind them. This crowning outrage roused the \whole icouintrjjsidie to a fury of anger. The Doones had too long been a scourge and a terror to two counties. Tney must at any cost be wiped out root and branch; and one night a raid was made on the glen by a small rustic army reinforced by troopers; but, after much fierce and undisciplined fighting, it resulted in failure and retreat. This disaster was the prelude to troublous times for John Ridd. Ono dav, after defeating a Cornish giant in a wrestling match, ho returned prmidly with his bag of golden guineas to team that Lorna had flown, leaving behind a note of tender farewell— explaining that she had been ordered by the Court of Chancery to the custody of her uncle, Earl Brandir, who had been appointed her guardian ; declaring that “ no diffcre.ioe of rank or fortune shall ever make me swerve from truth to you”; ar.\, signing herself, “Ono that is and ever shall ba, Your own Lorna Dugal.” Thus when life seamed fairest, the cup of happiness was dashed from John Ridd’s lips. After many perilous adventures he made his way to London—to discover that Lorna was in the house of Earn Brandir, of Lochawe, her mother’s uncle, and that she was a favourite at Court. By degrees the mystery of her birth had at last been revealed to him —that the supposed granddaughter of Sir Ensor was in fact the Lady Lorna Dugal, heiress of a line of Earls of Dugal, the hereditary enemies of t.Doones, wiio bad carried her off when a child to their fastness, partly in revenge, partly for her “ old glass necklace,” which they knew to be of rare uiamonds, worth a “ king’s ransom, and for the othei* great possessions which would one day be hers. But, dazzling and remote as she now seemed, she was, he knew, still “his own Lorna,” and he would know no peace until she was restored to his arms. How he again set eyes on her, the most radiantly lovely of all the ladies who formed the Queen’s retinue in the Chapel at Whitehall; how he won the favour of her uncle, the Earl, by saving his life from a band of would-be robbers 1 and assassins; and how, in honour of his gallantry and for the sake of his lady, the King summoned him to Court and with a tap of his sword bade him “Arise, Sir John Ridd”—over these dramatic scenes we must pass to the last act in his romantic love-drama, when he and Lorna, now his acknowledged bride, were joyfully awaiting the reward of their long devotion amid the pence and security of Exmoor. At last the crowning day of their happiness dawned. Lorna, in a bridal robe of pure white, clouded with faint lavender, was standing before the altar in the crowded village church, with her cavalier towering proudly by her side. The ring had been placed 'on her finger, as she looked up at her lover with shy eyes glowing with love, when the sound of a shot rang through the church, and those eyes wore filled with death. In an agony of horror and fear, John flung Ills arms around his stricken bride and pressed her to his heart, petting and coaxing her limp form. She sighed a long sigh on his breast for her last farewell in life. Then he laid his wife tenderly in his mother’s arms and went forth for his revenge. Leaping unarmed on his horse, he rode furiously to Black Barrow Down, where, riding in front of him, he'saw Carver Doone, the man he had come to slay. Tearing a branch from an oaktree' under which he passed, he charged his enemy, who, as he wheeled round on the brink of tho black bog, fired his pistol point-blank at him. The bullet struck John somewhere; but he heeded it not. The next second the oak branch fell crashing on the head, of Carver’s charger, flinging both horse and rider to earth. Leaping to the ground, as Carver gathered his mighty limbs and arose, the two giants were instantly locked in a life-and-death struggle. In Doone’s fierce embrace John felt his ribs go. He grasped his arm and tore the muscle out of it. In vain the outlaw writhed and strained in the clutch of the Titan stronger than himself. John had him helpless in two minutes, and his fiery tongue lolled cut. Then with the cry, “I will not harm thee any more,” he flung him back. It‘was too late. The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the ground drew on him like the thirsty lips of death. With arms tossed vainly to heaven and eyes ghastly with horror he sank joint by joint until the black ooze closed over him for ever. For days the victor lay delirious, at the point of death, raving of his dead bride. But Lorna was not dead. Under Mistress Ridd’s skilled and tender nursing she fought her way back to life before her husband; and one day Heaven opened to John when she came to his bedside, and once more he strained his loved one to his heart. The rush of Lorna’s tears and the challenge of his wife’s lips and the throbbing of her heart made him feel that the world was very sweet. Thus at last, after much tribulation, the lovers came to their goal, counting al] the peri’s they had passed through so many blessings that had led them to the haven of an abiding peace and joy.