 | Dorothy |  |
Leave we them thus, with the guests, with the late luxurious breakfast:
We to their exquisite joys may not presume to aspire;
We must go down to the farm, to White Rose Farm in the valley,
Whither, on errands of love, Robin already has gone.
He, with a mind confused, with a heart all troubled within him,
Went on his errand of love: gladly he hasted to go;
But, to be sent, to perceive that his sweetheart must come to be stared at—
That was a doubtful thing; what should he think about that?
‘Surely, my Lady means well—she means for to do us an honour—
‘And, for myself, I am glad; glad to have Dorothy seen;
‘So as the gentles may know, let alone them gossiping servants,
‘She is a jewel, and worth—well, say a dozen o' them!
‘But, she won't like it, I know; she's afeard o' the housekeeper, even;
‘What'll she think, to be brought straight to my Lady herself?
‘Ay, and they'll stare at her clothes, at her hands, at her simple behaviour--
‘'Gad, I had liefer by half meet wi' yon poachers, alone!’—
Thus while he walk'd in his mood, lo, Dolly herself stood before him:
She from a hedge close by sprang, with a hoe in her hand;
For she had finish'd her work in the field, and was off to her dinner,
Ready—alas, how depraved! ready for bacon and beer.
‘Oh, Mr. Robert, what, you?’ ‘Why, Dolly, my lassie, my darling!’
Few are the words that precede warm salutations of love:
Kisses—how novel and sweet are the first that follow betrothal!
Press'd upon lips that are now—yes, and for ever, your own.
But, when their rapture was done (for it is but a fleeting enjoyment)
Robin bethought him with pain how he should speak to the maid;
How he should break the bad news, the tale of that terrible order,
Bidding her come, and so soon, up to Sir Harry's with him.
‘Dolly, love, don't be afeard! You and me are to go the Castle,
‘Just for an outing, you know—just for a bit of a spree;
‘And I am glad, for I know there isn't a girl o' the servants—
‘No, nor the ladies as well, fit to be reckon'd wi' you!’—
‘Go to the Castle!’ she cried, ‘What for? Oh no, Mr. Robert—
‘I canna do it, indeed—specially, going wi' you!
‘What would the housekeeper say, and the ladies' maids, and the housemaids?
‘Me to go trolloping there, bringing you trouble and shame!’—
‘Never you mind what they say; and it isn't the housekeeper, neither:
‘Dolly, my Lady herself wants to set eyes upon you!
‘And, when she sees you so fair, in your Sunday frock and your bonnet,
‘If she don't take to you then, I'll never trust her no more!’—
Ah, it was vain, that appeal to the natural weakness of woman:
Dolly's blue eyes were all dim—dim with her troublesome tears.
‘What!’ she exclaim'd—‘what, me, to go and be shown to my Lady!
‘Me!’ and she look'd at her clothes, look'd at her hardworking hands:
‘Oh, I should sink i' the earth! Mr. Robert, you shouldn't have let her—
‘She'd never wish it, I'm sure, if she could see what I am.
‘Oh, get me off, if you can, get me off, for I couldn't abide it!
‘Why, it might lose you your place, having a sweetheart like me!’—
‘Lose me my place?’ said the swain, ‘and because I have you for a sweetheart!
‘Marry come up, no indeed! Nay, I shall make it secure;
‘If she has sense, she must see what a wife you will make for a keeper,
‘Fit for to help him abroad, fit to be happy at home.
‘But, you must come: for she said I must bring you myself to the Castle:
‘Them was her positive words! Dolly, you'll do it for me?’—
We to their exquisite joys may not presume to aspire;
We must go down to the farm, to White Rose Farm in the valley,
Whither, on errands of love, Robin already has gone.
He, with a mind confused, with a heart all troubled within him,
Went on his errand of love: gladly he hasted to go;
But, to be sent, to perceive that his sweetheart must come to be stared at—
That was a doubtful thing; what should he think about that?
‘Surely, my Lady means well—she means for to do us an honour—
‘And, for myself, I am glad; glad to have Dorothy seen;
‘So as the gentles may know, let alone them gossiping servants,
‘She is a jewel, and worth—well, say a dozen o' them!
‘But, she won't like it, I know; she's afeard o' the housekeeper, even;
‘What'll she think, to be brought straight to my Lady herself?
‘Ay, and they'll stare at her clothes, at her hands, at her simple behaviour--
‘'Gad, I had liefer by half meet wi' yon poachers, alone!’—
Thus while he walk'd in his mood, lo, Dolly herself stood before him:
She from a hedge close by sprang, with a hoe in her hand;
For she had finish'd her work in the field, and was off to her dinner,
Ready—alas, how depraved! ready for bacon and beer.
‘Oh, Mr. Robert, what, you?’ ‘Why, Dolly, my lassie, my darling!’
Few are the words that precede warm salutations of love:
62
Press'd upon lips that are now—yes, and for ever, your own.
But, when their rapture was done (for it is but a fleeting enjoyment)
Robin bethought him with pain how he should speak to the maid;
How he should break the bad news, the tale of that terrible order,
Bidding her come, and so soon, up to Sir Harry's with him.
‘Dolly, love, don't be afeard! You and me are to go the Castle,
‘Just for an outing, you know—just for a bit of a spree;
‘And I am glad, for I know there isn't a girl o' the servants—
‘No, nor the ladies as well, fit to be reckon'd wi' you!’—
‘Go to the Castle!’ she cried, ‘What for? Oh no, Mr. Robert—
‘I canna do it, indeed—specially, going wi' you!
‘What would the housekeeper say, and the ladies' maids, and the housemaids?
‘Me to go trolloping there, bringing you trouble and shame!’—
‘Never you mind what they say; and it isn't the housekeeper, neither:
‘Dolly, my Lady herself wants to set eyes upon you!
‘And, when she sees you so fair, in your Sunday frock and your bonnet,
‘If she don't take to you then, I'll never trust her no more!’—
Ah, it was vain, that appeal to the natural weakness of woman:
Dolly's blue eyes were all dim—dim with her troublesome tears.
‘What!’ she exclaim'd—‘what, me, to go and be shown to my Lady!
‘Me!’ and she look'd at her clothes, look'd at her hardworking hands:
‘Oh, I should sink i' the earth! Mr. Robert, you shouldn't have let her—
‘She'd never wish it, I'm sure, if she could see what I am.
‘Oh, get me off, if you can, get me off, for I couldn't abide it!
‘Why, it might lose you your place, having a sweetheart like me!’—
‘Lose me my place?’ said the swain, ‘and because I have you for a sweetheart!
‘Marry come up, no indeed! Nay, I shall make it secure;
‘If she has sense, she must see what a wife you will make for a keeper,
‘Fit for to help him abroad, fit to be happy at home.
‘But, you must come: for she said I must bring you myself to the Castle:
‘Them was her positive words! Dolly, you'll do it for me?’—
63
What can a woman refuse to the man whom she loves—to her master,
So he be worthy to rule, so he be gentle and kind?
Then, his more equable strength, his masculine width of horizon,
Justify her to herself, yielding her wishes to his;
Specially, if she should feel, as Dorothy felt in her meekness,
Being so young and so low, sadly unworthy of him.
Dolly was strong as a horse—so the girls of the village would tell you—
And she was tall as a man; muscular, massive, and firm
All through her large live limbs; self-reliant in character, also,
Needing no help in her work, asking for nothing—save love.
Yet, being such and so strong, a rough undisciplined servant,
Able to fend for herself, used to act freely alone,
Now that fair Eros was come, and had learn'd her the lore of a lover,
She was as weak as the rest: mild as a minikin maid.
Strange, when her great hard hand lay in his, as light as a lady's!
Strange, when her stalwart frame lean'd on his breast, like a child!
Strange? Not at all! 'Twas the sure, the instinctive teaching of Nature,
Guiding the woman at once straight to the heart of the man.
So, she has yielded at last: but tearfully still, and in terror;
Dreading those gorgeous grandees lying in wait at the Squire's;
Dreading the smart sleek maids, and the gentlefolks, chiefly the ladies;
Dreading supremely, of course, Lady Sophia herself.
Robert will stand by her side? She falters a little, in asking:
She will be near him, at least? Only, a little behind—
Yes, just a little behind; out of sight of the strangers, or nearly;
Close to the doorway; and so ready at once to escape?
‘Oh, but they'll speak to you, lass: they'll ask you a few little questions:’
Speak? What a terrible thought! If she were forced to reply,
Could he not do it instead? He was used to the ways of the gentry:
Couldn't he answer for her, saying—whatever he liked?—
Yes, he has promised it all; has fondly, egregiously promised
All that his Dolly could ask: more than he dared to perform.
So he be worthy to rule, so he be gentle and kind?
Then, his more equable strength, his masculine width of horizon,
Justify her to herself, yielding her wishes to his;
Specially, if she should feel, as Dorothy felt in her meekness,
Being so young and so low, sadly unworthy of him.
Dolly was strong as a horse—so the girls of the village would tell you—
And she was tall as a man; muscular, massive, and firm
All through her large live limbs; self-reliant in character, also,
Needing no help in her work, asking for nothing—save love.
Yet, being such and so strong, a rough undisciplined servant,
Able to fend for herself, used to act freely alone,
Now that fair Eros was come, and had learn'd her the lore of a lover,
She was as weak as the rest: mild as a minikin maid.
Strange, when her great hard hand lay in his, as light as a lady's!
Strange, when her stalwart frame lean'd on his breast, like a child!
Strange? Not at all! 'Twas the sure, the instinctive teaching of Nature,
Guiding the woman at once straight to the heart of the man.
So, she has yielded at last: but tearfully still, and in terror;
Dreading those gorgeous grandees lying in wait at the Squire's;
Dreading the smart sleek maids, and the gentlefolks, chiefly the ladies;
Dreading supremely, of course, Lady Sophia herself.
Robert will stand by her side? She falters a little, in asking:
She will be near him, at least? Only, a little behind—
Yes, just a little behind; out of sight of the strangers, or nearly;
Close to the doorway; and so ready at once to escape?
‘Oh, but they'll speak to you, lass: they'll ask you a few little questions:’
Speak? What a terrible thought! If she were forced to reply,
64
Couldn't he answer for her, saying—whatever he liked?—
Yes, he has promised it all; has fondly, egregiously promised
All that his Dolly could ask: more than he dared to perform.
| Dorothy | |