From ‘Lorna Doone’

However humble I might be, no one knowing anything of our part of the country would for a moment doubt that now here was a great to-do and talk of John Ridd and his wedding.  The fierce fight with the Doones so lately, and my leading of the combat (though I fought not more than need be), and the vanishing of Sir Counselor, and the galloping madness of Carver, and the religious fear of the women that this last was gone to hell,—­for he himself had declared that his aim, while he cut through the yeomanry,—­also their remorse that he should have been made to go thither, with all his children left behind—­these things, I say (if ever I can again contrive to say anything), had led to the broadest excitement about my wedding of Lorna.  We heard that people meant to come from more than thirty miles around, upon excuse of seeing my stature and Lorna’s beauty, but in good truth out of sheer curiosity and the love of meddling.

Our clerk had given notice that not a man should come inside the door of his church without shilling fee, and women (as sure to see twice as much) must every one pay two shillings.  I thought this wrong; and as churchwarden, begged that the money might be paid into mine own hands when taken.  But the clerk said that was against all law; and he had orders from the parson to pay it to him without any delay.  So, as I always obey the parson when I care not much about a thing, I let them have it their own way, though feeling inclined to believe sometimes that I ought to have some of the money.

Dear mother arranged all the ins and outs of the way in which it was to be done; and Annie and Lizzie, and all the Snowes, and even Ruth Huckaback (who was there, after great persuasion), made such a sweeping of dresses that I scarcely knew where to place my feet, and longed for a staff to put by their gowns.  Then Lorna came out of a pew half-way, in a manner which quite astonished me, and took my left hand in her right, and I prayed God that it were done with.

My darling looked so glorious that I was afraid of glancing at her, yet took in all her beauty.  She was in a fright, no doubt, but nobody should see it; whereas I said (to myself, at least), “I will go through it like a grave-digger.”

Lorna’s dress was of pure white, clouded with faint lavender (for the sake of the old Earl Brandir), and as simple as need be, except for perfect loveliness.  I was afraid to look at her, as I said before, except when each of us said, “I will;” and then each dwelt upon the other.

It is impossible for any who have not loved as I have to conceive my joy and pride when, after ring and all was done, and the parson had blessed us, Lorna turned to look at me with her glances of subtle fun subdued by this great act.

Her eyes, which none on earth may ever equal or compare with, told me such a depth of comfort, yet awaiting further commune, that I was almost amazed, thoroughly as I knew them.  Darling eyes, the sweetest eyes, the loveliest, the most loving eyes—­the sound of a shot rang through the church, and those eyes were filled with death.