reshold met
the jamb; and then she ran in very nimbly, but I was forced to be
bent in two, and even so without comfort. The passage was close and
difficult, and as dark as any black pitch; but it was not long (be it as
it might), and in that there was some comfort. We came out soon at the
other end, and were at the top of Doone valley. In the chilly dusk air,
it looked most untempting, especially during that state of mind under
which I was labouring. As we crossed towards the Captain's house, we
met a couple of great Doones lounging by the waterside. Gwenny said
something to them, and although they stared very hard at me, they let me
pass without hindrance. It is not too much to say that when the little
maid opened Sir Ensor's door, my heart thumped, quite as much with
terror as with hope of Lorna's presence.

But in a moment the fear was gone, for Lorna was trembling in my arms,
and my courage rose to comfort her. The darling feared, beyond all
things else, lest I should be offended with her for what she had said to
her grandfather, and for dragging me into his presence; but I told her
almost a falsehood (the first, and the last, that ever I did tell her),
to wit, that I cared not that much--and showed her the tip of my thumb
as I said it--for old Sir Ensor, and all his wrath, so long as I had his
granddaughter's love.

Now I tried to think this as I said it, so as to save it from being a
lie; but somehow or other it did not answer, and I was vexed with myself
both ways. But Lorna took me by the hand as bravely as she could, and
led me into a little passage where I could hear the river moaning and
the branches rustling.

Here I passed as long a minute as fear ever cheated time of, saying
to myself continually that there was nothing to be frightened at, yet
growing more and more afraid by reason of so reasoning. At last my Lorna
came back very pale, as I saw by the candle she carried, and whispered,
"Now be patient, dearest. Never mind what he says to you; neither
attempt to answer him. Look at him gently and steadfastly, and, if you
can, with some show of reverence; but above all things, no compassion;
it drives him almost mad. Now come; walk very quietly."

She led me into a cold, dark room, rough and very gloomy, although with
two candles burning. I took little heed of the things in it, though I
marked that the window was open. That which I heeded was an old man,
very stern and comely, with death upon his counten