Slain By The Doones | Page 3

of the time when greater
things were done, and men would die for women. That he should woo
three maids in vain, to me was a stupid old woman's tale.
"Sylvia," my father said to me, when I was not even thinking of him,
"no more converse must we hold with that son of the Baron de
Wichehalse. I have ordered Pring to keep the door; and Mistress Pring,
who hath the stronger tongue, to come up if he attempted to dispute; the
while I go away to catch our supper."
He was bearing a fishing rod made by himself, and a basket strapped
over his shoulders.
"But why, father? Why should such a change be? How hath the young
gentleman displeased thee?" I put my face into his beard as I spoke,
that I might not appear too curious.
"Is it so?" he answered, "then high time is it. No more shall he enter
this "--house he would have said, but being so> truthful changed it
into--"hut I was pleased with the youth. He is gentle and kind; but
weak--my dear child, remember that. Why are we in this hut, my dear?

and thou, the heiress of the best land in the world, now picking up
sticks in the wilderness? Because the man who should do us right is
weak, and wavering, and careth but for pleasure. So is this young
Marwood de Wichehalse. He rideth with the Doones. I knew it not, but
now that I know, it is enough."
My father was of tall stature and fine presence, and his beard shone like
a cascade of silver. It was not the manner of the young as yet to argue
with their elders, and though I might have been a little fluttered by the
comely gallant's lofty talk and gaze of daring melancholy, I said
good-bye to him in my heart, as I kissed my noble father. Shall I ever
cease to thank the Lord that I proved myself a good daughter then?
CHAPTER II.
--BY A QUIET RIVER.
Living as we did all by ourselves, and five or six miles away from the
Robbers' Valley, we had felt little fear of the Doones hitherto, because
we had nothing for them to steal except a few books, the sight of which
would only make them swear and ride away. But now that I was
full-grown, and beginning to be accounted comely, my father was
sometimes uneasy in his mind, as he told Deborah, and she told me; for
the outlaws showed interest in such matters, even to the extent of
carrying off young women who had won reputation thus. Therefore he
left Thomas Pring at home, with the doors well-barred, and two duck
guns loaded, and ordered me not to quit the house until he should return
with a creel of trout for supper. Only our little boy Dick Hutchings was
to go with him, to help when his fly caught in the bushes.
My father set off in the highest spirits, as anglers always seem to do, to
balance the state in which they shall return; and I knew not, neither did
anyone else, what a bold stroke he was resolved upon. When it was too
late, we found out that, hearing so much of that strange race, he desired
to know more about them, scorning the idea that men of birth could
ever behave like savages, and forgetting that they had received no
chance of being tamed, as rough spirits are by the lessons of the

battlefield. No gentleman would ever dream of attacking an unarmed
man, he thought; least of all one whose hair was white. And so he
resolved to fish the brook which ran away from their stronghold,
believing that he might see some of them, and hoping for a peaceful
interview.
We waited and waited for his pleasant face, and long, deliberate step
upon the steep, and cheerful shout for his Sylvia, to come and ease
down his basket, and say--"Well done, father!" But the shadows of the
trees grew darker, and the song of the gray-bird died out among them,
and the silent wings of the owl swept by, and all the mysterious sounds
of night in the depth of forest loneliness, and the glimmer of a star
through the leaves here and there, to tell us that there still was light in
heaven--but of an earthly father not a sign; only pain, and long sighs,
and deep sinking of the heart.
But why should I dwell upon this? All women, being of a gentle and
loving kind,--unless they forego their nature,--know better than I at this
first trial knew, the misery often sent to us. I could not believe it, and
went about in a dreary haze of wonder, getting into dark