Lorna Doone. Lorna Doone of
my early love; in the days when she blushed for her name before me
by reason of dishonesty; but now the Lady Lorna Dugal as far beyond
reproach as above my poor affection. All my heart, and all my mind,
gathered themselves upon her. Would she see me, or would she pass? Was
there instinct in our love?

By some strange chance she saw me. Or was it through our destiny? While
with eyes kept sedulously on the marble floor, to shun the weight of
admiration thrust too boldly on them, while with shy quick steps she
passed, some one (perhaps with purpose) trod on the skirt of her clear
white dress,--with the quickness taught her by many a scene of danger,
she looked up, and her eyes met mine.

As I gazed upon her, steadfastly, yearningly, yet with some reproach,
and more of pride than humility, she made me one of the courtly bows
which I do so much detest; yet even that was sweet and graceful, when my
Lorna did it. But the colour of her pure clear cheeks was nearly as
deep as that of my own, when she went on for the religious work. And the
shining of her eyes was owing to an unpaid debt of tears.

Upon the whole I was satisfied. Lorna had seen me, and had not
(according to the phrase of the high world then) even tried to "cut" me.
Whether this low phrase is born of their own stupid meanness, or whether
it comes of necessity exercised on a man without money, I know not, and
I care not. But one thing I know right well; any man who "cuts" a man
(except for vice or meanness) should be quartered without quarter.

All these proud thoughts rose within me as the lovely form of Lorna went
inside, and was no more seen. And then I felt how coarse I was; how apt
to think strong thoughts, and so on; without brains to bear me out: even
as a hen's egg, laid without enough of lime, and looking only a poor
jelly.

Nevertheless, I waited on; as my usual manner is. For to be beaten,
while running away, is ten times worse than to face it out, and take
it, and have done with it. So at least I have always found, because of
reproach of conscience: and all the things those clever people carried
on inside, at large, made me long for our Parson Bowden that he might
know how to act.

While I stored up, in my memory, enough to keep our parson going through
six pipes on a Saturday night--to have it as right as could be next
day--a lean man with a yellow beard, too thin for a good Catholic (which
religion always fattens), c