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Lorna Doone: Carver

That fear of his beloved's spurred John to penetrate into Glen Doone one night at the risk of his life for word of Lorna. Once a guard leveled his gun at him, but went off cringing at the thought that, after all, so huge a form could be only that of Carver Doone.

It was a real danger which threatened Lorna, for old Sir Ensor Doone, head of the robber crew, lay dying, and he alone had been her protector against the brutal Carver. For John to play a desperate game and carry Lorna off would but incite the Doones to wreak vengeance upon the countryside with fire and sword. At times he swore to smoke out this nest of rascals, but the timid farmers, overawed by their savagery, would promise no support. Meanwhile an unparalleled winter had set in. Day after day the snow fell steadily and, blown by the wind, almost smothered the loweaved cottages. Desperate for some word of Lorna, John made his way on snowshoes into the very heart of Glen Doone, unobserved in that feathery fog. John found Lorna's hamlet, stifled her exclamations of surprise with kisses, and felt his heart swell with anger on learning that she and her maid, Gwenny Carfax, were kept in confinement and deprived of food by order of Carver Doone until Lorna should consent to be his wife. Not for naught was John Ridd a giant--and in love. Throwing discretion to the winds, he carried Lorna and Gwenny away upon his sledge that very night to the warm refuge of his mother's fireside. The Doones, though so openly set at defiance, bided their time. With spring the roads were open, and one moonlight night, with an arrogance worthy of Carver, they attacked Plover's Barrows in force. John Ridd, nothing daunted, defended his fireside and loved ones with spirit, meeting the attackers squarely with a handful of men and putting them to speedy flight. A murderous attack by the Doones was bad business enough, but to John's honest soul a worse trouble followed.