est Counties, and, moreover, he was well acquainted with the
most powerful and terrible man in England. I mean the famous Lord Chief
Justice Jeffreys.

"I am going to London, my boy," he said to me, "to get these scoundrel
Doones shot or hanged. I want you, while I am gone, to go to the place
where they live, and see how the troops I shall bring can best attack
them."

This put other thoughts in my head. I waited till St. Valentine's day,
and then I dressed myself in my best clothes, and went up the Bagworthy
water. The stream, which once had taken my knees, now came only to my
ankles, and with no great difficulty I climbed to the top of the cliff.
Here I beheld the loveliest sight, one glimpse of which was enough to
make me kneel in the coldest water. Lorna was coming singing towards me!
I could not see what her face was, my heart so awoke and trembled; only
that her hair was flowing from a wreath of white violets. She turned to
fly, frightened, perhaps, at my great size; but I fell on the grass, as
I had fallen seven years agone that day, and just said: "Lorna Doone!"

"Master Ridd, are you mad," she said. "The patrol will be here
presently."

She led me, with many timid glances, to the hole in the rock which she
had shown me before; by the right of this was a crevice, hung with green
ivy, which opened into a mossy cave about twenty feet across.

"We shall be safe from interruption here," said Lorna, "for I begged Sir
Ensor that this place might be looked on as my bower."

I had much ado, however, to get through the crevice, and, instead of
being proud of my size, as it seemed to me she ought to be, Lorna
laughed at me. Thereupon it went hard with me not to kiss her, only it
smote me that this would be a low advantage of her trust and
helplessness. She seemed to know what I would be at, and she liked me
for my forbearance, because she was not in love with me yet. As we sat
in her bower, she talked about her dear self, and her talk was sad.

"Ah, Master Ridd," she said, "you have a mother who loves you, and
sisters, and a quiet home. You do not know what loneliness is. I get so
full of anger at the violence and wickedness around me that I dare not
give way to speech. It is scarcely a twelvemonth since my cousin, Lord
Alan Brandir, came from London and tried to rescue me. Carver Doone
killed him before my eyes. Ah, you know Carver!"

Ay, I did. It was he who slew my father. I would not tell Lorna this,
but in m