Frida; or, the lover's leap: a legend of the West Country: From "Slain by the Doones" by R. D. BlackmoreBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
Frida; or, the lover's leap: a legend of the West Country: From "Slain by the Doones" by R. D. Blackmore
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The stir of the general rising of the kingdom against the king had not
disturbed these places yet beyond what might be borne with. Everybody
liked to talk, and everybody else was ready to put in a word or two;
broken heads, however, were as yet the only issue. So that when there
came great news of a real battle fought, and lost by Englishmen against
Englishmen, the indignation of all the country ran against both parties.
Baron de Wichehalse had been thinking, after his crop of hay was
in,--for such a faithful hay they have that it will not go from root to
rick by less than two months of worrying,--from time to time, and even
in the middle of his haycocks, this good lord had not been able to
perceive his proper course. Arguments there were that sounded quite as
if a baby must be perfectly convinced by them; and then there would be
quite a different line of reason taken by someone who knew all about
it and despised the opposite. So that many of a less decided way of
thinking every day embraced whatever had been last confuted.
This most manly view of matters and desire to give fair play was
scorned, of course, by the fairer (and unfairer) half of men. Frida
counted all as traitors who opposed their liege the king.
“Go forth, my lord; go forth and fight,” she cried to Viscount Auberley,
when the doubtful combat of Edgehill was firing new pugnacity; “if I
were a man, think you that I would let them do so?”
“Alas, fair mistress! it will take a many men to help it. But since you
bid me thus away--hi, Dixon! get my trunks packed!” And then, of course,
her blushing roses faded to a lily white; and then, of course, it was
his duty to support her slender form; neither were those dulcet murmurs
absent which forever must be present when the female kind begin to have
the best of it.
So they went on once or twice, and would have gone on fifty times if
fortune had allowed them thus to hang on one another. All the world
was fair around them; and themselves, as fair as any, vouched the whole
world to attest their everlasting constancy.
But one soft November evening, when the trees were full of drops, and
gentle mists were creeping up the channels of the moorlands, and snipes
(come home from foreign parts) were cheeping at their borings, and every
weary man was gladdened by the glance of a bright wood fire, and smell
of what was over it, there happened to come, on a jaded horse, a man,
all hat, and cape, and boots, and mud, and sweat, and grumbling. All the
people saw at once that it was quite impossible to make at all too much
of him, because he must be full of news, which (after victuals) is the
greatest need of human nature. So he had his own way as to everything he
ordered; and, having ridden into much experience of women, kept himself
as warm as could be, without any jealousy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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