A tall old man, Sir Ensor Doone, came out with a bill-hook in his hand, hedgers gloves going up his arms, as if he were no better than a labourer at ditch-work. Only in his mouth and eyes, his gait, and most of all his voice, even a child could know and feel that here was no ditch-labourer. Good cause he has found since then, perhaps, to wish that he had been one.
With his white locks moving upon his coat, he stopped and looked down at my mother, and she could not help herself but curtsey under the fixed black gazing.
Good woman, you are none of us. Who has brought you hither? Young men must be youngbut I have had too much of this work.
And he scowled at my mother, for her comeliness; and yet looked under his eyelids as if he liked her for it. But as for her, in her depth of love-grief, it struck scorn upon her womanhood; and in the flash she spoke.
What you mean I know not. Traitors! cut-throats! cowards! I am here to ask for my husband. She could not say any more, because her heart was now too much for her, coming hard in her throat and mouth; but she opened up her eyes at him.
Madam, said Sir Ensor Doonebeing born a gentleman, although a very bad oneI crave pardon of you. My eyes are old, or I might have known. Now, if we have your husband prisoner, he shall go free without ransoms, because I have insulted you.
Sir, said my mother, being suddenly taken away with sorrow, because of his gracious manner, please to let me cry a bit.
He stood away, and seemed to know that women want no help for that. And by the way she cried he knew that they had killed her husband. Then, having felt of grief himself, he was not angry with her, but left her to begin again.
Loth would I be, said mother, sobbing with her new red handkerchief, and looking at the pattern of it, loth indeed, Sir Ensor Doone, to accuse any one unfairly. But I have lost the very best husband God ever gave to a woman; and I knew him when he was to your belt, and I not up to your knee, sir; and never an unkind word he spoke, nor stopped me short in speaking. All the herbs he left to me, and all the bacon-curing, and when it was best to kill a pig, and how to treat the maidens. Not that I would ever wishoh, John, it seems so strange to me, and last week you were everything.
Here mother burst out crying again, not loudly, but turning quietly, because she knew that no one now would ever care to wipe the tears. And fifty or a hundred things, of weekly and daily happening, came across my mother, so that her spirit fell like slackening lime.
This matter must be seen to; it shall be seen to at once, the old man answered, moved a little in spite of all his knowledge. Madam, if any wrong has been done, trust the honour of a Doone; I will redress it to my utmost. Come inside and rest yourself, while I ask about it. What was your good husbands name, and when and where fell this mishap?
Deary me, said mother, as he set a chair for her very polite, but she would not sit upon it; Saturday morning I was a wife, sir; and Saturday night I was a widow, and my children fatherless. My husbands name was John Ridd, sir, as everybody knows; and there was not a finer or better man in Somerset or Devon. He was coming home from Porlock market, and a new gown for me on the crupper, and a shell to put my hair upoh, John, how good you were to me!
Of that she began to think again, and not to believe her sorrow, except as a dream from the evil one, because it was too bad upon her, and perhaps she would awake in a minute, and her husband would have the laugh of her. And so she wiped her eyes and smiled, and looked for something.
Madam, this is a serious thing, Sir Ensor Doone said graciously, and showing grave concern: my boys are a little wild, I know. And yet I cannot think that they would willingly harm any one. And yetand yet, you do look wronged. Send Counsellor to me, he shouted, from the door of his house; and down the valley went the call, Send Counsellor to Captain.
Counsellor Doone came in ere yet my mother was herself again; and if any sight could astonish her when all her sense of right and wrong was gone astray with the force of things, it was the sight of the Counsellor. A square-built man of enormous strength, but a foot below the Doone stature (which I shall describe hereafter), he carried a long grey beard descending to the leather of his belt. Great eyebrows overhung his face, like ivy on a pollard oak, and under them two large brown eyes, as of an owl when muting. And he had a power of hiding his eyes, or showing them bright, like a blazing fire. He stood there with his beaver off, and mother tried to look at him, but he seemed not to descry her.
Counsellor, said Sir Ensor Doone, standing back in his height from him, here is a lady of good repute
Oh, no, sir; only a woman.
Allow me, madam, by your good leave. Here is a lady, Counsellor, of great repute in this part of the country, who charges the Doones with having unjustly slain her husband
Murdered him! murdered him! cried my mother, if ever there was a murder. Oh, sir! oh, sir! you know it.
The perfect rights and truth of the case is all I wish to know, said the old man, very loftily: and justice shall be done, madam.
Oh, I pray youpray you, sirs, make no matter of business of it. God from Heaven, look on me!
Put the case, said the Counsellor.
The case is this, replied Sir Ensor, holding one hand up to mother: This ladys worthy husband was slain, it seems, upon his return from the market at Porlock, no longer ago than last Saturday night. Madam, amend me if I am wrong.
No longer, indeed, indeed, sir. Sometimes it seems a twelvemonth, and sometimes it seems an hour.
Cite his name, said the Counsellor, with his eyes still rolling inwards.
Master John Ridd, as I understand. Counsellor, we have heard of him often; a worthy man and a peaceful one, who meddled not with our duties. Now, if any of our boys have been rough, they shall answer it dearly. And yet I can scarce believe it. For the folk about these parts are apt to misconceive of our sufferings, and to have no feeling for us. Counsellor, you are our record, and very stern against us; tell us how this matter was.
Oh, Counsellor! my mother cried; Sir Counsellor, you will be fair: I see it in your countenance. Only tell me who it was, and set me face to face with him, and I will bless you, sir, and God shall bless you, and my children.
The square man with the long grey beard, quite unmoved by anything, drew back to the door and spoke, and his voice was like a fall of stones in the bottom of a mine.
Few words will be enow for this. Four or five of our best-behaved and most peaceful gentlemen went to the little market at Porlock with a lump of money. They bought some household stores and comforts at a very high price, and pricked upon the homeward road, away from vulgar revellers. When they drew bridle to rest their horses, in the shelter of a peat-rick, the night being dark and sudden, a robber of great size and strength rode into the midst of them, thinking to kill or terrify. His arrogance and hardihood at the first amazed them, but they would not give up without a blow goods which were on trust with them. He had smitten three of them senseless, for the power of his arm was terrible; whereupon the last man tried to ward his blow with a pistol. Carver, sir, it was, our brave and noble Carver, who saved the lives of his brethren and his own; and glad enow they were to escape. Notwithstanding, we hoped it might be only a flesh-wound, and not to speed him in his sins.
As this atrocious tale of lies turned up joint by joint before her, like a devils coach-horse, * mother was too much amazed to do any more than look at him, as if the earth must open. But the only thing that opened was the great brown eyes of the Counsellor, which rested on my mothers face with a dew of sorrow, as he spoke of sins.