Urith: A Tale of Dartmoor

by S. Baring-Gould

Anthony sat with his arm about Urith; he had drawn her head upon his breast, and every moment he stooped to kiss it. Tears were in her eyes—tears sparkling as the dewdrops on bracken and heather—tears of happiness. The dusky shadows of the past had rolled away: a shock had thrown her mind off its balance, and a shock had restored it. What led to that brief period of darkness, what occurred during it, was to her like a troubled dream of which no connected story remained—only a reminiscence of pain and terror. She knew now that Anthony loved her, and there was peace in her soul. He loved her. She cared for nothing else. That was to her everything. That he was in danger she knew. How he had got into it she did not dare to inquire. But one thought filled her mind and soul, displacing every other—he loved her.

It was so. Anthony did love her, and loved her alone. When he was away—in the camp, on the march, in the battle-field—his mind had turned to Urith and his home. Filled with anxiety about her from what he had heard from Mr. Crymes, he had become a prey to despair; and, if he had fought in the engagement of Sedgemoor with desperate valour, it had been in the hopes of falling, for he believed that no more chance of happiness remained to him.

After his escape, an irresistible longing to see Urith once more, and learn for certain how she was, and how she regarded him, had drawn him to Willsworthy. And now, that she was restored to him in mind and heart, he stood, perhaps, in as great peril as at any time since he had joined the insurgents. He knew this, but was sanguine. The vast extent of the moor was before him, where he could hide for months, and it would be impossible for an enemy to surprise him. Where he then was, on the cliffs above the Tavy, he was safe, and safe within reach of home. No one could approach unobserved, and opportunities of escape lay ready on all sides—a thousand hiding-places among the piles of broken rock, and bogs that could be put between himself and a pursuer. Nevertheless, he could not remain for ever thus hiding. He must escape across the seas, as he was certain to be proscribed, and a price set on his head. That he must be with Urith but for a day or two he was well aware, and every moment that she was with him was to him precious. She did not know this: she thought she had recovered him for ever, and he did not undeceive her.

Now he began to tell her of his adventures—of how he had joined the Duke, and been appointed Captain of the South Devon band; of how they had been received in Taunton; how they had marched to Bristol, and almost attacked it; and then of the disastrous day at Sedgemoor.

"Come!" said Anthony, "let us have a fire. With the mists of the morning rising, the smoke from the hut will escape notice."

The air of morning was cold.

Holding Urith still to his side, he went with her into the hut. It was without furniture of any sort. Blocks of stones served as seats; but there was a crook over the hearth, and an iron pot hanging from it. A little collection of fuel stood in a corner—heather, furze-bushes, dry turf—that had been piled there by a shepherd in winter, and left unconsumed.

Urith set herself to work to make a fire and prepare. They were merry as children on a picnic, getting ready for a breakfast. Urith had brought up what she could in a basket from Willsworthy, and soon a bright and joy-inspiring fire was blazing on the hearth.

Anthony rolled a stone beside it and made Urith sit thereon, whilst he threw himself in the fern at her feet, and held her hand. They talked watching and feeding the fire, and expecting the pot to boil. They did not laugh much, they had no jokes with each other. Love had ceased to be a butterfly, and was rather the honey-bearing bee, and the honey it brought was drawn out of the blossoms of sorrow.

To Urith it gave satisfaction to see how changed Anthony was from the spoiled, wayward, dissatisfied fellow who had thought only of himself, to a man resolute, tender, and strong. As she looked at him, pride swelled in her heart, and her dark eyes told what she felt. But a little time had passed over both their heads, and yet in that little while much had been changed in both. How much in herself she did not know, but she marked and was glad to recognise the change in him.