Hereupon, I felt that after all my mother had common
sense on her side; for if Master Snowe’s farm
should be for sale, it would be far more to the purpose
than my coat of arms, to get it; for there was a different
pasture there, just suited for change of diet to our
sheep as well as large cattle. And beside this,
even with all Annie’s skill (and of course yet
more now she was gone), their butter would always command
in the market from one to three farthings a pound
more than we could get for ours. And few things
vexed us more than this. Whereas, if we got possession
of the farm, we might, without breach of the market-laws,
or any harm done to any one (the price being but a
prejudice), sell all our butter as Snowe butter, and
do good to all our customers.
Thinking thus, yet remembering that Farmer Nicholas
might hold out for another score of years—as
I heartily hoped he might—or that one, if
not all, of his comely daughters might marry a good
young farmer (or farmers, if the case were so)—or
that, even without that, the farm might never be put
up for sale; I begged my Lorna to do as she liked;
or rather to wait and think of it; for as yet she
could do nothing.
[Illustration: 685.jpg Tailpiece]
CHAPTER LXXIV
BLOOD UPON THE ALTAR
[Illustration: 686.jpg Entrance to Oare Church]
Everything was settled smoothly, and without any fear
or fuss, that Lorna might find end of troubles, and
myself of eager waiting, with the help of Parson Bowden,
and the good wishes of two counties. I could
scarce believe my fortune, when I looked upon her beauty,
gentleness, and sweetness, mingled with enough of
humour and warm woman’s feeling, never to be
dull or tiring; never themselves to be weary.
For she might be called a woman now; although a very
young one, and as full of playful ways, or perhaps
I may say ten times as full, as if she had known no
trouble. To wit, the spirit of bright childhood,
having been so curbed and straitened, ere its time
was over, now broke forth, enriched and varied with
the garb of conscious maidenhood. And the sense
of steadfast love, and eager love enfolding her, coloured
with so many tinges all her looks, and words, and
thoughts, that to me it was the noblest vision even
to think about her.
But this was far too bright to last, without bitter
break, and the plunging of happiness in horror, and
of passionate joy in agony. My darling in her
softest moments, when she was alone with me, when the
spark of defiant eyes was veiled beneath dark lashes,
and the challenge of gay beauty passed into sweetest
invitation; at such times of her purest love and warmest
faith in me, a deep abiding fear would flutter in
her bounding heart, as of deadly fate’s approach.
She would cling to me, and nestle to me, being scared
of coyishness, and lay one arm around my neck, and
ask if I could do without her.
