me to the bottom
of my heart. Enough for men of gentle birth (who never are inquisitive)
that my love told me, in her letter, just to come and see her.

I ran away, and could not stop. To behold even her, at the moment, would
have dashed my fancy's joy. Yet my brain was so amiss, that I must do
something. Therefore to the river Thames, with all speed, I hurried;
and keeping all my best clothes on (indued for sake of Lorna), into the
quiet stream I leaped, and swam as far as London Bridge, and ate nobler
dinner afterwards.

CHAPTER LXVII

LORNA STILL IS LORNA

Although a man may be as simple as the flowers of the field; knowing
when, but scarcely why, he closes to the bitter wind; and feeling why,
but scarcely when, he opens to the genial sun; yet without his questing
much into the capsule of himself--to do which is a misery--he may have a
general notion how he happens to be getting on.

I felt myself to be getting on better than at any time since the last
wheat-harvest, as I took the lane to Kensington upon the Monday evening.
For although no time was given in my Lorna's letter, I was not inclined
to wait more than decency required. And though I went and watched
the house, decency would not allow me to knock on the Sunday evening,
especially when I found at the corner that his lordship was at home.

The lanes and fields between Charing Cross and the village of
Kensington, are, or were at that time, more than reasonably infested
with footpads and with highwaymen. However, my stature and holly club
kept these fellows from doing more than casting sheep's eyes at me.
For it was still broad daylight, and the view of the distant villages,
Chelsea, Battersea, Tyburn, and others, as well as a few large houses,
among the hams and towards the river, made it seem less lonely.
Therefore I sang a song in the broadest Exmoor dialect, which caused no
little amazement in the minds of all who met me.

When I came to Earl Brandir's house, my natural modesty forbade me to
appear at the door for guests; therefore I went to the entrance for
servants and retainers. Here, to my great surprise, who should come
and let me in but little Gwenny Carfax, whose very existence had almost
escaped my recollection. Her mistress, no doubt, had seen me coming, and
sent her to save trouble. But when I offered to kiss Gwenny, in my joy
and comfort to see a farm-house face again, she looked ashamed, and
turned away, and would hardly speak to me.