iid
eae. cies
CS yauaee cso.
eS iae. cae
Jp, fay hae faeries
pa Le he elk a af |
Opn Lee gp KLiL behbog
Peo
|
Su
u
if
ae
ifi
“Thou shalt see and touch the long-lost treasure! Thou shalt learn
the secret ere thou diest!â€
Page 350.
Cel
—| REASUKE
REV LN
Ha) i!
its
ae aN Mey
CHERRY AND HER DELIVERER
Page 116.
T. NELSON & SONS
LONDON, EDINBURGH & NEW-YORK.
The Lost Treasure
of Lrevlyn
A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot
By
&. EVERETT-GREEN
Author of “In the Days of Chivalry," “The Church and the King,â€
“The Lord of Dynevor,"
Co &e
A MIZIES OM AMID S OMS
London, Edinburgh, and New York
1894
IL.
II.
IV.
Vv.
VI.
VII.
VIII,
IX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
“ XVIII...
XIX,
Gy ontents.
—+4+—-
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE,
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN. CHASE,
THE LOST TREASURE, ...
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH,
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE,
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY,
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY,
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING,
THE WISE WOMAN,
THE HUNTED PRIEST, ...
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER,
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST,
THE GIPSY’S TRYST,
LONG ROBIN,
PETRONELLA,
THE PIXIES’ DELL,
BROTHER AND SISTER,
“SAUCY KATE,â€
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE,
30
51
95
vili
Xx,
XX1L
XXII.
XXIIL
XXIV.
XXY,
XXVI.
XXVII.
CONTENTS.
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY, wee
THE GIPSY’S WARNING, wee ie vee
WHISPERS ABROAD,
PERIL FOR TREVLYN,
KATE’S COURAGE, wee we wee
“ON THE DARK-FLOWING RIVER,â€
JACOB’S DEVOTION,
YULE-TIDE AT THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE,
409
430
452
472
496
517
534
548
THE
LOST TREASURE OF TREVLYN.
CHAPTER I.
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
. OST defy me to my face, sirrah ?â€
“TJ have no desire to defy you, father, but—â€
“But me no ‘buts,’ and father me no ‘ fathers,’†stormed
the angry old man, probably quite unconscious of the
Shakespearian smack of his phrase; “I am no father to
heretic spawn—a plague and a curse be on all such! Go
to, thou wicked and deceitful boy; thou wilt one day
bitterly rue thy evil practices. Thinkest thou that I will
harbour beneath my roof one who sets me at open defiance;
one who is a traitor to his house and to his faith ?â€
A dark flush had risen in the face of the tall, slight
youth, with the thoughtful brow and resolute mouth, as
his father’s first words fell upon his ears, and throwing
back his head with a haughty gesture, he said,—
“JT am not deceitful. You. have no call to taunt me
with that vice which I despise above all others. I have
1o THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
never used deceit towards you. How could you have
known I had this day attended the service of the Estab-
lished Church had I not told you so myself?â€
The veins on the old man’s forehead stood out with
anger; he brought his fist heavily down on the table, with
a bang that caused every vessel thereon to ring. A dark-
eyed girl, who was listening in mute terror to the stormy
scene, shrank yet more into herself at this, and cast an
imploring look upon the tall stripling whose face her own
so much resembled; but his fiery eyes were on his father’s
face, and he neither saw nor heeded the look.
“ And have I not forbid—ay, and that under the heaviest
penalties—any child of mine from so much as putting the
head inside one of those vile heretic buildings? Would
God they were every one of them destroyed! Heaven
send some speedy judgment upon those who- build and
those who dare to worship therein! What wonder that a
son turns in defiance upon his father, when he stuffs his
ears with the pestilent heresies with which the wicked are
making vile this earth !â€
Nicholas Trevlyn’s anger became so great at this point
as well-nigh to choke him. He paused, not from lack of
words, but from inability to utter them; and his son, boldly
taking advantage of the pause, struck in once more in his
own defence.
“Father, you talk of pestilent heresies, but what know
you of the doctrines taught within walls you never enter ?
Is it a pestilent heresy that Christ died to save the world;
that He rose again for our justification; that He sent the
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 11
Holy Spirit into the world to sanctify and gather together
a Church called after His name? That is the doctrine I
heard preached to-day, and methinks it were hard to fall
foul of it. If you had heard it yourself from one of our
priests, sure you would have found it nothing amiss.â€
“Silence, boy!†thundered the old man, his fury sud-
denly changing to a white-heat of passion, which was more
terrible than the bluster that had gone before—“ silence,
lest I strike thee to the ground where thou standest, and
plunge this dagger in thine heart sooner than hear thee
blaspheme the Holy Church in which thou wast reared!
How darest thou talk thus to me ?—as though yon accursed
heretic of a Protestant was a member of the Church of
Christ. Thou knowest that there is but one fold under
one shepherd, and he the Pope of Rome. A plague upon
those accursed ones who have perverted the true faith and
led a whole nation astray! But they shall not lead my
son after them; Nicholas Trevlyn will look well to that!â€
Father and son stood with the table between them,
gazing fixedly at one another like combatants who, having
tested somewhat the strength each of the other, feel a
certain doubt as to the termination of the contest, but are
both ready and almost eager for the final struggle which
shall leave the victory unequivocally on one side or the
other.
“T had thought that the Shepherd was Christ,†said
‘Cuthbert, in a low, firm tone, “and that the fold was wide
enough to embrace all those baptized into His name.â€
“Then thou only thinkest what is one more of those
12 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
damnable heresies which are ruining this land and cor-
rupting the whole world,’ cried Nicholas between his
shut teeth. “Thou hast learned none such vile doctrine
from me.â€
“T have learned no doctrine from you save that the Pope
is lord of all—of things temporal and things spiritual—and
that all who deny this are in peril of hell-fire,†answered
the young man, with no small bitterness and scorn, “And
here, in this realm, those who hold this to be so are in
danger of prison and death. Truly this is a happy state.
of things for one such as I. At home a father who rails
upon me night and day for a heretic—albeit I vow I hold
not one single doctrine which I cannot stand to and prove
from the Word of God.â€
“Which thou hast no call to have in thine hands!â€
shouted his father; “a book which, if given to the people,
stirs up everywhere the vilest heresies and most loathsome
errors. The Bible is God’s gift to the Church. It is not
of private interpretation. It is for the priests to give of
its treasures to the people as they are able to bear them.â€
“ Ay, verily, and what are the people to do when the
priests deny them their richtful food?†cried Cuthbert, as
hotly as his father. “Listen to me, sir. Yes, this once I
will speak! In years gone by, when, however quietly,
secretly, and privately, we were visited by a priest and
heard the mass, and received at his hands the Blessed
Sacrament, did I revolt against your wish in matters
spiritual? Was I not ever willing to please you? Did I
not love the Church? Was not I approved of the Father,
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 13
and taught many things by him, including those arts of
reading and penmanship which many in my condition of
life never attain unto? Did I ever anger you by dis-
obedience or revolt?†;
“What of that, since you are doing so now ?†questioned
Nicholas in a quieter tone, yet one full of suspicion and
resentment. “What use to talk of what is past and gone ?
Thou knowest well of late years how thou hast been hank-
ering after every vile and villanous heresy that has come
in thy way. It is thy mother’s blood within thee belike.
I did grievous wrong ever to wed with one reared a Prot-
estant, however she might abjure the errors in which she
was brought up. False son of a false mother—â€
_ “Hold, sir! You shall not miscall my mother! No son
will stand by and hear that!â€
“T will say what I will in mine own house, thou evil,
malapert boy!†roared the old man. “TI tell thee that thy
mother was a false woman—that she deceived me bitterly.
After solemnly abjuring the errors in which she had been
reared, and being received into the true fold, she, as years
went by, lapsed more and more into her foul heretical ways
of thought and speech; and though she went to her last
reckoning (unshriven and unassoiled, for she would have
no priest at her dying bed) before ye twain were old
enough to have been corrupted by her precept and example,
ye must have sucked in heresy with your mother’s milk,
else how could son of mine act in the vile fashion that thou
art acting ?â€
“T am acting in no vile fashion. Iam no heretic. I
14 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
am a true son of the true Church.†Cuthbert spoke with
a forced calmness which gave his words weight, and for a
moment even the angry man paused to listen to them,
eying the youth keenly all the while, as though measur-
ing his own strength against him. Physically he was far
more than a match for the slightly-built stripling of one-
and-twenty, being a man of great height and muscular
power—power that had in no wise diminished with ad-
vancing years, though time had turned his black locks to
iron gray, and seamed his face with a multitude of wrinkles.
Pride, passion, gloomy defiance, and bitter hatred of his
kind seemed written on that face, which in its youth must
have been handsome enough. Nicholas Trevlyn was a
disappointed, imbittered man, who added to all other faults
of temperament that of a hopeless bigot of the worst kind.
He was the sort of man of whom Inquisitors must surely
have been made—without pity, without remorse, without
any kind of natural feeling when once their religious con-
victions were at stake.
As a young man he had watched heretics burning in
Smithfield with a fierce joy and delight; and when with
the accession of Elizabeth the tide had turned, he had
submitted without a murmur to the fines which had ruined
him and driven him, a poverty-stricken dependent, to the
old Gate-House. He would have died a martyr with the
grim constancy that he. had seen in others, and never
lamented what he suffered for conscience’ sake. But he
had grown to be a thoroughly soured and imbittered man,
and had spent the past twenty or more years of his life in
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 15
a ceaseless savage brooding which had made his abode
anything but a happy place for his two children, the
offspring of a late and rather peculiar marriage with a
woman by birth considerably his inferior.
. The firmness without the bitterness of his father’s face
was reflected in that of the son as Cuthbert fearlessly
finished his speech.
“T am a true son of the Church. I am no outcast—no
heretic.. But I will not suffer my soul to be starved. It
is the law of this land that whatever creed men hold in
their hearts—whether the tenets of Rome or those of the
Puritans of Scotland—that they shall outwardly conform
themselves to the forms prescribed by the Establishment,
and shall attend the churches of the land; and you know
as well as I do that there be many priests of our faith who
bid their flocks obey this law, and submit themselves to the
powers that be. And yet even with all this I would have
restrained myself from such attendance, knowing that it is
an abhorrence unto you, had there been any other way
open to me of hearing the Word of God or receiving the
Blessed Sacrament. But since King James has come to
the throne, the penal laws have been more stringently
enforced against our priests than in the latter days of the
Queen. What has been the result for us? Verily that
the priest who did from time to time minister to us is fled.
We are left without help, without guidance, without teach-
ing, and this when the clouds of peril and trouble are like
to darken more and more about our path.â€
“And what of that, rash boy? Would you think to
16 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
lessen the peril by tampering with the things of the Evil
One; by casting aside those rules and doctrines in which
you both have been reared, and consorting with the sub-
verters of the true faith ?â€
“ But I cannot see that they are subverters of the faith,â€
answered the youth hotly. “That is where the kernel of
the matter lies. I have heard their preachings. I have
talked with my cousins at the Chase, who know what their
doctrine is.â€
But at these words the old man fairly gnashed his teeth
in fury; he made a rush at his son and took him by the
collar of his doublet, shaking him in a frenzy of rage.
“Soh,†he cried, “soh! Now we get at the whole heart
of the matter. You have been learning heresy from those
false Trevlyns at the Chase—those renegade, treacherous,
time-serving Trevlyns, who are a disgrace to their name
and their station! Wretched boy! have I not warned you
times and again to have no dealings with those evil relatives?
Kinsmen they may be, but kinsmen who have disgraced
the name they bear. I would I had Richard Trevlyn here
beneath my hand now, that I might stuff his false doctrine
down his false throat to choke him withal! And to think
that he has corrupted my son! as if the rearing of his own
heretic brood was not enough !â€
Cuthbert was unable to speak ; his father’s hand pressed
too tightly on his throat. He did not struggle or resist.
Those were days when sons—ay, and daughters too—were
used to receiving severe chastisement from the parental hand
without murmur; and Nicholas Trevlyn had not been one
(378)
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 17
to spare the rod where his son had been concerned. His
wrath seemed to rise as he felt the slight form of the lad
sway beneath his strong grasp. Surely that slim stripling
could be reduced to obedience; but the lesson must be a
sharp one, for plainly the poison was working, and had
already produced disastrous results.
“ Miserable boy !†cried Nicholas, his eyes blazing in their
cavernous hollows, “the time has come when this matter
must be settled betwixt us twain. Swear that thou wilt
go no more to the churches of the Protestant faction, be
the laws what they may; swear that thou wilt hold no
more converse on matters of religion with thy cousins at
the Chase ;—swear these things with a solemn and binding
oath, and all may yet be well. Refuse, and thou shalt yet
learn, as thou hast not learned before, what the wrath of a
wronged and outraged father can be!â€
Petronella, the dark-eyed girl, who had all this while
been crouching back in her high-backed chair in an atti-
tude of shrinking terror, now sprang suddenly towards
her brother, crying,—
“OQ Cuthbert, Cuthbert! prithee do not anger him
more !—Father, O dear sir, let but him go this once! He
does not willingly anger you; he does but—â€
“Peace, foolish girl, and begone! This is no time for
woman's whining. Thy brother and I can settle this
business betwixt us twain. But stay, go thou to my room
and fetch thence the strong whip wherewith I chastise the
unruly hounds. Those who disobey like dogs must be
beaten like dogs.—But, an thou wilt swear to do my bidding
(878) 2
18 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
in the future, and avoid all pestilent controversy with those
false scions of thy house, thy chastisement shall be light.
Defy me, and thou shalt feel the full weight of my arm as
thou ‘hast never felt it before.â€
Petronella had never seen her father so angry in all her
life before. True, he had always been a harsh, stern man,
an unloving father, a captious tyrant in his own house.
But there had been limits to his anger. It had taken more
generally the form of sullen brooding than of wild wrath,
and the irritation and passion which had lately been in-
creasing visibly in him was something comparatively new.
Of late, however, there had been growing friction between
Cuthbert and his father. The youth, who had remained
longer a boy in his secluded life than he would have done
had his lot been cast in a wider sphere, was awakening at
last to the stirrings of manhood within him, and was chafing
against the. fetters, both physical and spiritual, laid upon
him by the life he was forced to lead through the tyrannical
will of his father. He was beginning, in a semi-conscious
fashion, to pant for freedom, and to rebel against the harsh
paternal yoke.
When a struggle of wills commences, the friction con-
tinues a long while before the spark is produced ; but when
some unwonted contest has ignited this, the flame often
bursts out in wonderful fury, and the whole scene is thence-
forward changed.
If the old man’s blood was up to-day, Cuthbert’s was no
less so. He shook himself free for a moment from his
father’s grasp and stood before him, tall, upright, indignant,
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 19°
no fear in his face, but a deep anger and pain; and his
words were spoken with great emphasis and deliberation.
“T will swear nothing of all that. I claim for myself
the right of a man to judge for myself and act for myself.
I am a boy no longer; I have reached man’s estate. I will
be threatened and intimidated no longer by any man, even
though he be my father. JI am ready and willing to leave
your house this very day. I am weary of the life here.
I would fain carve out fortune for myself. It is plain
that we cannot be agreed; wherefore it plainly behoves us
to part. Let me then go, but let me go in peace. It may
be when I return to these doors you may have learned to
think more kindly of me.â€
But the very calmness of these words only stung Nicholas
to greater fury. He had in full force that inherent belief,
so deeply rooted in the minds of many of the sons of Rome,
that conviction as well as submission could be compelled —
could be driven into the minds and consciences of recal-
citrant sons and daughters by sheer force and might.
Gnashing his teeth in fury, he sprang once more upon his
son, winding his strong arms about him, and fairly lifting
him from the ground in his paroxysm of fury.
“Go! ay, we will see about that. Go, and carry your
false stories and falser thoughts out into the world, and
pollute others as you yourself have been polluted! we
will think of that anon. Here thou art safe in thy father’s
care, and it will be well to think further ere we let so
rabid a heretic stray from these walls. Wretched boy!
the devil himself must sure have entered into thee. But
20 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
fiends have been exorcised before now. It shall not be the
fault of Nicholas Trevlyn if this one be not quickly forced
to take flight.â€
All this while the infuriated man had been partly
dragging, partly carrying his son to a dreary empty room
in the rear of the dilapidated old house inhabited by
Nicholas and his children. It was a vault-like apartment,
and the roof was upheld in the centre by a stout pillar
such as one sees in the crypts of churches, and suspended
round this pillar were a pair of manacles and a leather belt.
Cuthbert had many times been tied up to this pillar before,
his hands secured above his head in the manacles, and his
body firmly fastened to the pillar by the leather thong.
Sometimes he had been left many hours thus secured, till
he had been ready to drop with exhaustion. Sometimes
he had been cruelly beaten by his stern sire in punishment
for some boyish prank or act of disobedience. Even the
gentle and timid Petronella had more than once been
fastened to the pillar for a time of penance, though the
manacles and the whip had been spared to her. The place
was even now full of terrors for her—a gruesome spot,
always dim and dark, always full of lurking horrors. Her
eyes dilated with agony and fear as she beheld her brother
fastened up—not before his stout doublet had been re-
moved—and her knees almost gave way beneath her as
her father turned sharply upon her and said—
“Where is the whip, girl?â€
It was seldom that the maiden had the courage to resist
her stern father ; but to-day, love for her brother overcoming
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 21
every other feeling, she suddenly sank on her knees before
him, clasping her hands in piteous supplication, as she cried,
with tears streaming down her face,—
“O father, sweet father, spare him this time! for the
love of heaven visit not his misdoings upon him! Let me
but talk to him; let me but persuade him! Oh, do not
treat him so harshly! Indeed he may better be won by
love than driven by blows !â€
But Nicholas roughly repulsed the girl, so that she almost
fell as he brushed past her.
“Tush, girl! thou knowest not what thou sayest. Dis-
obedience must be flogged out of the heretic spawn. I will
have no son of mine sell himself to the devil unchecked.
A truce to such tears and vain words! I will none of them.
And take heed that thine own turn comes not next. I will
spare neither son nor daughter that I find tampering with
the pestilent doctrines of heretics!†—
So saying, the angry man strode away himself in search
of the weapon of chastisement, and whilst Petronella sobbed
aloud in her agony of pity, Cuthbert looked round with
a strange smile to say,—
“Do not weep so bitterly, my sister; it will soon be
over, and it is the last beating I will ever receive at his
hands. This settles it—this decides me. I leave this
house this very night, and I return no more until I have
won my right to be treated no longer as a slave and a
dog.â€
“ Alas, my brother! wilt thou really go?â€
“ Ay, that will I, and this very night to boot.â€
22 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
“This night! But I fear me he will lock thee in this
chamber here.â€
“T trust he may; so may I the better effect my pur-
pose. Listen, sister, for he will return right soon, and I
must be brief. I have been shut up here before, and
dreaming of some such day as this, I have worked my
way through one of yon stout bars to the window; and
it will fall out now with a touch. Night falls early in
these dark November days. When the great clock in the
tower of the Chase tolls eight strokes, then steal thou
from the house bearing some victuals in a wallet, and my
good sword and dagger and belt. Meet me by the ruined
chantry where we have sat so oft. I will then tell thee
all that is in my heart—for which time lacks me to speak
now. Hist! there is his returning step. Leave me now,
and weep not. I care naught for hard blows; I have
received too many in my time. But these shall be the
last!â€
Petronella, trembling in every limb, shrank silently away
in the shadows as her father approached, the sight of his
grim, stern face and the cruel-looking weapon in his hands
bringing quick thrills of pain and pity to her gentle heart.
Petronella was a very tender floweret to have been reared
amidst so much hardness and sorrow. It was wonderful
that she had lived through the helpless years of infancy
(her mother had died ere she had completed her second
year) with such a father over her, or that having so
lived she had preserved the sweetness and clinging softness
of temperament which gave to her such a strange charm—
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 23
at least in the opinion of one. Doubtless she owed much
of her well-being to the kindly care of an old deaf-and-
dumb woman, the only servant in that lonely old house,
who had entered it to nurse the children’s mother through
her last illness, and had stayed on almost as a matter of
course, receiving no wage for her untiring service, but
only the coarse victuals that all shared alike, and such
scanty clothing as was absolutely indispensable.
To this old crone Petronella fled with white face and
tearful eyes, as the sound of those terrible blows smote
upon her ears with the whistling noise that well betrayed
the force with which they were dealt. She quickly made
the faithful old creature aware of what was going on, and
her sympathy was readily aroused on behalf of the sufferer.
The dumb request for food was also understood and
complied with. No doubt there had been times before
when the girl had crept with bread and meat in her apron
to the solitary captive, who was shut up alone without
food till he should come to a better mind. Of Cuthbert’s
intended flight she made no attempted revelation. She
must act now, and explain later, if she could ever make
the old woman understand, that her brother had fled,
and had not been done to death by his hard-hearted
father.
Supper was over. It had been at the close of that
meal that the explosion had taken place. She would not
be called upon to meet her father again that day. Fleeing
up the broken stone staircase just as his feet were heard
returning from the vaulted room, she heard him bang to
24 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
the door of the living-room before she dared to steal into
the little bare chamber where her brother slept, and where
all his worldly possessions were stored.
The old Gate-House was a strange habitation. Formerly
merely the gateway to the Castle, which had once reared
its proud head upon the crest of the hill to the westward,
it had but scant accommodation for a family—one living-
room below, flanked on one side by the kitchen, and on
the other by the vaulted chamber, once possibly a guard-
room, but so bitterly cold and damp now that it was never
used save for such purposes as had been witnessed there
that evening. A winding, broken stone stairway led up-
wards to a few very narrow chambers above of irregular
shape, and all lighted by loophole windows deeply splayed.
The lowest of these was the place where Nicholas slept,
and there was a slight attempt at furniture and comfort;
but the upper chambers, where Petronella and Cuthbert
retired out of the way of their father’s sullen and morose
temper, were bare of all but actual necessities, and lacked
many things which would be numbered amongst essentials
in later days. The stone floors had not even a carpeting
of rushes, the pallet beds lay on the hard stone floor, and
only the girl possessed a basin and ewer for washing.
Cuthbert was supposed to perform his ablutions in the
water of the moat without, or at the pump in the yard.
But Petronella had small notion of the hardness of her
life. She had known no other, and only of late had she
begun to realize that other girls were more gently reared
and tended. Since the family had come to live at the
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 25
Chase—which had only happened within the past year—
her ideas had begun to enlarge; but so far this had not
taught her discontent with her surroundings.
She knew that her father had fled to the Gate-House as a
place of retirement in the hour of his danger and need, and
that nobody had denied his right to remain there, though
the whole property was in the possession of Sir Richard
Trevlyn, the nephew of her morose parent. Nicholas,
however, as may have been already gathered, bore no
good-will towards his nephew, and would fain have hin-
dered his children from so much as exchanging a word
with their kinsfolks. But blood is thicker than water,
and the young naturally consort together. Nicholas had
married so late in life that his children were much about
the same age as those of his nephew— indeed the Trevlyns
of the Chase were all older than Petronella. Sir Richard
had striven to establish friendly relations with his uncle
when he had first brought his family to the Chase, and
had only given up the attempt after many rebuffs, He
encouraged his children to show kindness to their cousins,
as they called each other, and since that day a ray of
sunshine had stolen into Petronella’s life, though she was
almost afraid to cherish it, lest it should only be with-
drawn again.
As she hurried to the tryst that evening, this fear was
only second to the bitter thought of parting with Cuthbert.
Yet she did not wish him to stay. Her father’s wrath
and suspicion once fully aroused, no peace could be hoped
for or looked for. Terribly as she would miss him, any-
26 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
thing was better than such scenes as the one of to-day.
Cuthbert was no longer a child; he was beginning to
think and reason and act for himself. It was better he
should fly before worse had happened ; only the girl could
not but wonder what her own life would be like if, after
his departing, her stern father should absolutely forbid her
seeing or speaking to her cousins again.
She knew he would gladly do it—knew that he hated
and grudged the few meetings and greetings that did pass
between them from time to time. Any excuse would
gladly be caught at as a pretext for an absolute pro-
hibition of such small overtures; and what would life be
like, she wondered with a little sob, if she were to lose
Cuthbert, and never to see Philip ?
Her brother was at the trysting-place first. She could
not see his face, but could distinguish the slight figure
seated upon the crumbling fragment of the wall. He was
very still and quiet, and she paused as she drew near,
wondering if he had not heard her light footfall upon the
fallen leaves.
“Is that thou, my sister?†asked a familiar voice,
though feeble and hollow in its tones. The girl sprang
quickly to his side.
“Yes, Cuthbert, it is I; and I have brought all thou
biddest me, and as much beside as I could make shift to
carry. Alack, Cuthbert! are you sorely hurt? I heard
that cruel whip !â€
“Think no more of that! I will think no more myself
once the smart be past. Think of the freedom thy brother
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 27
will enjoy ; would that thou couldst share it, sweet sister !
I like not faring thus forth and leaving thee, but for the
nonce there be no other way. Petronella, I know thou
wouldst ask whither I go and what I do. And that I
scarce know myself as yet. But sitting here in the dark
there has come a new purpose, a new thought to my mind.
What if I were to set myself to the discovery of the lost
treasure of Trevlyn Chase ?â€
The girl started in the darkness, and laid her hand on
her brother's arm. “Ah, Cuthbert, that lost treasure !
Would that thou couldst find it! But how canst thou
hope to do so when so many besides have failed ?â€
“That is not the fashion in which men think when
they mean to triumph, my sister,†said Cuthbert, and she
knew by his voice that he was smiling. “ How this thing
may be done I know not. Where the long-lost treasure be
hid I know not; nor that I may ever be the one to light
on it. But this I do know, that it is somewhere; that
some hand buried it; that even now some living soul may
know the secret of the hiding-place. Petronella, hast thou
ever thought of it? Hast thou ever wondered if our
father may know aught of it?â€
“Our father! nay, Cuthbert; but he would be the first
to show the place and claim his share of spoil.†.
“T know not that. He hates Sir Richard. Methinks
he loved not his own brother, the good knight’s father.
He was in the house what time the treasure vanished.
Might he not have had some hand in the mystery ?â€
The girl shook her head again doubtfully.
28 THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE.
“Nay, how can I say? Yet methinks our father, who
sorely laments his poverty and dependence for a home
upon Sir Richard’s kindness, would no longer live at the
old Gate-House had he riches hidden away upon which he
might lay his hand. Nay, Cuthbert, methinks thou art
not onthe right track in thinking of him. But I do not
rightly know the story of that lost treasure.â€
“ Marry, nor I neither. I have heard our father rave
of it. I have heard a-word here, a whisper there, but
never a full account of the matter. But that there is
some great treasure lost or made away with all men who
know aught of the Trevlyns know well. And if, as all
affirm, this same treasure is but buried in some hiding-
place, the clue to which none possesses, why should not I
find it? Why should not I be the man at last to track
and to discover it?â€
Why not indeed? Petronella, full of ardent youthful
imaginings, fired instantly with the thought. Why should
not her brother do this thing? Why not indeed? She
looked at him with eyes that shone in the gloom like
stars.
“Yes, Cuthbert, be it thine to do what none else has been
able. Be it thine to discover this lost treasure. Would
that I could help thee in that quest! But I can give thee
just this one morsel of counsel. Start not till thou hast
been to the Chase and heard all the story from our cousins
there. They will tell thee what there is to know, and he
is twice armed who has this knowledge.â€
“T will follow thy good counsel, my sister, and commend
THE INMATES OF THE OLD GATE-HOUSE. 29
thee to their kindly care, And now, let us say farewell,
and be brief; for such moments do but wring the heart
and take the manliness from one. Farewell, and farewell,
my sweetest sister. Heaven be thy guide and protector;
and be sure of one thing, that if I live I will see thee soon
again, and that if I have success in my search thou and I
will rejoice in it together.â€
CHAPTER IT.
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
REVLYN CHASE was a fine Tudor structure, stand-
ing on the site of the more ancient castle that had
been destroyed during the tumultuous days of the Wars of
the Roses. Instead of the grim pile of gray masonry that
had once adorned the crest of the wooded hill, its narrow
loopholes and castellated battlements telling of matters
offensive and defensive, a fair and home-like mansion of
_red brick overlooked the peaceful landscape, adorned with
innumerable oriel windows, whose latticed casements shone
brilliantly in the south sunlight as it fell upon the hand-
some frontage of the stately house. Great timbers deeply
carved adorned the outer walls, and the whole building
was rich in those embellishments which grace the buildings
of that period. A fine terrace ran the whole length of the
south front, and was bounded at either side by a thick
hedge of yew. Stone steps led down into a terraced gar-
den upon which much care had been bestowed, and which
in summer was bright with all the flowers then known
and cultivated in this country. Even in gloomy winter
there was more of order and trimness than was often
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 31
found in such places, and the pleasaunces and shrubberies
and gardens of Trevlyn Chase, with the wide fish-ponds
and terraced paths, formed a pleasant place of resort
almost at any season, and were greatly delighted in by
the children of the present owner, who had only recently
made acquaintance with their ancient family home.
The setting sun was shining brightly now upon the
~ windows of the house which faced the south, with half a
point of west, so that in winter the sunlight shone to the
very time of its setting into the lofty and decorated cham-
bers. The glow from blazing fires within likewise shone
and twinkled hospitably through the clear glass, and one
long window of one of the rooms stood open to the still
evening air, and a little group was gathered together just
outside.
A tall young man. of some five-and-twenty summers, —
with the regular Trevlyn features and a pair of honest gray
eyes, was standing out on the terrace with his face towards
the red sky, a couple of sporting dogs frisking joyously
about him, as if hoping he was bent upon a stroll in the
woods. By his side stood a tall slim maiden, bright-faced
and laughing-eyed, straight as a dart, alert and graceful in
her movements, with an expression of courage and resolu-
tion on her fair face that stamped it at once with a strong
individuality of its own. She was dressed simply, though
in soft and rich textures, as became her station, and she
held her hood in her hands, leaving her ruffled curly hair
to be the sport of the light night breeze. She had very
delicate features and an oval face, and from the likeness
32 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
that existed between them the pair were plainly brother
and sister.
Just within the open window were two more girls,
dressed in the same fashion as the first, and plainly her
sisters, though they were more blonde in type, and whilst
very pretty, lacked the piquant originality that was the
great characteristic of the dark girl’s beauty. They were
not quite so tall, and the elder of the blonde pair was not
nearly so slim, but had something of womanly deliberation
and dignity about her. She was plainly the eldest of the
three sisters, as the little maid beside her was the youn-
gest. All three were engrossed in some sort of talk that
appeared full of interest for them.
“T wish he would not do it,†said Philip, turning his
eyes in an easterly direction, towards a hollow in the fall-
ing ground, where the ruins of the ancient wall could still
be dimly traced. The old Gate-House itself could not be
seen from this side of the house, but it was plain that the
thoughts of all had turned in that direction. “It is brave
of him to obey his conscience rather than his father; but
yon man is such a veritable tiger, that I fear me there
will be dark work there betwixt them if the lad provoke
him too far. Nicholas Trevlyn is not one to be defied
with impunity. I would that Cuthbert had as much pru-
dence as he has courage.â€
“So do not I,†answered Kate quickly, turning her
flashing eyes full upon her brother. “I hate prudence—the
prudence of cowardice! I am right glad that Cuthbert
thinks first of his conscience and second of his father’s
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 33
wrath. What man who ever lived to do good in the
world was deterred from the right by craven fears? I
honour him for his single-mindedness. He is a bold youth,
and I would fain help him an I could see the way.â€
“We would all gladly do that,†answered ep “the
hard thing being to find the way.â€
“We shall find it anon, I doubt not,†answered Kate.
“Things cannot go on ever as they are now.â€
“No; methinks one day we may chance to hear that
the old Papist has done his son to death in a fit of blind
fury. Then perhaps, my sister, thou wilt join with me in
wishing that the lad had shown more regard for his stern
sire’s word.â€
“Nay, Philip, sure thou fearest too much,†spoke Cecilia
from her station beside the window. “Nicholas Trevlyn
may be a dark and sour man, but he scarce would lift'a
hand against his own flesh and blood! I cannot believe
it of any father.â€
“Fathers of his type have done as bad ere now,†an-
swered Philip, with -gravity, “and there is no bigot like
the Papist bigot, who is soured and imbittered by persecu-
tion himself. Cuthbert has told me things ere this which
show what an iron soul his father’s is. He believes that he
would wring the neck of little Petronella sooner than see
her turn out of the path of unreasoning Papistry in which
he has brought her up,†and Philip’s’ face darkened: sud-
denly as he turned it towards his sisters,
“But sure the King would protect them if he knew,â€
said Bessie, the youngest of the sisters. “Why, the law bids
(878) 3
34 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
all loyal subjects go to church, and punishes those who
stay away. The King would be sorely angry, would he
not, were he to hear that any man dared use force to
hinder his children from going.â€
Kate’s delicate lips curved into a smile of derision, and
Philip shrugged his broad shoulders. -
“The King, my dear Bessie, is naught but a miserable
pedant, who loves nothing so well as hearing himself
talk, and prating by the hour together on matters of law
and religion, and on the divine right of kings. He is not
the King such as England has been wont to know—a
King to whom his subjects might gain access to plead his
protection and ask his aid. I trow none but a fool would
strive to win a smile from the Scottish James. He is
scarce a man, by all we hear, let alone a King. I some-
times think scorn of us as a nation that we so gladly and
peaceably put our necks beneath the sceptre of such an
-atomy. Sure had the Lady Arabella but been a man, we
should scarce have welcomed so gladly this son of Mary
Stuart as our monarch.â€
“Have a care, my children, and talk not rank treason
in such open fashion,†said a deep voice behind them, and
the daughters started to see the tall form of their father
in the room behind them. “We Trevlyns are none too
safe from suspicion that we need endanger ourselves wil-
fully. Whatever else James Stuart may be, he has shown
that he means to be a monarch as absolute as any who
have gone before him. Wherefore it behoves us to be
cautious even in the sanctuary of this peaceful home.—
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 35
What. is the matter, Kate, that thou art thus scornful
towards his majesty? In what has he offended thee, my
saucy princess ?â€
As Kate stepped within the room, followed by her
brother, it was plain from the lighting of her father’s eyes
that she was the favourite daughter with him. He laid
his hand lightly on her shoulder, and she stood up close
beside him, her bright face upraised, a saucy gleam in her
eyes, and both her attitude and bearing bespoke an affec-
tionate confidence between father and child less common
in those ceremonious days than it has since become.
“Father, we were talking of Cuthbert. Did you see
him at church to-day? He was there both in the morning
and the afternoon.â€
“JT thought I saw him. I was not sure. I am glad his
father has had the sense to relent thus far with him.â€
“But he has not relented,†answered Kate quickly.
“ Cuthbert comes in defiance of his commands; and Philip
says he misdoubts if his father may not do him some griev-
ous bodily harm in his rage and fury. ; Bessie did ask if the
King would not interfere to save him;†and then Kate
broke off with her rippling, saucy laugh. “I was just an-
swering that question when you came. But sure, father,
something might be done for him. It is a cruel thing for
a boy to be treated as he is treated, and all for-striving to
obey the law of the land.†j
Sir Richard Trevlyn stood in silent thought awhile.
He was a fine-looking man, with a thoughtful, benevolent
countenance, and eyes that Kate had inherited. He had
36 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
known something of peril and trouble himself in his day,
and could feel for the troubles of others. But he also
knew the difficulties of dealing with such a man as his kins-
man Nicholas; and without bringing him to the notice of
the authorities as a concealed Papist—an idea repugnant
to him where one of his own name and blood was con-
cerned—it was difficult to see what could be done for
the protection of the hapless Cuthbert and his sister. Sir
Richard Trevlyn did not wish to draw public attention
upon himself. It was his desire to live as quietly and
privately as possible. The Trevlyns had been for many
generations a family stanch to the doctrines and traditions
of the Church of Rome, and they had won for themselves
that kind of reputation which clings tenaciously to certain
families even when it has ceased to be a fact. The present
Sir Richard’s father had broken through the traditions of
_ his race in marrying a lady of the Reformed faith. It
was a love-match, and all other considerations went to the
winds. The lady was no theologian, and though believing
all she had been taught, had no horror of Popery or of
her husband’s creed. They had lived happily together in
spite of their respective opinions; but either through the
influence of his wife, or through other causes less well
understood, Sir Richard the elder in his later life became
gradually weaned from the old faith, and embraced that
of his wife. Some said this was done from motives of
policy, since Elizabeth was-on the throne, and the edicts
against Papists, though only rigidly enforced by fits and
starts, were always in existence, and had been the ruin of
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 37
many ancient families. However that may have been, the
only son of this union had been trained up a Protestant,
and had brought up his own children as members of the
Established Church of the land.
But still the old tradition remained that all Trevlyns
must of necessity be rank Papists, and Nicholas had cer-
tainly done all he could to encourage this idea, and had
ruined himself by his contumacious resistance to the laws.
Both his brother and his nephew had suffered through
their close relationship to such an unruly subject, and
there had been dark days enough for the family during
the Armada scare, when every Papist became a mark for
popular hatred, and professions of loyalty and good faith
were regarded with distrust.
Now, however, the family seemed to have lived through
its darkest days. Peace had been made with men. in high
places. Sir Richard had done good service to the State on
more than one occasion ; and latterly he had felt sufficiently
safe to retire from the neighbourhood of the Court, where
he had been holding some small office, and settle down
with his wife and family in his ancestral home. His
marriage with Lady Frances de Grey, the daughter of
the Earl of Andover, had given him excellent connections ;
for the Andovers were stanch supporters of the Reformed
faith, and had been for several generations, so that they
were high in favour, and able to further the fortunes of
their less lucky kinsman. It had taken many years to
work matters to a safe and happy conclusion, but at the
present moment there seemed to be no clouds in the sky.
38 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
The new King had been as gracious as it was in his nature
to be to Sir Richard, and did not appear to regard him
with any suspicion, The knight breathed freely again
after a long period of anxiety, for the tenacious memory
and uncertain temper of the late Queen had kept him in a
constant ferment.
It had been a kindly and courageous thing for Sir
Richard to permit his contumacious and inimical kins-
man to retain the possession of the old Gate-House.
Nicholas had no manner of right to it, though he was
fond of putting forward a pretended claim; and the close
proximity of a rank and bitter Papist of his own name
and race was anything but a pleasant thing. But the
sense of family feeling, so strongly implanted in the
English race, had proved stronger than prudential scruple,
and Nicholas had not been ejected, his nephew even striv-
ing at the first to establish some kind of friendly relations
' with the old man, hoping perhaps to draw him out of his
morose ways, and lead him to conformity and obedience
to the existing law.
Nicholas had refused all overtures ; but his lonely son
and daughter had been only.too thankful for notice, and
the whole family at the Chase became keenly interested
in them. It was plain from the first that their father’s
bitterness and rigid rule had done anything but endear
his own views to his children. Petronella accepted the
creeds and dogmas instilled into her mind with a childlike
faith, and dreamed her own devotional dreams over her
breviary and her book of saints—the only two volumes
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 39
she possessed. She was content, in the same fashion that
a little child is content, with just so much as was given
her. But Cuthbert’s mind was of a different stamp, and
he had long been panting to break the bonds that held
both body and soul in thrall, and find out for himself the
meaning of those questions’ and controversies that were
convulsing the nation and the world.
Intercourse with his kinsfolk had given him his first
real insight into the burning questions of the hour, and
his attendance from time to time atthe parish church had
caused him fresh access of wonder at what his father could
object to in the doctrines there set forth. They might
not embody everything a popish priest would bid him
believe, but at least they appeared to the boy to contain
all the integral truths of Christianity. He began dimly
to understand that the Papists were not half so much con-
cerned in the matter of cardinal doctrines of the faith as in
asserting and upholding the temporal as well as the spirit-
ual power of the Pope; and that this should be made the
matter of the chiefest moment filled the boy’s soul with a
loathing and disgust which were strong enough to make
him half a Protestant at once.
Sir Richard had seen almost as much, and was greatly
interested in the lad; but it was difficult to know how to
help him in days when parental authority was so absolute
and so rigidly exercised.
“We must do what we can,†said Sir Richard, waking
from his reverie and shaking his head. “But we must have
patience too; and it will not be well for the boy to irritate
40 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
his father too greatly. To-morrow I will go to the Gate-
House and see my uncle, and speak for the boy. He ought
to have the liberty of the law, and the law bids all men
attend the services of the Established Church. But it is
ill work reasoning with a Papist of his type; and short
of reporting the case to the authorities, meaning more
persecution for my unlucky kinsman, I know not what
may be done.â€
“We must strive so to win upon him by gentle means
that he permits his children free intercourse with ours,â€
said gentle Lady Frances from her seat by the glowing
hearth. “It seems to me that that is all we may hope to
achieve in the present. Perchance as days and weeks pass ©
by we may find a way to that hard and flinty heart.â€
“ And whilst we wait it may well be that Cuthbert will
be goaded to desperation, or be done to death by his
remorseless sire,†answered impetuous Kate, who loved not
counsels of prudence. “Methinks that waiting is an ill
game. I would never wait were Ia man. I would al-
ways act—ay, even in the teeth of deadly peril. Sure the
greatest deeds have been achieved by men of action, not
by men of counsel and prudence.â€
Sir Richard smiled, as he stroked her hair, and told her
she should have lived a hundred or so years back, when it
was the fashion to do and dare regardless of consequences.
And gradually the talk drifted away from the inmates of
the old Gate-House, though Philip was quite resolved to
pay an early visit there on the morrow, and learn how it
had fared with his cousin.
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 41
Supper followed in due course, and was a somewhat
lengthy meal. Then the ladies retired to the stately
apartment they had been in before, and the mother read a
homily to her daughters, which was listened to with dutiful
attention, But Kate’s bright eyes were often bent upon
the casement of one window, the curtain of which she had
drawn back with her own hand before sitting down; and
as the moon rose brighter and brighter in the sky and
bathed the world without in its clear white beams, she
seemed to grow a little restless, and tapped the floor with
the point of her dainty shoe.
Kate Trevlyn was a veritable sprite for her love of the
open air, by night as well as day, in winter cold as well as
summer heat. “The night-bird†was one of her father’s
playful names for her, and if ever she was able to slip
away on a fine night, nothing delighted her more than to
wander about in the park and the woods, listening to the
cries of the owls and night-jars, watching the erratic flight
of the bats, and admiring the grand beauty of the sleeping
world as it lay beneath the rays of the peaceful moon.
As the reading ceased, a step on the terrace without told
Kate that Philip was out for an evening stroll. Gliding
from the room with her swift undulating motion, and quickly
donning cloak and clogs, she slipped after him and joined
him before he had got many yards from the house.
“Take me with thee, Philip,†she said. “It is a lovely
night for a stroll. I should love to visit the chantry ;
it looks most witching at this hour of the night.â€
They took the path that led thither. The great clock |
42 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
in the tower had boomed the hour of eight some time since.
The moon had shaken itself free from the veil of cloud,
and was sailing majestically in the sky. As they descended
the path, Kate suddenly laid her hand on her brother's
arm, and whispered,—
“Hist! Methinks I hear the sound of steps. Surely
there is some one approaching us from below !â€
Philip paused and listened. Yes, Kate’s quick ears had
not deceived her. There was the sound of a footstep
advancing towards them along the lonely tangled path.
Philip instinctively felt for the pistol he always carried in
his belt, for there were often doubtful and sometimes
desperate men in hiding in woods and lonely places; but
before he had time to do more than feel if the weapon
were safe, Kate had darted suddenly from his side, and was
speeding down the path.
“Marry but it is Cuthbert!†she called back to him as
‘he bid her stop, and Philip himself started forward to meet
and greet the new-comer.
“We have been talking of you and wondering how it
fared with you,†he said, as they reached the side of the
youth “Tam right glad to see you here to-night.â€
Cuthbert did not answer for a moment. He seemed to
pant for breath. A ray of moonlight striking down upon
his face showed it to be deadly white. His attitude be-
spoke the extreme of fatigue and weakness.
“Why, there is something amiss with you!†cried Philip,
taking his cousin by the arm. “Some evil hap has befallen
â€
you.
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 43
“His father has half killed him, I trow!†cried Kate,
with sudden energy. “He could not else have received
injury in these few hours.—Speak, Cuthbert; tell us! is
it not so?â€
“T have been something rough handled,†answered the
lad in a low voice; “but I did not feel it greatly till I
began to climb the hill—I thank you, good Philip. I will
be glad of your arm. But I am better already.â€
“You look like a veritable ghost,†said Kate, still brim-
ming over with pity and indignation, “What did that
miserable man do to you?â€
“Why, naught that he has not done a score of times
before—tied me to the pillar and flogged me like a dog.
Only he laid his blows on something more fiercely than is
his wont, and doubled the number of them. Perchance he
had some sort of inkling that it was his last chance, and
used it accordingly.â€
The bare trees did not screen the beams of the moon,
and both Philip and Kate could see the expression on
Cuthbert’s face. What they read there caused Kate to
ask suddenly and eagerly,— .
“What meanest thou by that, Cuthbert? What plan
hast thou in thine head ?â€
“Why, a mighty simple one—so simple that I marvel
I have not carried it out before. I could not live worse
were I to beg my bread from door to door, and I should at
least have my liberty; and if whipped for a vagabond,
should scarce be so badly used as my father uses me.
Moreover, I have a pair of strong arms and some book-
44 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE,
learning; and I trow I need never sink to beggary. I
mind not what Ido. I will dig the fields sooner than be,
worse treated than a dog. My mind is made up. I have
left my father’s house never to return. I am going forth
into the world to see what may befall me there, certain
that nothing can be worse than what I have left behind.†|
“Thou hast run away from thy cruel father? Marry,
1?
that is good hearing!†cried Kate, with sparkling eyes.
“TI marvel we had none of us thought of that plan our-
selves; it is excellent.â€
“Tt seemed the one thing left—the only thing possible.
I could not endure such thraldom longer,†answered Cuth-
bert, speaking wearily, for he was in truth well-nigh worn
out with the tumult of his own feelings and the savage
treatment he had received. “But I know not if I shall
accomplish it even now. My father may discover my
flight, pursue and bring me back. This very day I asked
to leave his house, and he refused to let me go. If he
. overtakes me I shall be shut up in strait confinement ; I
shall be punished sorely for this night’s work. I must
make shift to put as many miles as may be betwixt my-
self and the Gate-House to-night.â€
“Nay, thou shalt do no such thing!†answered Kate,
quickly and warmly. “I have a better plan than that.
Thou shalt come home with us. My good father will
gladly give thee shelter and protection. Thou shalt remain
in hiding with us till the hue and cry (if there be any)
shall be overpast, and till thy wounds be healed and. thou
hast regained thy strength and spirit; and then thou shalt
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 45
start forth reasonably equipped to seek thy fortune in the
world; and if thou wilt go to merry London, as I would
were I a man with mine own fortune to carve out, methinks
I can give thee a letter ‘to one there that will secure thee
all that thou needest in the present, and may lead to
advancement and good luck.â€
Kate’s thoughts always worked like magic. No sooner
was an idea formed in her busy brain than she saw the
whole story unwinding itself in glowing colours; and to
hear her bright chatter as the three pursued their way
to the house, one would have thought her cousin’s fortune
already made. A soft red glow had stolen into her cheeks
as she had spoken of the missive she could furnish, and
Philip gave her a quick glance, a smile crossing his face.
Cuthbert was too faint and bewildered to take in all the
sense of Kate’s words, but he understood that for the
moment he was to be cared for and concealed, and that
was enough. Philip echoed his sister’s invitation to his
father’s house as his first stage on his journey, and all
that the lad remembered of the next few hours was the
dancing of lights before his dazzled eyes, the sound of
friendly voices in his ears, and the gentle ministrations of
kindly hands, as he was helped to bed and cosseted up,
and speedily made so comfortable that he fell off almost
immediately into a calm refreshing sleep that was like to
be the best medicine he could have.
When Sir Richard rejoined his family, it was with a
stern expression on his face.
“The boy has been grossly maltreated,†he said. “It
46 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
is no mere paternal chastisement he has received this day,
but such a flogging as none but the lowest vagabond would
receive at the hands of the law. The very bone is in one
place laid bare, and there be many traces of savage handling
before this. Were he not mine own uncle, bearing mine
own name, I would not let so gross an outrage pass. But
at least we can do this much—-shelter the lad. and send him
forth, when he is fit for the saddle, in such sort that he
may reach London in easy fashion, as becomes one of his
race. The lad has brains and many excellent qualities.
There is no reason why he should not make his way in life.â€
“Tf he can be cured of his Papist beliefs,†said Lady
Frances ; “but no man holding them gets on in these days,
and Cuthbert has been bred up in the very worst of such
tenets.â€
“So bad that he is half disgusted with them before he
can rightly say why,†answered Sir Richard with a smile.
“There is too much hatred and bitterness in Nicholas
Trevlyn’s religion to endear it to his children. The boy
has had the wit to see that the Established Church of the
land uses the same creeds and holds the same cardinal
' doctrines as he has been bred. up in. For the Pope he
cares no whit; his British blood causes him to think scorn
of any foreign potentate, temporal or spiritual. He has
the making of a good churchman in him. He only wants
training and teaching. Methinks it were no bad thing to
send him to his mother’s kindred for that. They are as
stanch to the one party as old Nicholas to the other. The
lad will learn all he needs there of argument and con-
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 47
troversy, and will be able to weigh the new notions against
the old. Verily, the more I think of it the better I like
the plan. He is scarce fit for a battle with the world
on his own account. Food and shelter and a home of some
sort will be welcome to him whilst he tries the strength of
his wings and fits them for a wider flight.â€
“ His mother’s kindred,†repeated Kate quickly, and with
a shade of hauteur in her manner. “ Why, father, I have
ever thought that on their mother’s side our cousins had
little cause to be proud of their parentage. Was not their
mother—â€
“The daughter of a wool-stapler, one Martin Holt, foster-
brother to my venerated father, the third Earl of Andover,â€
said Lady Frances, quietly. “Truly, my daughter, these
good folks are not in birth our equal, and would be the
first to say so; nevertheless they are worthy and honest
people, and I can remember that Bridget, my mother’s
maid, who astonished us and deeply offended her relations
by a sudden and ill-judged marriage with Nicholas Trevlyn,
was a wonderfully well-looking woman. How and why
such a marriage was made none may rightly know now.
I can remember that the dark-browed Nicholas, who was
but little loved at our house, took some heed to this girl,
greatly younger than himself, though herself of ripening
age when she let herself be persuaded into that loveless
wedlock. It was whispered that he had made a convert
of her; the Jesuits and seminary priests were hard at work,
striving to win back their lost power by increasing the
number of their flock and recruiting from all classes of the
48 THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE.
people. Nicholas was then a blind tool in the hands of _
these men, and I always suspected that this was one of his
chief motives for so ill-judged a step. At any rate, Bridget
pronounced herself a Romanist, and was married by a priest
of that Church according to its laws. Her family cast her
off, and Nicholas would let us have no dealings with her.
Poor Bridget! I trow she lived to rue the day; and the
change of her faith was but a passing thing, for I know
she returned to her old beliefs when time had allowed her
to see things more clearly. But to return to the beginning.
If Bridget’s brother, Martin Holt, yet lives and carries on
his father’s business, as is most like, on London Bridge, his
house would be no bad shelter for this poor lad, who will
scarce have means or breeding as yet to take his place with
those of higher quality.â€
“ That is very true,†said Sir Richard. “The lad is a
right honest lad, and his gentle blood shows in a thousand
little ways; but his upbringing has not fitted him for
mingling with the high ones of the world, and it would be
well for him to rub off something of his rustic shyness and
awkwardness ere he tries to cut a fine figure. I doubt not
that Martin Holt would receive his sister’s son.â€
“ A wool-stapler!†muttered Kate, with a slight pout of
her pretty lips. “I was going to have sent him to Culver-
house with a letter, to see what he would do for my cousin.â€
“Lord Culverhouse could not do much,†answered her
father, with a smile. “He is but a stripling himself, and
has his own way yet to make. And remember too, dear
Lady Disdain, that in these times of change and upheaval
THE INMATES OF TREVLYN CHASE. 49
it boots not to speak thus scornfully of honest city folks,
be they wool-staplers or what you will, who gain their
wealth by trading on the high seas and with foreign lands.
Bethink you that even the King himself, despite his fine
phrases on divine right, has to sue something humbly to
his good citizens of London and his lowlier subjects for
those very supplies that insure his kingly pomp. So,
saucy girl, put not into young Cuthbert’s head notions that
ill befit one who has naught to call his own save the
clothes upon his back. If he goes to these kinsfolk, as I
believe it will be well for him to do, it will behove him to
go right humbly and reverently. Remember this in talk-
ing with him. It were an ill thing to do to teach him to
despise the home where his mother first saw light, and the
kinsfolks who are called by her name.â€
Kate’s sound sense and good feeling showed her the truth
of her father’s words, and she dutifully promised not to
transgress ; but she did not altogether relish the thought
of the prospect in store for her cousin, and as she went
upstairs with Bessie to the comfortable bed-chamber they
shared together, she whispered, with a mischievous light
dancing in her eyes,—
“ Ah, it is one thing for the grave and reverend elders to
plan, but it is another for the young to obey. Methinks
Cuthbert will need no hint from me to despise the home
of the honest wool-stapler. He has been bred in woods
and forests. He has the blood of the Trevlyns in his
veins. I trow the shop on London Bridge will have small
charms for him. Were it me, I would sooner—tenfold
(378) 4
50 THE INMATES OF TREVLYVN CHASE.
sooner—join myself to one of those bands of freebooters
who ravage the roads, and fatten upon sleek and well-fed
travellers, than content myself with the pottering life of a
trader! Ah, we shall see, we shall see! I will keep my
word to my father. But for all that I scarce think that
when Cuthbert starts forth again it will be for London
Bridge that he will be bound!â€
CHAPTER III.
THE LOST TREASURE.
. ND so it is to London thou wilt go—to the worthy
wool-stapler on the Bridge?†and Kate, mindful of
her promise to her parents, strove to suppress the little
grimace with which she was disposed to accompany her
words—“ at least so my father saith.â€
“Yes: he has been giving me good counsel, and methinks
that were a good beginning. I would gladly see London.
Men talk of its wonders, and I can but sit and gape. I am
aweary of the life of the forest—the dreary life of the
Gate-House. In London I shall see men—books—all the
things my heart yearns after. And my mother’s kindred
will scarce deny me a home with them till I can find some-
what to do; albeit I barely knew so much as their name,
and my father has held no manner of communication with
them these many years.â€
“ Perchance they will not receive thee,†suggested Kate,
with a laughing look in her eyes. “Then, good Cuthbert,
thou wilt be forced to trust to thine own mother-wit for
a livelihood. Then perchance thou wilt not despise my
poor little letter to my good cousin Lord Culverhouse.â€
52 THE LOST TREASURE.
“ Despise aught of yours, sweet Kate! Who has dared to
say such a thing?†asked Cuthbert hotly. “Any missive
delivered to my keeping by your hands shall be doubly
precious. I will deliver it without fail, be it to mine own
advancement or no.â€
“ Belike I shall claim your good offices yet, Master Letter-
carrier,†answered Kate, with a laugh and a blush; “and I
trow my cousin will like you none the less for being bearer
of my epistle. But I am not to commend you to his good
graces, as once I meant. It is to your relatives you are
first to look for help. It is like rubbing the bloom off a
ripe peach—all the romance is gone in a moment! I had
hoped that a career of adventure and glory lay before you,
and behold the goal is a home beneath a wool-stapler’s
roof!†But there Kate caught herself up and blushed,
bethinking what her parents would say could they hear
her words.
But Cuthbert did not read the underlying scorn in merry
_ Kate’s tones. He was a very simple-minded youth, and
his life and training had not been such as to teach him
much about the various grades in the world, or how greatly
these grades differed one from the other. He was looking
at his cousin’s bright face with thoughtful, questioning eyes,
—so much so that the girl asked him of what he was
thinking.
“Marry of thee, Mistress Kate,†he answered; for though
encouraged to speak on terms of equality with his kinsfolk,
he found some difficulty in remembering to do so, and they
certainly appeared to him in the light of beings from
THE LOST TREASURE. 53
another and a higher sphere than his own. “I was longing
to ask of thee a question.â€
“ Ask on, good Master Cuthbert,†was the ready reply ;
“T will answer to the best of my humble ability.â€
“T have heard of this Lord Culverhouse from many
beneath this roof since I have been here. I would fain
know who he is.â€
“That is easy told. He is the eldest son of mine
uncle, my mother’s brother, the fourth Earl of Andover.
His eldest son bears the title of Viscount Culverhouse,
and he is, of course, our cousin. When we were in
London we saw much of these relatives of ours, and were
grieved to part from them when we left. Now, is it
understood ? â€
“Yes, verily. And tell me this one thing more, fair
cousin, if it be not a malapert question. Is it not true that
thou art to wed with this Lord Culverhouse one day ?â€
Kate’s face was dyed by a most becoming blush. Her
eyes sparkled in a charming fashion. Her expression, half
arch, half grave, was bewitching to see, but she laid her
fingers on her lips as she whispered,—
“Hush, hush! who told thee that, good Cuthbert ?
Methinks thou hast over-sharp eyes and ears.â€
“TI prithee pardon me if I have seen and heard too
much,†answered Cuthbert ; “but I had a fancy—â€
He stopped, stammering, blushing, and Kate took pity
on his confusion.
“T am not vexed,†she said, smiling; “and in very sooth
thou hast divined what is in part the truth. But we do
54 THE LOST TREASURE.
not dare talk of it yet. There be so many weighty matters
against us.â€
Cuthbert looked keenly interested. He was very fond
of this sprightly cousin of his, who was so amusing, so
kindly, and ‘so sisterly in her ways. She had more ease of
manner, as well as brightness of temperament, than her
‘sisters, and her company had been a source of great pleasure
to him. The girl saw the look of sympathetic curiosity
upon his face, and she drew her chair a little nearer to that
which he occupied, stirring up the logs upon the glowing
hearth into a brighter blaze.
“YT faith, Cuthbert, I will gladly tell thee all there is to
know, it is not much; and I like thee well, and trust thee
to boot. Nor is it such a mighty secret that Culverhouse
would fain make me his bride, and that I would give myself
to him to-morrow an I might. I am not ashamed of loving
him,†cried the girl, her dark eyes flashing as she threw
back her dainty head with a gesture of pride and womanly
dignity, “for he is a right noble gentleman, and worthy of
any maiden’s love; but whether we shall ever be united in
wedlock—ah, that is a vastly different matter!†and she
heaved a quick little sigh.
“But wherefore not ?†asked Cuthbert quickly. “Where
could he find a more beauteous or worthy wife ?â€
Kate gave him a little bow of acknowledgment for his
compliment, but her face was slightly more grave as she
made answer,—
“Tt is not, alack! a question of dislike to me. Were
that all, I might hope to win the favour of stern hearts,
THE LOST TREASURE. 55
and bring the matter to a happy conclusion. But no;
mine uncle of Andover likes me well. He openly says as
much, and he has been a kind friend to us. And yet I
may not wed his son; and his kindness makes it the
harder for Culverhouse to do aught to vex or defy him.â€
“But why may you not?†asked Cuthbert quickly.
“There be more reasons than one, but I will tell you
all in brief. My own father mislikes the thought of the
match, for that we are cousins of the first degree; and
though we Trevlyns of the older branch no longer call our-
selves the servants and followers of Rome, yet old traditions
linger long in the blood, and my father has always set his
face against a marriage betwixt cousins nearest akin.â€
Cuthbert looked thoughtful. That certainly was a diffi-
culty hard to be got over. He made no comment, but
merely asked,—
“And my Lord of Andover-—is that the objection with
him 2?â€
“Not near so much. He would easily overlook that.
There are no such strict rules with Protestants, and his
family have been for many generations of the Reformed
faith. But there is just as weighty an argument on his
side—namely, that my father can give me but a scanty
dower, and it is a very needful thing for Culverhouse to
wed with one who will fill his coffers with broad gold
pieces. The Trevlyns, as thou doubtless knowest, have
been sorely impoverished ever since the loss of the treasure.
My father can give no rich dower with his daughters ;
wherefore they be no match for the nobles of the land. Oh,
56 THE LOST TREASURE.
why was that treasure lost? Why could no man be wise
enough to trace and find it, when sure there must have been
many in the secret? Now that a generation has gone
by, what hope is there left? But for that loss my Lord of
Andover would have welcomed me gladly. The lost treas-
ure of Trevlyn has much to answer for.â€
Kate spoke half laughingly, half impatiently, and tapped
the rush-strewn floor with the point of her shoe. Into
Cuthbert’s eyes a sudden light had sprung, and leaning for-
ward in the firelight, he laid his hand upon his cousin’s.
“ Kate,†he said, in a low voice, “I have said naught of
it before—I feared it would sound but an idle boast, an
idle dream; but I am pledged to the search after the lost
treasure. If it yet lies hid, as men say it does, Cuthbert
Trevlyn will find it.â€
Kate gazed at him with wide-open eyes; but there was
no trace of mockery in them, rather an eager delight and
excitement that was in itself encouragement and stimulus.
“Cuthbert, what meanest thou ?â€
“Verily no more and no less than I say. Listen, Kate.
I too am a like sufferer with others of the race of Trevlyn.
I have nor wealth, nor hope, nor future, save what I may
carve out for myself; and my heritage, as well as yours,
lies buried somewhere in these great woods, no man may
say where. It came upon me asI sat in pain and darkness,
the last hour I passed beneath my father’s roof, that this
might be the work given to me to do—to restore to the
house of Trevlyn the treasure whose loss has been so sore
a blow. I said as much to my sister when we bid each
THE LOST TREASURE. 57
other adieu in the moonlit chantry ; and she bid me, ere I
started on the quest, come hither to you and ask the story
of that loss. We know but little ourselves; our father
tells us naught, and it is but a word here and a word there
we have gathered. But you know—â€
“Ay, we know well. We have been told the story by
our mother from the days of our childhood. I trow we
know all there is to know. Why hast thou not asked
before, Cuthbert ?â€
The lad blushed a little at the question.
“ Methought it would sound but folly in your ears,†he
said. “It was easier to speak to Petronella in the dark
chantry. Kate, wilt thou tell me all thou knowest of this
lost treasure? How and wherefore was it lost, and why
has no man since been able to find it ?â€
“Ay, wherefore? that is what we all ask,†answered
Kate, with eyes that flashed and glowed. “ When we were
children and stayed once a few months here, we spent days
together scouring the woods and digging after it. We
were sure we should succeed where others had failed; but
the forest yet keeps its secret, and the treasure has never
seen the light. Again and yet again have I said to Philip
that were Ia man I would never rest till it was found.
But he shakes his wise head and says that our grandfather
and father and many another have wasted time and ex-
pended large sums of money on the work of discovery, and
without success. All of our name begin to give credence to
the story that the concealed treasure was found and spirited
away by the gipsy folks, who hated our house, and that it
58 THE LOST TREASURE.
has long since been carried beyond the seas and melted
into coin there. Father and Philip alike believe that the
Trevlyns will see it again no more.â€
“ Dost thou believe that too ?â€
“Nay, not I I believe it will yet come back to us,
albeit not without due search and travail and labour. O
Cuthbert, thy words rejoice me. Would I were a man,
to fare forth with thee on the quest! What wilt thou do?
How wilt thou begin? And how canst thou search for the
lost treasure an thou goest to thine uncle’s house in London?â€
“T must fain do that for a while,†answered Cuthbert ;
“I dare not linger so close to my father’s home at this
time. Moreover, the winter is fast coming upon us, when
the ground will be deep in snow, and no man not bred to
it could make shift to live in the forest. To London must
I go first. I trow the time will not be wasted; for I will
earn money in honest fashion, that I may have the where-
withal to live when I go to seek this lost treasure. And
now, my cousin, tell me all the tale. I know not rightly
how the treasure was lost, and I have never heard of the
gipsy folks or their hatred to our house. It behoves me
to know all ere I embark on the quest.â€
“Yea, verily; and I will tell thee all I know. Thou
knowest well that of old the Trevlyns were stanch sons to
the Church of Rome, and that in the days of Bloody Mary,
as men call her now (and well she merits the name), the
Trevlyns helped might and main in hunting down wretched
Protestants and sending them to prison and the stake ?â€
“T have heard my father speak of these things,†an-
THE LOST TREASURE. 59
swered Cuthbert, with a light shudder, calling to mind his
father’s fierce and terrible descriptions of the scenes he had
witnessed and taken part in during those short but fearful
years of Mary’s reign, “ but I knew not it had aught todo
with the loss of the treasure.â€
“Tt had this much to do,†answered Kate, “that my
grandfather and your father, who of course were brothers,
were so vehemently hated by the Protestant families, many
of whose members had been betrayed to death by their
means—your father in particular was relentless in his
- efforts to hunt down and spy out miserable victims—that
when the Queen was known to be dead, and her successor
and Protestant sister had been proclaimed in London, the
Trevlyns felt that they had cause to tremble for their own
safety. They had stirred up relentless enmity by their
own relentless conduct, and the sudden turn in fortune’s
wheel had given these enemies the upper hand.†|
“Ah!†breathed Cuthbert, “I begin to see.â€
“The Trevlyns had not served the Bloody Queen and
her minions without reward,†continued Kate, with flashing
eyes ; “they had heaped together no small treasure whilst
this traffic in treachery had been going on, and in many
cases the valuables of the victims they had betrayed to
death had passed into the keeping of the betrayer. Oh,
it is a detestable thing to think of!†cried the girl, stamp-
ing her foot. “No wonder the judgment of God fell upon
that unhallowed treasure, and that it was taken from its
possessors! No wonder it was doomed to lie hidden away
till those who had gotten it had passed to their last account,
60 THE LOST TREASURE.
and could never enjoy the ill-gotten gain. And they were
punished too—ay, they were well punished. They were
fined terrible sums ; they had to give back sums equal to
the spoil they had filched from others. Thy father, as
thou knowest, was ruined; and we still feel that pinch of
poverty that will be slow to depart altogether from our
house. Yet it serves us right—it serves us right! It is
meet that the children should suffer for the sins of their
parents. I have not complained, and I will not complain;â€
and Kate threw back her head, whilst her eyes flashed with
the stress of her feeling.
“But the treasure?†questioned Cuthbert, eager to
know more; “I have not yet heard how it was lost.â€
Thus recalled to her subject, Kate took up her narrative
again.
“You doubtless know that Queen Mary died in Novem-
ber of the year of grace fifteen hundred and fifty-cight.
In that year, some months earlier, my father was born, and
at the time of the proclamation of the new Queen he was
a tender infant. My grandfather was in London about the
Court, and his wife and child were here in this house—the
sumptuous mansion he and his father had built—not dream-
ing of harm or ill. They had not heard of the death of
one Queen or the proclamation of the other till one dark
winter’s night, when, just as the household were about to
retire to bed, my grandfather and your father, Cuthbert,
‘arrived at the house, their faces pale with anxiety and
apprehension, their clothes stained with travel; the state
of both riders and horses showing the speed with which
THE LOST TREASURE. 61
they had travelled, and betraying plainly that something
urgent had happened. The news was quickly told. Queen
Mary was dead. Bonfires in London streets were blazing
in honour of Elizabeth. The Protestants were everywhere
in a transport of joy and triumph. The Papists were
trembling for their lives and for their fortunes. No one
knew the policy of the new Queen. All felt that it was
like enough she would inflict bloody chastisement on those
who had been the enemies of herself and of her Protestant
subjects. Even as the Trevlyn brothers had passed through
the streets of the city on their way out, they had been
hissed and hooted and even pelted by the crowd, some
amongst which knew well the part they had played in the
recent persecutions. They had been not a little alarmed
by threats and menaces hurled at them even in the pre-
cincts of St. James’s, and it had become very plain to them
that they would speedily become the objects of private if
not of public vengeance. That being so, my grandfather
was eager and anxious to return to the Chase, to place his
wife and child in some place of safety ; whilst your father’s
fear was all for the treasure in gold and plate and valu-
ables stored up in the house, which might well fall an easy
prey to the rapacious hands of spoilers, should such (as was
but too likely) swoop down upon the house to strive to
recover the jewels and gold taken from them when they
were helpless to oppose or resent such spoliation.â€
“Then it was all laid by at the Chase—all the money
and precious things taken from others ?â€
“Yes, and a vast quantity of silver and gold plate
62 THE LOST TREASURE.
which had come into the possession of former Trevlyns
ever since the, rise of the family in the early days of the
Tudors. The seventh Henry and the eighth alike enriched
our forefathers, and I know not what wealth was stored
up in the treasure-room of this house now so drearily void.
But I mind well the story our grandam told us when we
were little children, standing at her knee in the ruddy fire-
light, of that night when all this treasure was packed up
in great chests and boxes, and carried at dead of night by
trusty servants into the heart of the forest, and buried
beneath a certain giant oak many times pointed out to us,
and well-nigh killed in after years by the diggings around
it in search of the missing hoard. To secure this treasure,
and bury it out of the reach of rapacious and covetous
hands, was the aim and object of that hurried journey
taken on the evening of the Queen’s decease. None were
in the secret save three old servants, whose faithful loyalty
to the family had been tested in a thousand different ways.
Those three, together with my grandfather and your father,
packed and transported with their own hands this great
treasure into the wood, and there entombed it. None else
knew of that night’s work. No other eye saw what was
done. They worked the whole night through, and by the
tardy dawn all was done, and even the soil of the forest so
cleverly arranged that none could guess at the existence of
that deep grave. And who would guess the secret of that
tangled forest? Even were it thought that the gold and
silver had been hid, who would have such skill as to guess
the spot, and go and filch it thence? And yet it must have
THE LOST TREASURE. 63
been carried away full soon. For Nicholas Trevlyn, in his
anxious greed, visited the spot not many weeks later—
visited it by stealth, for he and his brother were alike in
“hiding, waiting for the first burst of vengeful fury to be
over—and he found it gone! He thought on the first
survey that all was well; but on more closely examining
the ground his heart misgave him, for it appeared to him
as if the soil had been moved. With anxious haste he
began to dig, and soon his spade struck the lid of one of
the chests. For a moment he breathed again; but he was
impelled to carry his search farther. He uncovered the
chest and raised the lid—it was empty! In a wild fear
and fury he dug again and again, and with the same result.
Every chest or box was in its place, but every one was
empty! The treasure had been spirited away by some
spoiler’s hand; the treasure of Trevlyn was lost from that
night forward !â€
Cuthbert was leaning forward drinking all in with eager
curiosity.
“My father discovered the loss—my father ?â€
Kate nodded her head, and seemed to divine the thought
in his mind, for she answered as if he had spoken it aloud.
“We have all thought of that. I know it is sometimes
in my father’s mind as he looks at his kinsman’s grim face ;
but our grandsire never suspected him for a moment—nay,
he vowed he was certain he had had no part nor lot in the
matter. For there was nothing but accord between the
brothers—they shared good and evil hap alike. It was
with his son, my father, who abjured the old faith and
64 THE LOST TREASURE.
became a Protestant, that your father picked a quarrel.
He hated his brother's wife, it is true; but he never ap-
peared to hate his brother. And he suffered more than
any in the years that followed. He lost his all, and has
been a ruined man since. If he had a secret hoard, sure
he would scarce live the life he does now.â€
“I know not. It seems scarce like; and yet I can
never answer for my father’s moods, they are so wild and
strange. But there is yet one thing more I would ask.
You spoke awhile ago of gipsies—of a hatred they bore to
our house. Tell me of that, I pray. Might it have some-
what to do with the stealing of the treasure ?â€
“That is what some have thought, though with what
truth none can say. The story of that is soon told. Many
long years agone now, the Trevlyn whose portrait hangs
below in the hall—our great-grandfather—gave sentence
upon an old gipsy woman that she should be burnt as a
witch. Men said of her that she had overlooked their
children and their cattle: that the former had become sick
or silly, and that the latter had incontinently died of
diseases none had heard of before. There was such a hue
and cry about her, and so many witnesses to testify the
harm she had done, that all men held the case proven, and
she was burnt in the sight of all the village out upon the
common yonder by order of our forefather, whose office it
was to see the law enforced. There were then many of
these gipsy folk scattered about the common and forest,
and this old witch belonged to them. They mustered
strong upon the heath, and it was said that if the villagers
THE LOST TREASURE. 65
had not been’ too strong for them they would have rescued
the witch as she was led out to die. But the Trevlyns,
when a thing has to be done, are wont to carry it through;
and your grandfather, Cuthbert, was prepared against any
such attempt, and the thing was done as had been decreed.
The old woman went bravely to her death, but she turned
as she passed Sir Richard and cursed him with a terrible
curse. Later on some rude verses were found fastened to
the wall of the church, and it was said by those who had
heard the curse that these verses contained the same words.
The paper was burnt by the haughty knight; but my
grandam remembered some of the lines—she had got a
sight of the paper—and used to tell them tous. I cannot
recall them to memory now, but there was something about
loss of gold and coming woe, years of strife and vengeful
foe. And when years after the Trevlyn treasure was lost,
there were many who vowed that it had been the work of
the gipsy tribe, who had never forgotten or forgiven, and
who had been waiting their turn to take vengeance upon
the descendants of their old enemy.â€
“Tt seems not unlike,†said Cuthbert, thoughtfully ; “and
if that be so, the treasure will most like be dissipated to
the four winds by now. It would be divided amongst the
tribe, and never be seen within the walls of Trevlyn again.â€
“That I know not,’ answered Kate, and she drew a
little nearer to her cousin. “Cuthbert, dost thou believe
in old saws? Dost thou believe those predictions which
run in old families, and which men say work themselves
out sometimes in after generations ?â€
(378) 5
66 THE LOST TREASURE.
“T scarce know,†answered Cuthbert, “I hear so little
and see so little. I know not why they should not be
true. Men of old used to look into the future, and why
not now? But why speakest thou thus, sweet cousin ?â€
“Marry that will I tell thee, Cuthbert; but my mother
chides me for such talk, and says it befits not a discreet
and godly maiden. Yet I had it from mine own grandam,
my father’s mother, and she was a godly woman too.â€
“ And what did she tell thee ?â€
“My grandam was a Wyvern,†said Kate, “as perchance
thou knowest, since the match pleased not thy father.
And she was not the firsts Wyvern who had married a
Trevlyn. It was Isabel Wyvern, her aunt, who had wedded
with the redoubtable Sir Richard who had burnt the old
witch, and I trow had he been married when the old
beldam was brought before him he would have dealt more
mercifully with her; for the Wyverns ever protected and
helped the gipsy folk, and thought better of them than the
rest of the world. Well, be that as it may, my grandam
had many stories about them and their strange ways, their
fashion of fortune-telling and divining, and the wonderful
things they could foretell. Many a time had a Wyvern
been saved from danger and perhaps from death by a
timely warning from one of the gipsy folk; and from a
child she went fearlessly amongst them, though all men
else shunned and hated them.â€
“ But the prediction—the prediction ?†demanded Cuth-
bert eagerly.
“T am coming to that,†answered Kate. “It is a pre-
THE LOST TREASURE. 67
diction about the descendants of the Wyverns. My
grandam knew it by heart—she had a wondrous memory
—but my mother would never let me write down such
things. She loved them not, and said they had better
be forgotten. But though I cannot recall the words, the
meaning stays still with me. It was that though death
might thin the ranks of the Wyverns, and their name even
die out amongst men, yet in the future they should bring
good hap to those who wed with them, and that some great
treasure-trove should come to the descendants in another
generation. Now, Cuthbert, though the name of Wyvern
has died out—for the sons went to the Spanish main, and
were killed fighting for the honour of England and the
Queen in the days of Elizabeth; and the daughters are
married, and have lost their title to the old name—yet thou
and I have their blood in our veins. Your grandam and
mine were alike of the house of Wyvern. Wherefore it
seems to me that if this treasure is to be the treasure-
trove of the old saw, it behoves some of us to find it, and
why not thou as well as another? Philip is like to our
mother, who loves not and believes not such saws. Our
father says that if stolen the treasure must long since
have been scattered and lost. Of all our house methinks I
am the only one who believes it will yet be found, as I
know my grandam did. And so I say to thee, ‘Go forth,
and good hap attend thee. Thou art as much a Wyvern
as I, and we will have faith that all will be yet restored.â€
Cuthbert rose to his feet and shook back his hair. His
dark eyes flashed with the fixity of his purpose.
68 THE LOST TREASURE.
“T will never despair till the treasure is found. Prithee,
good cousin, show me the spot where it was buried first.â€
Cuthbert never stirred outside the house till after dark.
He was still in hiding from his father, who knew not his
whereabouts, and was still on the watch for the truant,
believing him to be lurking about in the forest around his
home. Philip had once contrived to see Petronella and
soothe her fears, telling her that her brother was safe, and
would be sent forth to their kinsfolk in London so soon as
he was fit for the long ride. But many evening rambles
had been taken by the youth, who panted for the freedom
of the forest, to which he was so well used; and Kate
delighted in any excuse for a moonlight stroll.
The place was soon found. Kate had visited it so often
that the tangled path which led thither was as familiar to
her as if it had been a well-beaten road. It lay right
away in the very heart of the forest, and save for the
majestic size of the oak beneath which the chests had been
buried, had nothing to mark the spot. Now there were
traces of much digging. The ground all around had been
disturbed again and yet again by eager searchers, each
hopeful to come upon some clue missed by all the rest.
But nothing, save the remains of a few iron-bound chests,
served to show that anything had once been secreted there ;
and the moonlight shone steadily and peacefully down upon
the scene of so many heart-burnings and grievous disap-
pointments, as though such things did not and could not
exist in such a still and lovely place.
« Ah, if she would but tell us all she has seen!†said
THE LOST TREASURE. 69
Kate, looking up towards the silver Queen of Night. But
the moon kept her own secret, and presently the pair
turned away.
“Shall we go back by the chantry?†asked Cuthbert,
with some hesitation; “I should like to see it once
again.â€
“Let us,†answered Kate; “we are not like to meet thy
father. He has given up by now his watch around the
house. Moreover, I have eyes and ears like a wild-cat.
None can approach unawares upon us. I can feel a human
presence ere I see it.†°
Cuthbert did not lack courage, and was quite willing to
chance the small risk there was of an encounter with his
father. He felt that he could slip away unseen were that
stern man to be on the watch. Each day that had passed
beneath his uncle’s roof had helped him to realize more of
the freedom of the subject; and very soon he would be
beyond the reach of pursuit, and on his way to London.
As they approached the chantry Kate laid a hand upon
his arm.
“Hist!†she said softly. “Pause a moment; I hear
voices !â€
He stopped instantly ; and making a sign of caution to
him, Kate glided a few steps onward. Then she paused
again, and made a sign to him to come. .
“Tt is all well—there is no fear. It is Philip and
Petronella.â€
“Petronella, my sister! Nay, but this is a happy
chance!†cried Cuthbert, springing eagerly forward; and
70 THE LOST TREASURE.
the next moment Petronella, with a little ery of mingled
joy and fear, had flung herself into her brother’s arms.
“Cuthbert, dear Cuthbert! How I have longed to see
thee once again! Hast thou come to say farewell ?â€
“Tn truth, methinks it must be farewell,’ answered
Cuthbert, holding her tenderly to him, whilst he caressed
her hair and her soft cheek with his hand. “I may not
linger too long in my kind uncle’s house, lest the matter
should come to my father’s ears, and a worse breach be
made that might cause thee to suffer more, sweet sister.
And now, since I may be faring forth to-morrow, tell me
of thyself. How go matters at the Gate-House? What
said our father to my flight 2?â€
“He is right furious thereat, and raged for two days
like a madman, so that I durst not venture near him.â€
“He laid no hand on thee?†asked Cuthbert quickly,
clinching his hand in the darkness.
“ Nay, he did but threaten ; but as I told him all I knew,
he could do no more. I said that thou hadst fled—that
thou couldst brook such a life no longer, and had told him
so many times thyself. I did not know myself where
thou hadst gone when first he spoke, and he has asked me
no question since. Tell me not too much, lest I have to
tell it to him.â€
“Nay, once in London and I fear him not,’ answered
Cuthbert. “There the law would protect me, since my
father’s only complaint against me is that I conform to
that. I go first to our mother’s relatives, sweet sister.
They will give me food and shelter and a home, I trow,
THE LOST TREASURE. 71
during the inclement months of the winter now before us.
Later onâ€â€”he bent his head and whispered in her ear—
“later on, if kind fortune befriend me, I shall return to
these parts and commence that search of which we have
spoken before now. My sister, if thou canst glean any-
thing from our father anent the treasure, when his less
gloomy moods be upon him, store up in thine heart every
word, for some think even yet that he knows more than
others. JI am sad at heart to leave thee in such a home;
I would fain take thee with me.†;
“Nay, that may not be. I should be but a stay and a
burden; and I can help thee better here at home by my
prayers. I will pray each hour of the day that the Holy
Virgin will watch over thee and bless thee, and give us a
happy meeting in the days to come.â€
“And I will charge myself to watch over Petronella,â€
said Philip, stepping forward out of the shadow. “I will
be a protector—a brother—to her whilst thou art away.
She shall not feel too heavily her harsh father’s rule.
Amongst us we will find a way to ease her of a part of
that burden.â€
The glance turned upon Philip by those big shadowy
eyes told a tale of trustful confidence that set the young
man’s heart beating in glad response. He took in his
the little hand trustingly held out, and drew Petronella
towards him.
~ “You will trust her to me, good Cuthbert ?â€
“Gladly, thankfully, confidently!†answered the lad,
with great earnestness; and he thought within himself that
72 THE LOST TREASURE.
if he had the whole of the Trevlyn treasure to lay at the
feet of these kinsmen, it could hardly be enough to express
his gratitude to them for their timely and generous help in
his hour of sore need.
“JT will win it back—I will, I will!†he said in his
heart, as he walked up the hill with Kate tripping lightly
beside him, Philip having lingered to watch Petronella
safely within the shelter of the gloomy walls of the Gate-
House. “She shall have her dower, that she may wed this
gay Lord Culverhouse. My sweet sister shall be dowered
too, and in no danger of spending all her youth and sweet-
ness shut up between those gloomy walls. Fortune will
smile once more upon all those who have the blood of the
Trevlyns and Wyverns in their veins. I believe in the old
prediction. I believe that the treasure-trove will come,
and that it will prove to be the lost treasure of the house
of Trevlyn !â€
CHAPTER IV.
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
< AREWELL, Cuthbert, farewell, farewell! Heaven
speed you on your way! We shall look for
tidings of you some day. And when the long summer
days come upon the green world, perchance you may even
make shift to ride or walk the twenty miles that separates
us from London to tell of your own well-being and ask
of ours.â€
These and many like words were showered on Cuthbert
as he sat his steed at the door of Trevlyn Chase, as the
dusk was beginning to gather, and his uncle and cousins
stood clustered together on the steps to see him ride forth
to seek his fortune, as Kate insisted on calling it, though
her father spoke of it rather as a visit to his mother’s
kinsfolks.
Cuthbert had been very loath to go. He had found
himself happier beneath his uncle’s roof than ever he had
been before (Sir Richard was in point of fact his cousin,
but the lad had given him the title of uncle out of respect,
and now never thought of him as anything else), but he
knew that to linger long would be neither safe nor possible.
14 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
Only his strange and savage life had prevented the news
of his son’s present quarters from coming to the knowledge
of the angry Nicholas, and all were feeling it better for the
young man to take his departure. Now the moment of
parting had really come, and already the hope of a flying
visit to the Chase in the summer next to follow was the
brightest thought to lighten the regrets of the present.
“ Ay, that will I gladly do!†cried the lad, with kindling
eyes. “Why, twenty miles is naught of a journey when
one can rise with the midsummer sun, I trow I shall pine
after the forest-tracks again. I shall have had enough
and to spare of houses and cities by the time the summer
solstice is upon us.â€
“We shall look for you, we shall wait for you!†cried
Kate, waving her hand; and as it was fast growing dark,
Sir Richard made a sign of dismissal and farewell, and
Cuthbert moved slowly along the dark avenue, Philip
walking beside his bridle-rein for a few last words.
Cuthbert would have liked his sister to have seen him
go forth, but that was not thought advisable. He wore
an old riding-suit of Philip’s, which had fitted the latter
before his shoulders had grown so broad and his figure
assumed its present manly proportions. , It suited Cuthbert
well, and in spite of its having seen some service from its
former owner, was a far better and handsomer dress than
anything he had ever worn before. His own meagre
wardrobe and few possessions were packed in the saddle-
bag across the saddle. His uncle had made no attempt to
send him out equipped as a relative of the house of Trevlyn,
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 75
and Cuthbert was glad that there should be no false seem-
ing as to his condition when he appeared at Martin Holt’s
door. Sir Richard had given him at parting a small purse
containing a couple of gold pieces and a few silver crowns,
and had told him that he might in London sell the nag
he bestrode and keep the price himself. He was not an
animal of any value, and had already seen his best days,
but he would carry Cuthbert soberly and safely to London
town; and as the lad was still somewhat weak from his
father’s savage treatment, he was not sorry to be spared the
long tramp over the deep mud of winter roads.
“I would not have you travel far to-night,†said Philip,
as he paced beside the sure-footed beast, who leisurely
picked his way along the familiar road. “The moon will
be up, to be sure, ere long; but it is ill travelling in the
night. It is well to get clear of this neighbourhood in the
dark, for fear your father might chance to espy you and
make your going difficult. But I would have you ask
shelter for your steed and yourself to-night at the little
hostelry you will find just this side Hammerton Heath.
The heath is an ill place for travellers, as you doubtless
know. If you should. lose the road, as is like enough, it
being as evil and rough a track as well may be, you will
like enough plunge into some bog or morass from which
you may think yourself lucky to escape with life. And
if you do contrive to keep to the track, the light-heeled
gentlemen of the road may swoop down upon you like
birds of prey, and rob you of the little worldly wealth that
you possess. Wherefore I counsel you to pause ere you
76 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
reach that ill-omened waste, and pass the night at the
hostel there. The beds may be something poor, but they
will be better than the wet bog, and you will be less like
to be robbed there than on the road.â€
“TI will take your good counsel, cousin,†said Cuthbert.
“TJ have not much to lose, but that little is my all. I will
stop at the place you bid me, and only journey forth across
the heath when the morrow’s sun be up.â€
“You will do well. And now farewell, for J must return.
I will do all that in me lies to watch over and guard
Petronella. She shall be to me as a sister, and I will act
a brother’s part by her, until I may have won a right to
call her something more. Have no fears for her. I will
die sooner than she shall suffer. Her father shall not
visit on her his wrath at your escape.â€
The cousins parted on excellent terms, and Cuthbert
turned, with a strange smile on his brave young face, for
a last look at the old Gate-House, the gray masonry of
which gleamed out between the dark masses of the leafless
trees, a single light flickering faintly in an upper casement.
“Petronella’s light!†murmured Cuthbert to himself.
“I trow well she is thinking of me and praying for me
before the little shrine in the turret. May the Holy Saints
and Blessed Virgin watch over and protect her! I trust
the day may come ere long when I may have power to
rescue her from that evil home, and give to her a dower
that shall make her not unworthy of being Philip’s wife.â€
By which it may be seen that Cuthbert’s thoughts were
still running on the lost treasure, and that he had by no
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 17
means relinquished his dream of discovery through hearing
how others had sought and failed.
“Tf I may but win a little gold in these winter days
when the forest is too inhospitable to be scoured and
searched, I can give the whole of the summer to the quest.
I will find these gipsies or their descendants and live
amongst them as one of them. I will learn their ways,
win their trust, and gradually discover all that they them-
selves know. Who dare say that I may not yet be the
one to bring back the lost luck to the house of Trevlyn ?
Has it always been the prosperous and rich that have won
the greatest prize? A humble youth such as I may do
far more in the wild forest than those who have been bred
to ease and luxury, and have to keep state and dignity.â€
Thus musing, Cuthbert rode slowly along in the light of
the rising moon, his thoughts less occupied with the things
he was leaving behind than with thoughts of the future
and what it was to bring forth. The lad had all the pride
of his house latent within him, and it delighted him to
picture the day when he might return all Sir Richard’s
benefits a thousandfold by coming to him with the news
of the lost treasure, and bidding him take the elder
brother’s share before ever his own father even knew that
it had been found at last. His heart beat high as he
pictured that day, and thought how he should watch the
light coming into Kate’s bright eyes, as the obstacle to her
nuptials should be thus removed. Sure she could coax
her father to remove his veto and overlook the cousinship
if she had dower to satisfy Lord Andover. And if the
78 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
Trevlyn treasure were but half what men believed, there
would be ample to dower all three daughters and fill the
family coffers too.
“Tn truth it is a thing well worth living for!†cried the
eager lad, as he pushed his way out of the wood and upon
the highroad, where for a time travelling was somewhat
better. “And why should I not succeed even though
others have failed? My proud kinsmen have never lived
in the forest themselves, learning its every secret winding
track, making friends of its wild sons and daughters,
learning the strange lore that only the children of the
forest gather. What chance had they of learning secrets
which but few may know? I trow none. I will not
believe that great treasure has been cast away to the four
winds. I verily believe it is still hidden away beneath the
earth in some strange resting-place known but to a few
living souls. What do these wild gipsy folks want with
gold and silver and jewels? They have all they need
with the heavens above them and the earth beneath.
They may love to have a buried hoard ; they may love
to feel that they have treasure at command if they desire
it; but I can better believe they would keep it safe
hidden in their forest or moorland home than that they
would scatter it abroad by dividing it amongst their tribe.
Moreover, any such sudden wealth would draw upon them
suspicion and contumely. They would be hunted down
and persecuted like the Jews in old days. No: they may
well have stolen it out of revenge, but I believe they
have hidden it away as they took it. It shall be my part
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 79
to learn where it lies; and may the Holy Saints aid and
bless me in the search !â€
Cuthbert crossed himself as he invoked the Saints, for
at heart he was a Romanist still, albeit he had had the
wit to see that the same cardinal doctrines were taught by
the Established Church of the land, whose services he had
several times attended. And even as he made the gesture
he became suddenly aware that he was not alone on the
road. A solitary traveller mounted on a strong: horse was
standing beneath the shadow of a tree hard by, and regard-
ing his approach with some curiosity, though the lad had
not been aware of his close proximity until his horse
paused and snorted.
“ Good-even, young man,†said this traveller, in a pleasant
voice that bespoke gentle birth. “I was waiting to see if I
had an enemy to deal with in the shape of one of those
rogues of the road, cutpurses or highwaymen, of whom
one hears so many a long tale. But these travel in
companies, and it behoves wise travellers to do likewise.
How comes it that a stripling like you are out alone in
this lone place? Is it a hardy courage or stern neces-
sity ?â€
“T know not that it is one or the other,’ answered
Cuthbert. “But I have not far to go this night, and I
have not much to lose, though as that little is my all I
shall make a fight ere I part with it. But by what I hear
there is little danger of molestation till one reaches
Hammerton Heath. And I propose to halt on the edge of
that place, and sleep at the hostelry there.â€
80 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
“Tf you follow my counsel, my young friend,†said the
stranger as he paced along beside Cuthbert, “you will not
adventure yourself in that den of thieves. Not long ago
it was a safe place for a traveller, but now it is more
perilous to enter those doors than to spend the darkest
night upon the road. The new landlord is in league with
the worst of the rogues and foot-pads who frequent the
heath, and no traveller who dares to ask a night’s shelter
there is allowed to depart without suffering injury either
in person or pocket. Whither are you bound, my young
friend, if I may ask the question ?â€
“For London, sir. I have an uncle there whom I am
-about to seek. But the way is something strange to me
when the heath be passed, and I know not if I can find it
in the dark.â€
“JT also am bound for London,†answered the stranger,
“and in these days it is better to travel two than one, and
four than two. But being no more than two, we must
e’en hope for the best if we fall not in with other belated
travellers. My business brooked not delay; wherefore I
came alone. I mislike the fetter of a retinue of serv-
ants, and I have had wonderful good hap on the roads;
but there be others who tell a different tale, and I often
join company when I find a traveller to my liking going
my way.â€
Cuthbert was glad enough to have a companion. This
man was many years his senior, so that he was. somewhat
flattered by the proposition of riding in his company;
moreover, he was plainly a gentleman of some condition,
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 81
whose fancy it was (not his necessity) to travel thus
unattended. Also he was speedily conscious of a strange
sense of fascination which this stranger exercised upon
him, for which he could not in the least account; and he
quickly found himself answering the questions carelessly
addressed to him with a freedom that surprised himself ;
for why should there be such pleasure in talking of him-
self and his prospects to one whose name he did not even
know ?
When first he had pronounced his name, he observed
that the stranger gave him a quick, keen glance; and after
they had been some time in conversation, he spoke with
a sudden gravity and earnestness that was decidedly im-
pressive.
“Young man, I trust that you are loyal and true to the
faith of those forefathers of yours who have been one of
England’s brightest ornaments. In these latter days there
has been a falling away. Men have let slip the ancient
truths. Love of the world has been stronger within them
than love of the truth. They have let themselves be cor-
rupted by heresy ; they have lost their first love. I trust
it is not so with you. I trust you are one of the faith-
ful who are yet looking for brighter days for England,
when she shall be gathered again to the arms of the true
Church. But a few minutes ago I saw you make the
holy sign, and my heart went out to you as to a brother.
These Protestants deny and contemn that symbol, as they
despise and contemn in their wantonness the ordinances of
God and the authority of His Vicar. I trust you have
(378) 6
82 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
not fallen into like error; I trust that you are a true son
of the old stock of Trevlyn ?â€
“T know little of such disputed matters,’ answered
Cuthbert, made a little nervous by the ardent glance bent
upon him from the bright eyes of the speaker. He had a
dark, narrow face, pale and eager, a small, pointed beard,
trimmed after the fashion of the times, and the wide-
brimmed sugar-loaf hat drawn down upon his brows cast
a deep shadow over his features. But his voice was
peculiarly melodious and persuasive, and there was a
nameless attraction about him that Cuthbert was quick to
feel. Others in the days to follow felt it to their own un-
doing, but of that the lad knew nothing. He only wished
to retain the good opinion this stranger seemed to. have
formed of him. “TI have led but a hermit’s life, as I have
told you. I have been bred up in the faith of my fore-
fathers, and that faith I believe. What perplexes me is
that those who hold the Established or Reformed faith, as
men term it, have the same creeds, the same doctrines as
we ourselves. I have from time to time conformed to the
law, and gone to the services, and I have not heard aught
spoken within their walls that our good priest in old days
used not to tell me was sound doctrine. There be things he
taught me that these men say naught about; but no man
may in one discourse touch upon every point of doctrine.
I freely own that I have been sorely perplexed to know
whence comes all this strife, all these heart-burnings.â€
“Thou wilt know and understand full soon, when once
thou hast seen the life of the great city and the strife of
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH... 83
faction there,†answered his companion, lapsing into the
familiar “thou†as he spoke with increased earnestness.
“In thy hermit’s life thou hast had no knowledge of the
robbery, the desecration, the pollution which our Holy
Mother Church has undergone from these pestilent her-
etics, who have thought to denude her of her beauty and
her glory, whilst striving to retain such things as jump
with their crabbed humours, and may be pared down to
. please their poisoned and vicious minds. Ah! it makes
the blood boil in the veins of the true sons of the Church,
as thou wilt find, my youthful friend, when thou gettest
amongst them. But it will not always last. The day
of reckoning will come—nay, is already coming—when
men shall find that the Blessed and Holy Church may not
be defiled:and downtrodden with impunity for ever. Ah
yes! the day will come—it is even at the door—when
God shall arise and his enemies be scattered. Scattered
scattered! verily that is the word. And the sons of
the true faith throughout the length and breadth of. the
land shall arise and rejoice, and the heretics shall stand
amazed and confounded !â€
As he spoke these words his figure seemed to expand,
and he raised his right hand to heaven with a peculiar
gesture of mingled menace and appeal. Cuthbert was
silent and amazed. He did not understand in the least
the tenor of these wild words, but he was awed and im-
pressed, and felt at once that the strife and stress of the
great world into which he was faring was something very
different from anything he had conceived of before.
84 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
By this time the travellers had reached the dreary waste
called by the inhabitants Hammerton Heath. At some
seasons of the year it was golden with gorse or purple
with ling, but in this drear winter season it, was bare and
colourless, and utterly desolate. The outline of dark forests
could be seen all around on the horizon; but the road led
over the exposed ground, where not a tree broke the mono-
tony of the way. Cuthbert was glad enough to have a
companion to ride by his side over the lonely waste, which
looked its loneliest in the cold radiance of the moon. He
did not reply to the strange words he had just heard, and
his companion, after a brief pause, resumed his discourse in
a different tone, telling the lad more about London and
the life there than ever he had heard in his life before.
But the moral of his discourse was always the sufferings,
the wrongs, the troubles of the Roman Catholics, who had
looked for better times under Mary Stuart’s son; and
gradually raising within the breast of the youth a feeling
of warm sympathy with those of his own faith, and a dis-
trust and abhorrence of the laws that made life well-nigh
impossible for the true sons of the Church.
“Ruined in estate, too often injured in body, hated,
despised, hunted to death like beasts of the earth, what
is left for us but some great struggle after our lives and
liberties ?†concluded the speaker, in his, half-melancholy,
half-ardent way. “Verily, when things be so bad that they
cannot well be worse, then truly men begin to think that
the hour of action is at hand. -Be the night never so long,
the dawn comes at last. And so will our day dawn for
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 85
us—though it may dawn in clouds of smoke and vapour,
and with a terrible sound of destruction.â€
But these last words were hardly heard by Cuthbert,
whose attention had been attracted by the regular beat of
horse-hoofs upon the road behind. Although the track
was but a sandy path full of ruts and holes, the sound
travelled clearly through the still night air. Whoever
these new travellers were, they were coming along at a
brisk pace, and Cuthbert drew rein to look behind him.
“There be horsemen coming this way!†he said.
“Ay, verily there be; and moreover I mislike their
looks. Honest folks do not gallop over these bad roads
in yon headlong fashion. I doubt not they be robbers,
eager to overtake and despoil us. We must make shift
to press on at the top of our speed. This is an ill place
to be overtaken. We have no chance against such num-
bers. Luckily our steeds are not way-worn; they have
but jogged comfortably along these many miles. Push
your beast to a gallop, my lad; there is no time to
lose.â€
Cuthbert essayed to do this; but honest old Dobbin had
no notion of a pace faster than a leisurely amble. Most
of his work had been done in the plough, and he had no
liking for the rapid gallop demanded by his rider.
The lad soon saw how it stood with him, and called out
to his well-mounted companion not to tarry for him, but
to leave him to chance and kind fortune.
“T have so little to lose that they may not think me
worth the robbing, belike. But you, sir, must not linger.
86 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
Your good steed is equal to theirs, I doubt not, and will
carry you safe across the heath.â€
“ Ay, verily he will. I purchased him for that same
speed, and it has never failed me yet. I fear not pursuit.
My only peril lies in the chance of meeting a second band
watching the road farther on. I like not thus to leave
you, boy; but I have no choice. I may not risk being
robbed of my papers. There be more in them than must
be suffered to be scanned by any eyes for which they were
not meant. My gold might go, and welcome, but I must
save my papers. And if thou hast any small valuables
about thee, I will charge myself with the care of them,
and thou canst call at my lodging in London when thou
gettest there to claim thine own again. “Twill be the
better chance than leaving yon gentlemen to rid thee of
them.â€
The smile with which the stranger uttered these words
was so winning and frank, that Cuthbert placed his purse
in the outstretched hand without a qualm.
“When thou wantest thine own again, go to the Cat and
Fiddle in the thoroughfare of Holborn, and ask news there
of Master Robert Catesby. It is an eating-house and
tavern where I am constantly to be met with. If I be
not lodging there at that very time, thou wilt have news
of me there. Farewell; and keep up a brave heart.
These fellows are less harsh with poor travellers than rich.
Let them see you have small fear, and it will be the better
for all.â€
These last words were faintly borne back to Cuthbert
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 87
on the wings of the wind, as his companion galloped with
long easy strides across the heath. A little dip in the
ground hid for a moment their pursuers from sight, and
before they emerged upon the crest of the undulation,
Master Robert Catesby was practically out of sight; for a
cloud had obscured the brightness of the moon, and only a
short distance off objects became invisible.
Cuthbert rode slowly on his way, trying to compose
himself to the state of coolness and courage that he would
like to show in the hour of danger. He felt the beatings
of his heart, but they were due as much to excitement as
to fear. In truth he was more excited than afraid; for he
had absolutely nothing to lose save a suit of old clothes
and his horse, and both of these were in sorry enough
plight to be little tempting to those hardy ruffians, who
were accustomed to have travellers to rob of a far superior
stamp.
Nearer and nearer came the galloping horse-hoofs, and
a loud, rough voice ordered him to stop.
Cuthbert obeyed, and wheeled round on his placid steed,
who showed no sign of disquietude or excitement, but at
once commenced to nibble the short grass that grew beside
the sandy track.
“And what do you want of me, gentlemen?†asked
Cuthbert, as he found himself confronted by half-a-dozen
stalwart fellows, with swarthy faces and vigorous frames.
They were all armed and well mounted, and would have
been formidable enough to a wealthy traveller with his
stuff or valuables about him.
88 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
“Your money—or your life!†was the concise reply;
and Cuthbert was able to smile as he replied,—
“Marry then, it must be my life, for money I have
none. I have naught but an old suit of clothes and a
breviary in yon bag. You are welcome to both an ye will
condescend to wear such habiliments; but I trow ye would
find them sorry garments after those ye now display.â€
“Tut, tut! we will see to that. There be many cunning
fashions of hiding money, and we are used to such tales
as yours. Where is your companion, young man?†-
“Nay, I have no companion,†answered Cuthbert, who
was sufficiently imbued with the spirit of his father’s creed
not to hesitate for a moment to utter an untruth in a good
cause, and think no shame of it; “I am journeying forth
to London alone, to seek a relative there, who methinks
will help me to earn an honest livelihood. I would I were
the rich man you take me for. But even the dress I wear
is mine through the charity of a kinsman, as is also the
nag I ride. And I misdoubt me if you would find him of
much use to you in your occupation.â€
One or two of the men laughed. They looked at Dob-
bin and then at his rider, and seemed to give credence to
this tale. Cuthbert’s boyish face and fearless manner
seemed to work in his favour, and one of the band re-
marked that he was a bold young blade, and if in search of
a fortune, might do worse than cast in his lot with them.
“Yet I verily thought there had been two,†grumbled
another of the band; “I wonder if he speaks sooth.â€
“T warrant me he does, else where should the other be ?
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 89
It was a trick of the moonlight: it often deceives us so.
——Come now, my young cockerel; you can crow lustily,
it seems, and keep a bold face where others shrink and
tremble and flee. How say you? will you follow us to our
lodging-place for the night? And if we find no money
concealed about you, and if your story of your poverty be
true, you can think well whether you will choose to cast
in your lot with us. Many a poor man has done so and
become rich, and the life is a better one than many.â€
All this was spoken in a careless, mocking way, and
Cuthbert did not know if the proposal were made in good
faith or no. But it was plain that no harm was meant to
his life or person, and as he was in no fear from any
search of his clothes and bag, he was ready and willing to
accept the invitation offered, and by no means sorry to
think he should be relieved from spending the night in the
saddle.
“T will gladly go with you,†he answered. “I have
spoken naught but sooth, and I have no fear. My person
and my goods are in your hands. Do as you will with
them; I have too little to lose to make a moan were you
to rob me of all.â€
“We rob not the poor; we only rob the rich—those
arrogant, purse-proud rogues who batten and fatten on
what they wring from the poor,†answered, in quick, scorn-
ful accents, the man who appeared to be the leader of this
little band. ‘On ‘them we have scant pity. They have
but stolen, in cunning though lawful fashion, what we wrest
from them, lawlessly it may be, yet with as good a right
go A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
in the sight of the free heavens as any they practise. But
we filch not gold nor goods from the poor, the thrifty, the
sons of toil; nay, there be times when we restore to
these what has been drained from them by injustice and
tyranny. We be not the common freebooters of the road,
who set on all alike, and take human life for pure love of
killing. We have our own laws, our own ways, our own
code of right and wrong; and we recruit our ranks from
_ bold lads like you, upon whom fortune has not smiled, and
who come to us to see if we can help them to better
things.â€
Cuthbert was greatly interested in this adventure. He
looked into the dark, handsome face of the man who rode
beside him, and wondered if some gipsy blood might not
run in his veins. The gipsy people of whom Kate had
spoken were well known in all this region, and despite the
roving life they led, appeared to be rooted to a certain
extent to this wild and wooded tract. He had seen dark
faces like this before in the woods; he had often heard
stories of the doings of the gipsies around. Before, he had
not thought much of this ; but now, his interest was keenly
excited, and he was delighted to have this opportunity of
studying them at close quarters.
“Where are we going, Tyrrel?†asked one of the
followers. “It is a bitter cold night, now the wind has
shifted, and we are far enough away from Dead .Man’s
Hole.â€
“T am not bound for Dead Man’s Hole. We will to
the ruined mill, and ask Miriam to give us shelter for the
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 91
night. We have ridden far, and our steeds are weary. I
trow she will give us a welcome.â€
This proposition seemed to give general satisfaction.
The men plodded on after their leader, who kept Cuthbert
close beside him, and they all moved across the heath in
an irregular fashion, following some path known only to
themselves, until they reached the wooded track to the
left, and plunged into the brushwood again, picking their
way carefully as they went,—and all the while descending
lower and lower into the hollow, till the rush of water
became more and more distinctly audible, and Cuthbert
knew by the sound that they must be approaching a
waterfall of some kind.
One of the men had ridden forward to give notice of
their approach, and soon in the flickering moonlight the
gray walls of an ancient mill, now greatly fallen to decay,
became visible to the travellers’ eyes. From the open
door streamed out a flood of ruddy light, cheering indeed
to cold and weary men; whilst framed in this ruddy glow
was a tall and picturesque figure—the figure of an old
woman, a scarlet kerchief tied over her white: hair, whilst
her dress displayed that picturesque medley of colours that
has always been the prevailing characteristic of the gipsy
race.
“You are welcome, son Tyrrel,†quoth the mistress of
this lone dwelling, as the little cavalcade drew up at the
door. “It is long since you favoured old Miriam with
a visit. Yet you come at no ill time, since Red Ronald
brought us in a fat buck but yesternight, and I have made
92 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
oaten cakes to-day, and pies of the best. But who is that
with you? I like not new faces in my dwelling-place.
It were well you should remember this ere you bring a
stranger with you.â€
The old woman’s face suddenly darkened as she spoke
these last words, and her wonderful eyes, so large and
dark as to resemble rather those of a deer than a human
being, flashed fiercely, whilst she seemed about to close the
door in Tyrrel’s face. But he pushed in with a light laugh,
leading Cuthbert with him, and saying as he did so,—
“ Nay, nay, mother, be not so fierce. He is an honest
lad enough, I trow; if not, ’twill be the worse for him
anon. We have brought him hither to search him if he
carries gold concealed. If not, and he proves to have
spoken sooth, he may go his way or join with us, which-
ever likes him best. We could do with a few more bold
lads, since death has been something busy of late; and he
seems to have the grit in him one looks for in those who
join with us. Moreover, he has the dark eyes, and would
soon have the swarth skin, that distinguish our merry
men all. How now, mother? Thou hast eyes for none
but the lad! Why lookst thou at him so?â€
Cuthbert, too, gazed wonderingly at the handsome old
gipsy, who continued to keep her eyes fixed upon him, as
if by a species of fascination. He could no more withdraw
his gaze than can the bird whom the snake is luring to
destruction.
“ Boy, what is thy name?†she asked, in a quick, harsh
whisper.
A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH. 93
“Cuthbert Trevlyn,†he answered, without hesitation,
and at the name a wild laugh rang out through the vaulted
room, illumined by the glow of a huge fire of logs, whilst
all present started and looked at one another.
“TI knew it—I knew it!†cried the old woman, with
a wild gesture of her withered arms, which were bare to
the elbow, as though she had been engaged in culinary
tasks. “TI knew it—I knew it! I knew it the moment
the light fell upon his face. Trevlyn—Trevlyn! one of
that accursed brood! Heaven be praised, the hour of
vengeance has come! We will do unto one of them even
By
as they did unto us;†and she waved her arms again in
the air, and glanced towards the glowing fire on the hearth
with a look in her wild eyes that for a moment caused
Cuthbert’s heart to stand still. For he remembered the
story of the witch burned by his grandsire’s mandate, and
he felt he was not mistaken in the interpretation he had
put upon the old woman’s words.
But Tyrrel roughly interposed.
“No more of that, mother,†he said. “We have wiped
out that old score long ago. The lad is a bold lad, Trevlyn
or no. Let us to supper now, and forget those accursed
beldam’s tales. Where is Long Robin, and what is he.
doing ? and where is Joanna to-night ?â€
“ Here,†answered a clear, full voice from the shadows
of the ingle-nook, and forth there stepped a very queenly-
looking woman, in the prime of life, when youth’s bloom
has not been altogether left behind, and yet all the grace of
womanhood, with its dignity and ease, has come to give an
94 A NIGHT ON HAMMERTON HEATH.
added charm. One glance from the old woman’s face to
that of the young one showed them to be mother and
daughter, and it did not take a sharp eye to see that
Tyrrel, as he was always called, was deeply enamoured of
the beautiful Joanna, though treated by her with scant
notice, and as though he were yet a boy, scarce worthy of
being looked at or spoken to.
She stood in the glow of the fire, a tall, graceful
presence, to the full as picturesque as her gipsy mother,
and far more attractive. Cuthbert’s eyes turned upon her
with an unconscious appeal in them; for it suddenly
dawned upon him that for a Trevlyn to adventure himself
amongst these wild gipsy folks was like putting the head
into a lion’s mouth.
It almost seemed as though Joanna read this doubt and
this fear; for a flashing smile crossed her dark face, and
she held out a shapely hand to lead the guest to the table.
“Thou art welcome to our board, Cuthbert Trevlyn,â€
she said, “as is any hapless stranger in these wilds, be
he Trevlyn or no. Thou shalt eat our salt this night,
and then woe betide the man who dares to lay hand on
thee;†and such a glance was flashed around from her
magnificent dark eyes as caused each one that met it to
resolve to take good heed to his ways. “Thou shalt come
and go unmolested; Joanna the Gipsy Queen has so
decreed it!â€
Every one present, the old woman included, bent the
head at these words, and Cuthbert felt by some instinct
that his life was now safe.
CHAPTER. V,
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
- EREN-HAPPUCH !â€
“Yes, aunt.†.
The reply came only after a brief pause, as though the
rosy-cheeked maiden at the casement would fain have de-
clined to answer to that abhorred name had she dared,—
which was indeed pretty much the case; for though it was
undeniably her own, and she could not gainsay the un-
palatable fact, nobody in the world but Aunt Susan ever
aggrieved her by using it. Even her grave father had
adopted the “Cherry†that was universal alike with rela-
tives and friends, and the girl never heard the clumsy and
odious appellation without a natural longing to box the
offender’s ears.
“What art doing, child?†questioned the voice from
below.
Now Cherry was undeniably idling away the morning
hours by looking out of her window at the lively scene
below ; and perhaps it was scarce wonderful that the sights
and sounds without attracted her. It was a sunny Novem-
ber morning, and the sun was shining quite hotly ; for the
96 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
soft wind from the south was blowing—it had suddenly ~
veered round in the night—and all nature seemed to be re-
joicing in the change. The river ran sparkling on its way
to the sea; the barges and wherries, and larger craft that
anchored in the stream or plied their way up and down,
gave animation and brightness to the great water-way ;
whilst the old bridge, with its quaint-timbered houses with
their projecting upper stories, its shops with their swinging
signs, and noisy apprentices crying their masters’ wares or
playing or quarrelling in the open street, and its throngs
of passers-by, from the blind beggar to the gay court gallant,
provided a shifting and endless panorama of entertainment
to the onlooker, which pretty Mistress Cherry certainly
appreciated, if no one else in that grave Puritan house-
hold did the like. But possibly she thought that her aunt’s
question must not be too literally answered, for she hastily
skipped across the panelled chamber, seized her distaff, and
answered meekly,—
“JT am about to spin, aunt.â€
“ Humph !â€â€”the answer sounded more like a grunt than
anything else, and warned Cherry that Mistress Susan, her
father’s sister, who had ruled his household for the past ten
years, since the death of. his wife, was in no very amiable
temper—“I know what that means. Thy spinning is a
fine excuse for idling away thy time in the parlour, when
thou mightest be learning housewifery below. Much flax
thou spinnest when I am not by to watch! It is a pity
thou wert not a fine lady born!â€
Cherry certainly was decidedly of this opinion herself,
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 97
albeit she would not have dared to say as much. She
liked soft raiment, bright colours, dainty ways, and pretty
speeches. Looking down from her window upon the
passers-by, it was her favourite pastime to fancy herself
one of the hooped and powdered and gorgeously-apparelled
ladies, with their monstrous farthingales, their stiff petti-
coats, their fans, their patches, and their saucy, coquettish
ways to the gentlemen in their train. All this bedizen-
ment, which had by no means died out with the death of
a Queen who had loved and encouraged it, was dear to the
eyes of the little maiden, whose own sad-coloured garments
and severe simplicity of attire was a constant source of
annoyance to her. Not that she wished to ape the fine
dames in her small person, She knew her place better than
that. She was a tradesman’s daughter, and it would ill
have beseemed her to attire herself in silk and velvet, even
though the sumptuary laws had been repealed. But she.
did not see why she might not have a scarlet under-petti-
coat like Rachel Dyson, her own cousin, or a gay bird’s
wing to adorn her hat on holiday occasions. The utmost
she had ever achieved for herself was a fine soft coverchief
for her head, instead of the close unyielding coif which all
her relatives wore, which quite concealed their hair, and
gave a quaint severity to their square and homely faces.
Cherry’s face was not square, but a little pointed, piquant
countenance, from which a pair of long-lashed gray eyes
looked forth with saucy, mischievous brightness. Her skin
was very fair, with a peach-like bloom upon it, and her
pretty hair hung round it in a mass of red gold curls.
(378) 7
98 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
Cherry, it must be confessed, would have liked to leave her
hair: uncovered, but this was altogether against the tradi-
tions of her family. But she had contrived to assume the
softly-flowing coverchief, more like a veil than a cap, which
was infinitely becoming to the sweet childish face, and
allowed the pretty curls to be seen flowing down on either
side till they reached the shoulders. For the rest, her
dress was severely plain in its simplicity: the snow-white
kerchief, crossed in front and made fast behind ; the under-
petticoat of gray homespun, just showing the black hose
and buckled shoes beneath; and the over-dress of sombre
black or dark brown, puffed out a little over the hips in
the pannier fashion, but without any pretence at follow-
ing the extravagances of the day. The sleeves buttoned
tightly to the lower arm, though wider at the cuff, and rose
high upon the shoulder with something of a puff It
was a simple and by no means an unbecoming style of
costume ; but Cherry secretly repined at the monotony of
always dressing in precisely the same fashion. Other
friends of her own standing had plenty of pretty things
suited to their station, and why not she? If she asked
the question of any, the answer she always got was that
her father followed the Puritan fashions of dressing and
thinking and speaking, and that he held fine clothes in ab-
horrence, Cherry would pout a little, and think it a hard
thing that she had been born a Puritan’s daughter ; but on
the whole shéswas happy and contented enough, only she
- did reckon the rule of Aunt Susan in her father’s house as
something of a hardship.
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 99
But it did not do to offend that worthy dame, who was
the very model of all housewives, and whose careful man-
agement and excellent cookery caused Martin Holt’s house
_ to be something of a proverb and a pattern to other folks’
wives. So now the girl replied submissively—
“T need not spin, an it please thee not, aunt. Hast thou
aught for me to do below ?â€
“ Ay, plenty, child, if thou canst give thy mind to work.
Abraham Dyson and Anthony Cole sup with us tonight
and I am making a herring-pie.â€
A herring-pie was a serious undertaking in the domestic
economy of the house on the bridge, and Mistress Susan
prided herself on her skill in the concoction of this delicate
dish above almost any other achievement. She had a
mysterious receipt of her own for it, into the secret of
which she would let no other living soul, not even the duti-
ful nieces who assisted at the manufacture of the com-
ponent parts, Cherry heaved a sigh when she heard what
was in prospect, but laid aside her distaff and proceeded to
don a great coarse apron, and to unbutton and turn back
her sleeves, leaving her pretty round white arms bare for
her culinary task. But there was a little pucker of per-
plexity and vexation on her forehead, which was not caused
by any distaste of cookery.
“Tf Uncle Abraham comes, sure he will bring Jacob with
him ; he always does. If it were Rachel I would not mind;
but I cannot abear Jacob, with his great hairy hands and
fat cheeks. And if I be pert to him, my father chides ; and
if I be kind, he makes me past all patience with his rolling
100 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
eyes and foolish ways and words. I know what they all
think; but Ill none of him! JHe had better try for
Kezzie, who would jump down his throat as soon as look
at him. She fair rails on me for not treating him well.
Let her take him herself, the loutish loon !â€
And tossing her head so that her coverchief required re-
adjusting, Cherry slipped down the narrow wooden stair-
case into the rooms that lay below.
Kitchen and dining-parlour occupied the whole of this
floor, ‘which was not the ground floor of the house. That
was taken up by the shop, in which Martin Holt’s samples
of wools and stuffs were exposed. He was more (to borrow
a modern expression) in the wholesale than the retail line
of business, and his shop was nothing very great to look at,
and did not at all indicate the scope of his real trade and
substance ; but it was a convenient place for customers to
come to, to examine samples and talk over their orders.
Martin Holt sat all day long in a parlour behind the shop,
pretty well filled with bales and sacks and other impedi-
menta of his trade, and received those who came to him in
the way of business. He had warehouses, too, along the
wharves of Thames Street, and visited them regularly ; but
he preferred to transact business in his own house, and this
dull-looking shop was quite a small centre for wool-mer-
chants, wool-manufacturers, and even for the farmers who
grew the wool on the backs of the sheep they bred in the
green pastures. No more upright and fair-dealing man
than Martin Holt was to be found in all London town;
and though he had not made haste to be rich, like some,
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. IOI
nor had his father before him, having a wholesome horror
of those tricks and shifts which have grown more and more
common as the world has grown older, yet honest dealing
and equitable trading had had its own substantial reward,
and wealth was now steadily flowing into Martin’s coffers,
albeit he remained just the same simple, unassuming man
of business as he had ever been when the golden stream
of prosperity had not reached his doors.
But the ground-floor of the bridge house being occupied
in business purposes, the first floor had of necessity been
given up to cookery and feeding. The front room was the
eating-parlour, and was only furnished by a long table and
benches, with one high-backed arm-chair at either end. It
overlooked the street and the river, like the living-parlour
above ; and behind lay the kitchen, with a back-kitchen or
“seullery beyond. From the windows of either of these
back rooms the busy cooks could fling their refuse into the
river, and exceedingly handy did they find this, as did like-
wise their neighbours. Nor did the fact that the’ river
water was drunk by themselves and a large number of the
inhabitants of the city in any way interfere with their
satisfaction at the convenience of these domestic arrange-
ments. The beat, beat of the great water-wheel was always
in their ears to remind them; but no misgivings had yet
assailed our forefathers as to the desirability of drinking
water polluted by sewage and other abominations. True,
the plague was constantly desolating the city, and had been
raging so violently but a single year back that the King’s
coronation had well-nigh had to be postponed, and he dared
102 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE
not adventure himself into London itself, nor summon his
Parliament to meet him there. But it was for another
generation to put together cause and effect, and wonder how
far tainted water was responsible for the spread of the fatal
malady.
As Cherry entered the eating-parlour, her two sisters
looked up from their tasks, as if with a smile of welcome.
Jemima was busy with the almond paste, which was an im-
portant ingredient of the herring-pie; Keziah was stoning
the dates, grating the manchet, and preparing the numerous
other ingredients—currants, gooseberries, barberries—which,
being preserved in bottles in the spring and summer, were
always ready. to hand in Mistress Susan’s cookery. From
the open door of the kitchen proceeded a villanous smell
of herrings, which “caused Cherry to turn up her pretty
nose in a grimace that set Keziah laughing. Both these
elder damsels, who were neither blooming nor pretty nor
graceful, like their youngest sister, though they bid fair
to be excellent housewives and docile and_ tractable
spouses, delighted in the beauty and wit and freshness of
Cherry. They had never envied her her pretty ways and —
charming face, but had taken the same pleasure in both
that a mother or affectionate aunt might do. They spoke
of her and thought of her as “the child,†and if any hard
or disagreeable piece of work had to be done, they both
vied with each other in contriving that it should not fall
to Cherry’s lot.
Cherry, although she dearly loved her homely sisters, as
well she might, never could quite realize that they were
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 103
her sisters, and not her aunts. Although Keziah was only
six years her senior, it seemed more like ten, and Jemima
had three years’ start of Keziah. They treated her with
an indulgence rare between sisters, and from the fact of
their being so staid and grave for their years, Cherry could
scarcely be blamed for feeling as though she was the only
young thing in the house. Her father talked of grave
matters with her aunt and sisters, whilst she sat gaping in
weariness or got a book in which to lose herself. They
understood those mysterious theological and political dis-
cussions which were a constant source of perplexity and
irritation to Cherry. “As if it mattered one way or an-
other,†she would say to herself. “I can’t see that one
way is a bit better than another! I wonder folks can
care to make such a coil about it.â€
“Hast come to help us with the pie, Cherry?†asked
Jemima kindly. “There, then, take my place with the
paste ; ’tis almost ready, but would do with a trifle more
beating. And there be fowls to draw and get ready for the
‘oven, and I know thou lovest not such a task.â€
Cherry shuddered at the thought, and gladly took
Jemima’s place, tasting the almond with an air of relish,
and going about her tasks with a dainty air that would
have angered Aunt Susan, but which honest Keziah regarded
with admiration.
“How many be coming to supper to-night?†asked
Cherry. “Is it to be a gathering ?â€
“Nay, I scarce know. I have only heard what aunt
said to thee. Father spoke of guests without saying the
104 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
number, and she said. our uncle ‘would be there, and Master
Anthony Cole and his son. Whether there be any others
I know not; belike Rachel and Jacob may come too.â€
“ Now I am sore puzzled anent this Anthony Cole,†said
Cherry, as she beat her paste and leaned towards Keziah,
so that her voice might not carry as far as the kitchen.
“ And wherefore art thou puzzled, child ?â€
“ Marry, because it was but a short while ago that we
were forbid even to speak with him or any in his house,
neighbours though we be; and now he comes oft, and
father gives him good welcome, and bids him to sup with
us. It fairly perplexes me to know why.â€
Keziah also lowered her voice as she replied —
“We were forbid his house because that he and_ his
household be all Papists.â€
“Ay, verily, that I know. But they be none the less
Papists now, and yet we give them good-day when we meet,
and sit at the same board with them in all amity. Are
they turning Protestant then, or what ?â€
- Keziah shook her head.
“Tt is not that,†she said. .
“Nay, then, what is it?â€
“Marry, methinks it is that we are companions in
distress, and that a common trouble draws us the closer
together. Thou must have heard—â€
“Oh, I hear words, words, words! but I heed them
not. It is like eating dust and ashes.â€
“ Nay, thou art but a child, and these things are not for
children,†answered Keziah, indulgently. « And, indeed,
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. TO5
they are hard to be understood, save by the wise and
learned. But this much I gather :—When the King came
to the throne, all men hoped for better days—liberty to
think each according to his conscience, liberty each to fol-
low his own priest or pastor, and join without fear in his
own form of worship. The Papists believed that the son
of Mary Stuart would scarce show severity to them. The
Puritans were assured that one bred up by the Presby-
terians of Scotland would surely incline to their ways of
worship and thought. But the King has disappointed
both, and has allied himself heart.and soul with the
Episcopal faction and the Church of the Establishment;
and, not content with that, is striving to enforce the penal
statutes against all who do not conform as they were
never enforced in the Queen’s time. Wherefore, as thou
mayest understand, the Papists and the Puritans alike
suffer, and so suffering are something drawn together as
friends, albeit in doctrine they are wide asunder—wider
than we from the Establishment or they from it. But
trouble drives even foes to make common cause some-’
times.†.
Cherry sighed impatiently.
“I would that men would e’en forget all these vexed
doctrines and dry dogmas, and learn to enjoy life as it
might be enjoyed. Why are we for ever lamenting evils
which none may put right? What does it matter whether
we pray to God in a fine church or a homely room? I
would fain go to church with the fine folk, since the King
will have it so, and strive to find God there as well as
106 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE
in the bare barn where Master Baker holds his meeting,
They bid us read our Bibles, but they will not let us obey
the commands laid down—†.
“Nay, hush, Cherry! hush, hush! What and if Aunt
Susan heard ?â€
“Let her hear!†cried the defiant Cherry, though she
lowered her voice instinctively at the warning; “I am
saying naught to be ashamed of. I know naught about
these matters of disputing; I only know that the Bible
bids folks submit themselves to the powers that be, whether
they be kings, or rulers, or magistrates, because the powers
that be are of God. So that I see not why we go not
to church as the King bids us. And again I read that
wherever two or three are gathered together in Christ’s
name, there will He be in the midst of them. So why we
cannot go peacefully to church, since He will be there with
us, I for one cannot seé. I trow even the boldest Papist
or Puritan would not dare deny that He was as much in the
midst of those congregations as in ours. If they do they
be worse than Pagans, for every one that goes to church
goes to pray to God and to Jesus Christ.â€
Keziah looked flustered and scared. Cherry’s words,
though spoken in some temper and despite, contained cer-
tain elements of shrewd insight and sound common sense,
which she had doubtless inherited from her father. She
had something of the boldness and independence of mind
that a spoiled child not unfrequently acquires, and she was
not accustomed to mince her words when speaking with
her sisters.
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 107
“Hush! oh hush, child! | Father would not list to
hear such words from a daughter of his. It is for women
to learn, and not to teach; to listen, but not to speak.â€
“Oh yes, well do I know that. Have I not listened, and
listened, and listened, till I have well-nigh fallen asleep ; and
what sense is there in all the wranglings and disputations ?
Why cannot men think as they like, and let other folks
alone? What harm does it do any that another should
have a different opinion of his own?â€
“T trow that is what father really thinks,†said Keziah,
thoughtfully ; “but all men declare that it is needful for
there to be outward uniformity of worship. And I trow
that father would be willing to conform if they would but
let our preachers and teachers alone to hold private meetings
in peace. But so long as they badger and persecute and
imprison them, he will have naught to do with the bishops
and clergy who set them on, nor will he attend their
churches, be the law what it may. He says it is like
turning back in the hour of peril: that is not his way.â€
“T like that feeling,†answered Cherry, with kindling
eyes. “If that be so, I mind it less. Father is a good
man, and full of courage; but I grow full weary of these
never-ending talks. Kezzie, thinkest thou that he will be
put in prison for keeping from church with his whole
house? Some men have been sent to prison for less.â€
“T know not how that may be,†answered Keziah,
gravely. “He is a useful citizen, and a man of substance ;
and by what I hear, such as these are left alone so long
as they abide quiet and peaceable. Just now the Papists
108 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
are being worse treated than we. Methinks that is why
father is so sorry for them.â€
“Too much talk! too much talk!†cried Aunt Susan’s
voice from the adjoining kitchen. “Hands lag when
tongues wag; wherefore do your work in silence. Is
that almond-paste ready, Keren-happuch? Then bring
it quickly hither; and your manchet and sugar, Keziah,
for the skins are ready to be stuffed.†And as the girls
obediently brought the required ingredients, they found
themselves in a long, low room, at the end of which a
huge fire burned in a somewhat primitive stove, whilst
a tall, angular, and powerful-looking dame, with her long
upper robe well tucked up, and her gray hair pushed
tightly away beneath a severe-looking coif, was super-
intending a number of culinary tasks, Jemima and a
serving-wench obeying the glance of her eye and the turn
of her hand with the precision of long practice.
| Certainly it was plain that Martin Holt’s guests would
not starve that night. The herring-pie was only the crown-
ing delicacy of the board, which was to groan beneath a
variety of appetizing dishes. The Puritans were a temper-
ate race, and the baneful habit of sack-drinking at all hours,
of perpetual pledgings and toastings, and the large con-
sumption of fiery liquors, was at a discount in their houses ;
but they nevertheless liked a good table as well as the rest
of their kind, and saw no hurt in sitting down to a gener-
ously supplied board, whilst they made up for their abstemi-
ousness in the matter of liquor by the healthy and voracious
appetite which speedily caused the good cheer to melt away.
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 109
Mistress Susan was so intent on her preparations that
she scarcely let her nieces pause to eat their frugal mid-
day dinner. . Martin himself was out on business, and
would dine abroad that day, and nothing better pleased
the careful housewife than to dispense with any formal
dinner when there was a company supper to be cooked,
and thus save the attendant labour of washing up as well
as the time wasted in the consumption of the meal.
Jemima and Keziah never dreamed of disputing their
aunt’s will; but Cherry pouted and complained that it was
hard to work all day without even the dinner-hour as
a relief. Mistress Susan gave her a sharp rebuke that
silenced without subduing her; and she kept throwing
wistful glances out of the window, watching the play of
sunshine on the water, and longing to be out in the fresh
air,—for such a day as this was too good to be wasted
in-doors. To-morrow belike the sun would not shine, and
the wind would be cold and nipping.
Jemima and Keziah saw the wistful glances, and longed
to interpose on behalf of their favourite; but Mistress
Susan was not one it was well to interfere. with, and
Cherry was not in favour that day. But an inspiration
came over Jemima at last, and she suddenly exclaimed,—
“Sure, but how badly we need some fresh rushes’ for
the parlour floor! There be not enough to cover it, and
they all brown and old. There has been scarce any frost
as yet. I trow the river rushes will be yet green, and at
least they will be fresh. Could not the child be spared to
run out to try and get some? She is a better hand at
110 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
that than at her cooking. I will finish her pastry if thou
wilt spare her to get the reeds. I love not a floor like
yon, and methinks father will chide an he sees.â€
Mistress Susan cast a quick glance at the rush-strewn
floor, and could not but agree with her niece. She had all
the true housewife’s instinct of neatness and cleanliness in
every detail. The filthy habit of letting rushes rot on the
floor, and only piling fresh ones on the top as occasion
demanded, found no favour in this house. It was part of
Cherry’s work and delight to cut them fresh as often as
there was need, but a spell of wet weather had hindered
her from her river-side rambles of late, with the conse-
quence that the supply was unwontedly low.
“Oh, any one can do Keren-happuch’s work and feel
’ nothing added to her toil,†was the sharp response.
“Small use are her hands in any kitchen. We had better
make up our minds to wed her to a fine gentleman, who
wants naught of his wife but to dress up in grand gowns,
and smirk and simper over her fan; for no useful work
will he get out of her. If rushes are wanted, she had
better go quickly and cut them.—And mind, do not stray
too far along the banks, child; and watch the sky, and be
in before the sun is down. The evenings draw in so quick
now; and I would not have you abroad after nightfall
for all the gold of Ophir.â€
Cherry had no desire for such a thing to happen either.
London in the darkness of the night was a terrible place.
Out from all the dens of Whitefriars and other like places
swarmed the ruffian and criminal population that by day
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. III
slunk away like evil beast of night into hiding. The
streets were made absolutely perilous by the bands of cut-
throats and cutpurses who prowled about, setting upon
belated pedestrians or unwary travellers, and robbing,
insulting, and maltreating them—not unfrequently leaving
the wretched victim dead or dying, to be found later by
the cowardly watchman, who generally took good care not
to be near the spot at the time of the affray. Ladies of
quality never went abroad unattended even by day; but
Cherry was no fine lady, and Martin Holt had no no-
tion of encouraging the child’s native vanity by making
any difference betwixt her and her sisters. Jemima and
Keziah had been always accustomed to go about in the
neighbourhood of their home unmolested, and thought
nothing of it; and though Cherry’s rosy cheeks, slim,
graceful figure, and bright, laughing eyes might chance to
take the fancy of some bold roisterer or dandy, and lead
to an address which might frighten or annoy the maid, her
father considered this the less danger than bringing her up
to think herself too captivating to go about unguarded ;
and up till now she had met with no unwelcome admira-
tion or annoyance of any kind in her limited rovings. So
she set forth blithely this afternoon, her cloak and hood
muffling well both face and figure, her clogs on her feet,
since the river-bank would be muddy and treacherous at this
time of year, and a long, open basket on her arm, thinking
of nothing but the delights of escaping from the weary
monotony of pastry-making and herb-shredding, and from
the overpowering odour of that mysterious herring-pie.
112 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
Cherry liked well enough to eat of it when it was placed
upon the board, but she always wished she had not
known anything of the process; she thought she should
enjoy it so much the more.
Crossing the bridge, and exchanging many greetings as
she tripped along—for every neighbour was in some sort a
friend, and bright-eyed Cherry was a favourite with all—
she turned to the right as she quitted the bridge, and
walked in a westerly direction along the river-bank, to-
wards the great beds of reeds and rushes that stretched
away in endless succession so soon as the few houses and
gardens springing up on this side the river had been
passed by.
Certainly there was no lack of green rushes. The
autumn had been mild, and though the past few days had
been chill and biting, it had not told to any great extent
upon the rushes yet. Cherry plunged eagerly amongst
them, selecting and cutting with a precision and rapidity
that told of long practice. She was resolved to take home
as many as ever she could carry, and these all of the best,
since the supply would soon cease, and she knew the
difference in the lasting power of the full, thick rushes
and the little flimsy ones.
But it was later than she had known when she left
home. ‘The brightness of the sunshine had deceived her,
and she had been detained a few minutes upon the bridge,
firsts by one and then by another, all asking kindly
questions of her. Then her fastidious selection of her
rushes caused her to wander further and further along the
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 113
banks in search of prizes; and when at last her big basket
was quite full, and correspondingly heavy, she looked round
her with a start almost of dismay; for the gray twilight
was already settling down over the dark river, and she was
full a mile away from home, with a heavy load to carry.
Cherry’s heart fluttered a little, but it was rather in
fear of her aunt’s displeasure than of any mischance likely
to happen to herself. She had been often to these osier-
beds, and had never encountered a living soul there, and
she would soon reach the region of walls and gardens that
adjoined the southern end of the bridge. So taking her
basket on her arm, she pushed her way upwards from
the river to the path along which lay her road, and turn-
ing her face homeward, made all the haste she could to
get back.
But how dark it looked to the eastward! Did ever
evening close in so fast? And how black and cold the
river looked! She never remembered to have seen it
quite so cheerless and gloomy before. A thick, white fog
was rising from the marshy lands, and she could not see
the friendly twinkling lights upon the bridge. Despite
her exertions, which were great, she felt chill and shivery ;
and when at last she heard the sound of a lusty shout
behind her, her heart seemed to stand still with terror,
and she stopped short and gazed wildly back, to see whence
the noise came.
What she saw by no means reassured her. Some fifty
yards behind, but mounted on fine horses, were two young
gentlemen, plainly in a state of tipsy merriment, and by
(378)
114 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
no means disposed to allow any prey, in the shape of a
woman old or young, to escape them without some sort of
pleasantry on their part. . Cherry heard their laughter
and their coarse words without understanding what it all
meant; but a great terror took hold of her, and leaving
her basket in the middle of the path, in the vain hope of
tripping up the tipsy riders, she fled wildly along in the
direction of home. Her hood falling back, disclosed her
pretty floating curls beneath, and so gave greater zest to
the pursuit. Fleet of foot she might be, but what availed
that against the speed of the two fine horses? She heard
their galloping hoofs closer and closer behind her. She
knew that they were almost up with her now. Even the -
osier-beds would afford her no protection from horsemen,
and she feared to trust herself to the slippery ooze when
the daylight had fled. With a short, sharp cry she sank
upon the ground, exhausted and half dead with terror, and
she heard the brutal shout of triumph with which the
roisterers hailed this sight.
In another moment they would be upon her. She
heard them shouting to their horses as they pulled them
up. But was there not another sound too? What was
the meaning of that fierce demand in a very different
voice? She lifted her head to see a third rider spurring
up at a hand-gallop, and before she had time to make up
her mind whether or not this was a third foe, or a defender
suddenly arisen as it were from the very heart of the
earth, she felt herself covered as by some protecting pre-
sence, and heard a firm voice above her saying,—
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 1I5
“The first man who dares attempt to touch her I shoot
dead !â€
There was a great deal of blustering and swearing and
hectoring. Cherry, still crouched upon the ground, shivered
at the hideous imprecations levelled at her protector, and
feared every moment to see him struck to the ground.
But he held his position unflinchingly, and the tipsy
gallants contented themselves with vituperation and hard
words. Perhaps they thought the game not worth the
candle. Perhaps they deemed a simple city maid not
worth the trouble of an encounter. Perhaps they were
too unsteady on their legs to desire to provoke the hostile
overtures of this tall, dark-faced stripling, who appeared
ready to do battle with the pair of them, and that without
the least fear. At any rate, after much hard swearing, the
estimable comrades mounted their horses again, and rode
on in the gathering darkness; whilst Cherry felt herself
lifted up with all courtesy and reverence, and a pleasant
voice asked in bashful accents, very unlike the firm, de-
fiant tones addressed to her persecutors, whether she were
hurt.
“Not hurt, only frightened, fair sir,†answered Cherry,
beginning to recover her breath and her self-possession, as
she divined that her protector was now more embarrassed
at the situation than she was herself. “ How can I thank
you for your timely help? I was well-nigh dead with
terror till I heard your voice holding them at bay. Right
bold it was of you to come to my assistance when you had
two foes against you.â€
116 THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE.
“ Nay, fair lady, I were less than a man had I stayed
for twenty.â€
“T like you none the less for your brave words, sir, and
I believe that you have courage to face an army. But I
may not linger here even to speak my thanks. I shall
be in sore disgrace at home for tarrying out thus long in
the dark.â€
“But you will grant to me to see you safe to your door,
lady ?â€
“ Ay, truly will I, an you will,†answered Cherry, as
much from real nervous fear as from the coquetry which
made such companionship pleasant. “But I would fain
go back a few paces for my poor reeds, that I go not
home empty-handed. And you must catch your steed, Sir
Knight; he seems disposed to wander away at his own
will.â€
“ My steed will come at a call. He is a faithful beast,
and not addicted to errant moods. Let us fetch your
basket, lady, and then to your home. Is this it? Prithee,
let me carry it; its weight is too much for you. See, I
will place it so on Dobbin’s broad back, and then we can
jog along easily together.â€
Cherry, her fears allayed, and her imaginative fancy
pleased by the termination to this adventure, chatted gaily
to her tall companion ; and as they neared the bridge with
its many twinkling lights, she pointed out one of the
houses in the middle, and told her companion that she
dwelt there. His face turned eagerly upon her at hearing
that.
7
THE HOUSE ON THE BRIDGE. 117
“Tam right glad to hear it, for perchance you can then
direct me to the dwelling of Master Martin Holt, the wool-
stapler, if he yet plies his trade there as his father did
before him.â€
“Martin Holt!†cried Cherry, eagerly interrupting.
“Why, good sir, Martin Holt is my father.â€
The young man stopped short in amaze, and then said
slowly, “ Verily, this is a wondrous hap, for Martin Holt is
mine own uncle. I am Cuthbert Trevlyn, the son of his
sister Bridget.â€
CHAPTER VI.
_ MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER: PARTY.
IX o’clock was the almost universal hour for supper
amongst the well-to-do classes, both gentle and
simple, and Martin Holt’s family sat down to the well-
spread board punctually to the minute every day of their
lives. But though there was no eating before that hour,
the invited guests who were intimate at the house generally
arrived about dusk, and were served with hot ginger-wine
with lumps of butter floating in it, or some similar con-
coction accounted a delicacy in those days of coarse feeding,
and indulged in discussion and conversation which was the
preliminary to the serious business of supper.
At four o’clock, then, Mistress Susan’s table was set, the
home-spun cloth of excellent texture and whiteness spread
upon the board, which was further adorned by plates and
tankards, knives and even forks, though these last-named
articles were quite a novelty, and rather lightly esteemed
by Mistress Susan, who was a rigid conservative in all
domestic matters. All the cold provisions had been laid
upon the table. The serving-woman in the kitchen ‘had
received full instruction as to those that remained in or
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 11g
about the stove. The ladies had doffed their big aprons,
and had donned their Sunday coifs and kerchiefs and
better gowns, and were now assembled in the upper par-
lour, where the spinning-wheels stood, ready to receive the
guests when they should come.
Cherry’s absence had not yet excited any uneasiness,
although her aunt had made one or two severe remarks as
to her love for junketing abroad, and frivolity in general.
Her sisters had laid out her dress in readiness for her,
and had taken her part with their accustomed warmth and
good-will. They were not at all afraid of her not turning
up safe and sound. Cherry had many friends, and it was
just as likely as not that she would stop and gossip all
along the bridge as she came home. She took something
of the privilege of a spoiled child, despite her aunt’s rigid
training. She knew her sisters never looked askance at
her; that her father found it hard to scold severely, how-
ever grave he might try to look to please Aunt Susan; and ,
it was perfectly well known in the house that she had no
liking for those grave debates that formed the prelude to
the supper downstairs. It was like enough she would
linger without as long as she dared, and then spend as
much time as possible strewing her rushes and dressing
herself, so that she should not have long to listen to the
talk of the elders.
Jemima and Keziah had long since trained themselves
to that perfect stillness and decorous silence that was
deemed fitting for women, and especially young women, in
presence of their elders. They had even begun to take a
120 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
certain interest in the questions discussed. But to Cherry
it was simple penance to have to sit for one hour or more,
her tongue and her active limbs alike chained, and her
sisters were quite prepared for the absence of the younger
girl when the guests dropped in one by one.
Their uncle, Abraham Dyson, was the first arrival, and
behind him followed his son and daughter, Jacob and
Rachel. Rachel was a buxom young woman of five-and-
twenty, shortly to be advanced to the dignity of a wedded
wife. She would have been married before but for the
feeble health of her mother; but the ceremony was not to
be postponed much longer on that account, for fear the
bridegroom, a silk-mercer in thriving way of business,
should grow weary of delay, and seek another partner for
his hand and home. But Abraham Dyson saw another
way of getting his sick wife properly looked to, and had
whispered his notion in the ear of his brother-in-law.
The Dysons and the Holts had had intimate business
dealing with each other for generations, and there had been
many matrimonial connections between them in times past.
Martin himself had married Abraham’s sister, and he
listened with equanimity and pleasure to the proposal to
ally one of his daughters with the solid and stolid Jacob.
Jacob was not much to look at, but he would be a man
of considerable substance in time, and he had a shrewd
head enough for business. As it had not pleased Provi-
dence to bless Martin Holt with sons, the best he could
do was to find suitable husbands for his daughters, and
seek amongst his sons-in-law for one into whose hands
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. | 121
his business might worthily be intrusted. Daughters were
still, and for many generations later, looked upon very
much in the light of chattels to be disposed of at will by
their parents and guardians, and it had not entered honest
Martin’s head that his wilful little Cherry would dare to
set up her will in opposition to his.
Jacob, who had been taken into the confidence of his
elders, had expressed his preference for the youngest of his
three cousins; and though not a word had been spoken to
the girl upon the subject as yet, Martin looked upon the
matter as settled.
Searcely had the bustle of the first arrivals died down
before the remaining two guests arrived—a tall, bent man
with the face of a student and book-lover, followed by
his son, also a man of rather distinguished appearance for
his station in life. The two Coles, father and son, were
amongst those many Roman Catholic sufferers who had
been ruined on account of their religion during the last
reign; and now they gained a somewhat scanty livelihood
by keeping a second-hand book shop on the bridge, selling
paper and parchment and such like goods, and acting as
seriveners to any who should desire to avail themselves of
their skill in penmanship.
They were both reputed to be men of considerable
learning, and as they had fallen from a different position,
they were looked up to with a certain amount of respect.
Some were disposed to sneer at and flout them, but they
were on the whole well liked amongst their neighbours.
They were very quiet people, and never spoke one word of
122 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
the matters which came to their knowledge through the
letters they were from time to time called upon to write.
Almost every surrounding family had in some sort or
another intrusted them with some family secret or testa-
mentary deposition, and would on this account alone have
been averse to quarrelling with them, for fear they might
let out the secret. Martin found his neighbour Anthony
by far the most interesting of his acquaintances, and the
fact of this common disappointment in the new King, and
the common persecution instituted against both Romanists
and Puritans, had drawn them more together of late than
ever before. Both were men of considerable enlightenment
of mind; both desired to see toleration extended to all
(though each might have regarded with more complacency
an act of uniformity that strove to bring all men to his
own particular way of thinking and worship), and both
agreed in a hearty contempt for the mean and paltry
King, who had made such lavish promises in the days of
his adversity, only to cancel them the moment he had the
power, and fling himself blindly into the arms of the
dominant faction of the Episcopacy. ’
All the guests were cordially welcomed by the family
of Martin Holt. The three elder men sat round the fire,
and plunged into animated discussion almost at once.
Jacob Dyson got into a chair somehow beside Keziah, and
stared uneasily round the room; whilst Walter Cole took
up his position beside Jemima, and strove to entertain her
by the account of some tilting and artillery practice (as
archery was still called) that he had been witnessing in
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY, 123
Spital-fields. He spoke of the courage and prowess of
the young Prince of Wales, and how great a contrast he
presented to his father. The contempt that was beginning
to manifest itself towards the luckless James in his English
subjects was no more plainly manifested than in the London
citizens. Elizabeth, with all her follies and her faults, had
been the idol of London, as her father before her. Now a
reaction had set in, and no scorn could be too great for her
undignified and presumptuous successor. This contempt
was well shown by the dry reply of the Lord Mayor some
few years later, when the King, in a rage at being refused
a loan he desired of the citizens, threatened to remove his
Court and all records and jewels from the Tower and
Westminster. Hall to another place, as a mark. of his dis-
pleasure. The Lord Mayor listened calmly to this terrible
threat, and then made submissive answer.
“Your Majesty hath power to do what you please,†he
said, “and your city of London will obey accordingly ;
but she humbly desires that when your Majesty shall
remove your Courts, you would graciously please to leave
the Thames behind you.â€
But to return to the house on the bridge and the
occupants of Martin Holt’s parlour. Whilst Jemima and ~
Keziah listened eagerly to the stories of the student’s son,
with the delight natural to Puritan maidens denied any
participation in such scenes of merriment, Jacob was look-
ing rather dismally round the room, and presently broke
in with the question,—
“But where, all this time, is Cherry ?â€
124 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
“Strewing rushes in the eating-parlour, I doubt not,â€
answered Keziah. “She went out a while back to cut
them. She loveth not dry disputings and learned talk.
Belike she will linger below till nigh on the supper-hour
an Aunt Susan call her not.â€
“T love not such disputings neither,†said Jacob, with
unwonted energy. “Good Kezzy, let us twain slip below
to help Cherry over her task.â€
Keziah gave a quick glance at the face of her stern
aunt, who loved not this sort of slipping away during
times of ceremony; but she had her back to them and to
the door, and was engrossed in the talk as well as in the
stocking fabric upon her needles). Jemima and Walter
were still talking unrebuked in a low key. Perchance
this flitting could be accomplished without drawing down
either notice or remark. To please Jacob, Keziah would
have done much, even to running the risk of a scolding
from her aunt. She had none of saucy Cherry’s scorn of
the big boorish fellow with the red face and hairy hands.
She looked below the surface, and knew that a kindly
heart beat beneath the ungainly habit; and being but plain
herself, Keziah would have taken shame to herself for
thinking scorn of another for a like defect.
Putting her finger on her lip in token of caution, she
effected a quiet retreat, and the next moment the two
cousins stood flushed but elated in the eating-parlour be-
low. But though it was now past five o'clock, there was
no sign of Cherry or her rushes, and Keziah looked both
surprised and uneasy.
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 125
“ Belike she came in with dirty clogs and skirt, and has
gone up to her bed-chamber to change them, for fear of
Aunt Susan telling her she was cluttering up the parlour,â€
said the sister, anxiously. “I will run and see. Sure she
can never have lingered so late beside the river! The sun
has been long down, and the fog is rising.â€
Keziah tripped upstairs lightly enough, but speedily
came down with a grave face.
“She is not there neither,†was her answer to Jacob’s
glance of inquiry. “What must we do? If we make a
coil about it, and she comes in, having only gossiped
awhile with the neighbours along the bridge, aunt will
surely chide her sharply, and send her to bed supperless.
But if she should have met some mischance—†and Keziah
broke off, looking frightened enough, for it was no light
matter to meet mischance alone and unprotected in the
dark.
“T will go forth to seek her,†cried Jacob, with unwonted
animation. “It boots not for a man to be abroad after
dark, but for a maid it is an ill thing indeed. Which
way went she? to the osier-beds? Sure I must find
her ere long. Were it not well for me to go, good
Kezzie 2?â€
“T would that some would go, but I trow thou hads
better not adventure thyself alone. Belike Master Walter
would be thy companion. If there be peril abroad, it is
better there should be twain than one. And you will
want lanterns and stout staffs too.â€
“Run thou and light the lanterns, good coz, and I will
126 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
to Walter and ask his company. It grows thicker and
darker every moment. If Cherry be not within, it behoves
us to make search for her.â€
Keziah’s face was pale with terror as she flew to do
Jacob’s bidding. She had a terrible fear of London streets
at night, as well she might, and the open country beyond
was even worse to her excited imagination. And Cherry
was so pretty, so simple, so credulous, and withal so ut-
terly defenceless should there be any sort of attack made
upon her. Keziah’s hands shook as she lighted the lan-
tern; and as minutes were fast slipping away and still
there was no sign of the truant, she was rather relieved
than terrified to hear the sharp accents of her aunt’s voice
mingling with her father’s deeper tones as the whole party
came tramping down the stairs. It was plain that Jacob
had let the secret ooze out, and that all the company had
become alarmed. Cherry’s name was on all lips, and Mar-
tin was asking. his sister somewhat sternly why she had
overlooked the non-return of the girl at dusk.
Miss Susan was sharply defending herself on the score
of her manifold duties and Cherry’s well-known gadding
propensities. She never looked to see her home before
dusk, as she was certain to stay out as long as she dared,
and since then she had taken it for granted that the little
hussy had come in, and was doing over the floor with her
rushes.
Martin paid small heed to this shrill torrent of words,
but with anxious face was pulling on his long outer boots,
and selecting the stoutest oaken staff of the number stacked
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 127
in the corner, inviting his guests to arm themselves in like
fashion.
Jemima and Keziah, feeling as though some blame at-
tached to them, looked on with pale faces, whilst Rachel
chattered volubly of the horrors she had often heard of as
being perpetrated in the streets. Her brother turned upon
her roughly at last, and bid her cease her ill-omened croak-
ing; whereat she tossed her head and muttered a good
many scornful interjections, and “could not see why she
need be called to task like that.â€
The whole party descended to the door when the pre-
parations for the start were complete. It was striking
half after five on many of the city clocks as Martin threw
open his door. But he had scarcely stepped across the
. threshold before he heard a familiar little shriek ; there
was a rush of steps from somewhere in the darkness with-
out, and Cherry, with an abandon very foreign to the
times and her training, and indicative of much agitation
and emotion, flung herself upon his breast, and threw her
arms about his neck.
“Here I am, father; there has no hurt befallen me!â€
she cried in broken gasps. “ But I know not what fearful
thing was like to have happened had it not been for the
help of this gallant gentleman, who came in the very nick
of time to drive off my assailants and bring me safe home.
And oh, my father, such a wonderful thing! I can scarce
believe it myself! This gentleman is no stranger ; least-
ways he may not so be treated, for he is our very own
flesh and blood—my cousin, thy. nephew! He is Cuth-
128 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
bert Trevlyn, son to that sister Bridget of thine of whom
we have sometimes heard thee speak !â€
A strange dead silence fell on the group clustered in the
doorway with lanterns and staffs. All looked out into
the darkness in a mist of perplexity and doubt, to see, as
their eyes grew used to the obscurity, the tall figure of a
slim, dark-faced youth standing beside a tired-looking horse,
and steadying upon the saddle a large basket of rushes.
Martin Holt, after one minute of utter silence, released
the clinging arms from about his neck, pushed Cherry not
ungently towards her sisters, and stepped forward towards
her preserver.
“This is a strange thing my daughter tells me, young
sir,†he said, as he scanned the horseman’s face narrowly
by the light of his lantern. “TI find it hard to credit my
senses. Art sure that she has understood thee aright ?
Is Cuthbert Trevlyn truly thy name?â€
“ Ay, truly it is; and my mother’s was Bridget Holt,
and she left her home long years ago as waiting-maid
to my Lady Adelaide de Grey, and led a happy life till
some evil hap threw her across the path of Nicholas
Trevlyn, who made her his wife. I trow she many a time
rued the day when she was thus persuaded; but repent-
ance came too late, and death soon relieved her of her load
of misery. That she bequeathed to her children; and
here am I this day a wanderer from my father’s house,
constrained to seek shelter from her kindred, since flesh
and blood can no longer endure the misery of dwelling
beneath his roof.â€
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 129
“Jacob,†said Martin Holt, “take yon steed to the
stables of Master Miller, and ask him for fodder and tend-
ance for the beast for this night—Young sir, thou hast a
strange story to tell, and I would hear it anon. If thou
hadst not succoured my daughter in her hour of need, I
must have bid thee welcome to my house and my table.
Since thou hast done this also, I do it the more readily.
I scarce knew that my misguided sister had borne a son.
Whether he lived or died I had no means of knowing
But if thou art he, come in, and be welcome. I will hear
thy tale anon. Meantime stand no longer without in the
cold.â€
If this welcome were something coldly given, Cuthbert
- was not aware of it. Used as he was to his father’s fierce
sullenness and taciturnity, any other manner seemed warm
and pleasant. He followed this new uncle up the dark
staircase without any misgiving, and.found himself quickly
in the well-warmed and well-lighted eating-parlour, where
Mistress Susan was already bustling about in a very
noisy fashion, getting the viands ready for serving. A
dark frown was on her face, and her whole aspect was
thundery.
The sisters and Rachel had all vanished upstairs to hear
Cherry’s story as they got her ready for the supper-table,
excitement in this new arrival of an unknown kinsman
having saved the girl from any chiding or questioning
‘from father or aunt. The Coles, father and son, ‘had re-
turned to the upper parlour with the discretion and refine-
ment of feeling natural to them; so that only Abraham
(878) 9
130 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
Dyson witnessed the next scene in the little domestic
drama, for Jacob had obediently gone off with the horse.
Martin Holt pushed his nephew before him into the
lighted room, and looked him well over from head to foot.
“There is little of thy mother about thee, boy,†he said,
with some stern bitterness of tone. “I fear me thou art all
thy father’s son.â€
“My father says not so,†answered Cuthbert, facing his
uncle fearlessly. “He has flung it again and yet again in my
teeth that I am the heretic son of my heretic mother.â€
Martin Holt uttered an inarticulate exclamation and
came a step nearer.
“Say that again, boy—say that again! Can it be
true that thy unhappy and deluded mother repented of
her Popish errors ere she died, and turned back to the
pure faith of her childhood? If that be so, it is like a
mill-stone rolled from off my heart. I have wept for her
all these years as for one of the lost.â€
“I was too young when she died to remember aught of
her teaching, but I have seen those who tell me she was
fearfully unhappy with my father, and abjured his faith
ere she died. I know that he reviles her memory, and he
forbids even her children to speak of her. He would
scarce have branded her with the hateful name of heretic
had she adhered to his faith till her death.â€
“Susan, dost hear that?†cried Martin Holt, turning ex-
ultantly to his sister. “It was as our mother fondly said.
She was not lost for ever; she returned to her former
faith. Nay, I doubt not that in some sort she died for
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. _ 131
it—died through the harshness and sternness of her hus-
band. . Susan, dost hear—dost understand 2â€
But Susan only turned a sour face towards her brother.
“J hear,†she answered ungraciously. “But the boy has
doubtless been bred a Papist. Who can believe a word he
says? Doubtless he has been sent here to corrupt your
daughters, as Bridget was corrupted by his father. I
would liefer put my hand in the maw of a mad dog than
my faith in the word of a Papist.â€
Cuthbert did not wince beneath this harsh speech, he
was too well inured to such; he only looked at his aunt
with grave curiosity as he answered thoughtfully,—
“ Methinks it is something hard to believe them, always.
Yet I have known them speak sooth as well as other men.
But I myself would sooner put confidence in the word of
one of the other faith. They hold not with falsehood in
a good-cause as our father-confessors do. Wherefore, if
it were for that alone, I would sooner be a heretic, albeit
there be many things about my father’s faith that I love
and cling to.â€
This answer caused Martin to look more closely at his
nephew, discerning in him something of the fearless Puri-
tan spirit, as well as that instinctive desire to weigh and
judge for himself that was one of his own characteristics.
Papist the lad might be by training and inheritance, but
it was plain that at present he was no bigot. He would
not strive to corrupt his cousins ; rather were they likely
to influence and draw him.
Susan flounced back to the kitchen without another
132 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
word, only muttering to herself prognostications of evil if
such a popinjay were admitted into the household. Not
that Cuthbert’s sober riding-suit merited such a criticism,
for there was nothing fine about it at all; yet it had
been fashionably cut in its day, and still had the nameless
air that always clings to a thoroughly well-made garment,
even when it has seen its best days; and the Puritans
were already beginning to show, by their plain and severe
dress, their contempt for frivolity and extravagance, though
the difference between their clothes and those of other
men was not so marked as it became in the next reign.
However, there was not much more time for conversa-
tion on private themes. Jacob returned from stabling the
horse; the girls from above descended, full of curiosity
about this new cousin. The Coles, father and son, joined
the party assembled round the table, and were introduced
to Cuthbert, whom, as a Trevlyn, they regarded with con-
siderable interest, and then the guests and the family were
all placed—NMistress Susan and the two elder nieces only
seating themselves at the last, when they had finished put-
ting all the savoury dishes on the table. Cuthbert’s eyes
grew round with amaze at the sight of all the good cheer
before him. Even at Trevlyn Chase he had never seen
quite such an array of dishes and meats; and as he was
the greatest stranger and a traveller to boot, he was helped
with the greatest liberality, and pressed to partake of
every dish.
Cherry was called upon for an account of her adven-
tures, and was chidden sharply by her aunt for her folly
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 133
and carelessness after being warned not to be overtaken by
the darkness. But her father was too thankful to have
her safe home to say much; and Rachel, who sat on Cuth-
bert’s other side, plied him with questions about his own
share in the adventure, and praised him in warm terms for
his heroism, till the lad grew shamefaced and abashed, and
was glad when the talk drifted away from private to
public matters, and he could listen without being called
upon to speak.
Moreover, he was all eagerness to hear what he could of
such topics. He knew so little what was stirring in the —
country, and was eager to learn more. He kept hearing
the words “ Bye†and “ Main†bandied about amongst the
speakers, and at last he asked his neighbour in a whisper
what was meant by the terms.
“Marry, two villanous Popish plots,†answered Rachel,
who was glib enough with her tongue. “And many heads
have fallen already, and perhaps more will yet fall; for Sir
Walter Raleigh is still in the Tower, and my Lord Grey
too. Confusion to all traitors and plotters, say 1! Why
cannot men live pleasantly and easily? They might well
do so, an they would cease from their evil practices, and
from making such a coil about what hurts none. If they
would but go to church like sensible Christians, nobody
would have a word against them; but they are like mules
and pigs, and they can neither be led nor driven straight.
I go to church every Sunday of my life, and what there is
to fall foul of I never can guess. But men be such blind,
obstinate fools, they must always be putting a rope round
134 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
their necks. They say London is seething now with plots,
and no man can feel safe for a day nor an hour.â€
Cuthbert gave one swift backward thought to his com-
panion of the road and the strange words he had uttered;
and he asked with increasing interest of his lively neigh-
bour,—
“But what do men think to gain by such plots? What
is the object of them ?â€
“Beshrew me if I know or care! My father says they
be all mad together, the moonstruck knaves! They say
_ that the ‘Bye’ was an attempt to make prisoner of the
King’s Majesty, and to keep him in captivity till he had
sworn to change his laws and his ministers—as they say
was done once in Scotland, when he was trying to rule his
turbulent subjects there. As for the ‘Main’ that was
worse ; nothing better than the murder of the King and
Royal family, so that the Lady Arabella might be Queen
in his stead. But neither came to good; it seemeth to me
that these villanous plots never do. And all that results
from them is that the laws are made harsher and harsher,
and men groan and writhe under them, and curse the King
and his ministers, when they had better be cursing their
own folly and wickedness in trying to overthrow the
government of their lawful rulers.â€
“That is one side of the question, Mistress Rachel,†said
Walter Cole, in his quiet voice; “but if none had ever
revolted against tyranny, we had all been slaves this day
instead of a free nation of subjects, imposing our just will
upon a sovereign in return for the privileges he grants us.
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 135
There be limits to endurance. There be times when those
limits are overpast, and to submit becomes weakness and
coward folly. Thou speakest as one swimming easily with
the stream. Thou knowest little of the perils of the shoals
and quicksands.â€
Rachel tossed her head, but was too wary to be drawn
into an argument with the man of books. She could air
her father’s opinions second-hand with an assumption of
great assurance, but she was no hand at argument or fence,
and had no desire for an encounter of wits.
But Cuthbert stepped eagerly into the breach, and the
two men became engrossed in talk. Cuthbert heard of
acts of tyranny and oppression, cruel punishments and
ruinous fines imposed upon hapless: Romanists, guiltless of
any other offence than of growing up in the faith of their
forefathers. He heard, on the other hand, of Puritan
preachers deprived of their cures and hunted about like.
criminals, though nothing save the crime of unlicensed
preaching could be adduced against them. Cuthbert’s
blood was young and hot, and easily stirred within him.
He began to understand how it was that the nation and
this great city were never at rest. It seemed to him as
though he had stepped down out of a region of snow and
ice into the very crater of some smouldering volcano which
might at any moment burst out into flames. The sensation
was strange and a little intoxicating. He marvelled how
he had been content so long to know so little of the great
world in which he lived.
The party broke up all too soon for him; but after the
136 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY.
guests had gone he had yet another interview to go through
with his uncle, after the women kind had been dismissed
to bed.
Firstly, Martin questioned the boy closely as to the cir-
cumstances of his past life—his relations with his father,
his training, intellectual and religious, and his final resolve
to escape, carried out by the help of Sir Richard and his
family. Next, he went on to ask the youth of his wishes
concerning his future; and finding these as vague as might
be expected from his vast inexperience, he smiled, and said
that question could stand over for the present. There was
no difficulty about employing talent and energy in this
city of London; and if his nephew developed capacity in’
any direction, it could doubtless be turned to good account.
Meantime he had better dwell beneath this roof, and accus-
tom himself to new ways and new sights, after which they
would talk of his future again.
Nothing could be more to Cuthbert’s mind than such a
decision ; but when he tried to express his gratitude, he was
speedily silenced.
“Not a word, boy; not a word! Thou art a near kins-
man. ‘Thou hast had a hard life with thy father, and
having claimed the protection of thy mother’s brother, shalt
have it, and welcome. But now to another matter. How
art thou off for money? I trow by what thou sayest of
thy father that he had little to give or spend.â€
“ He never gave me aught in his life save the poor clothes
and food that were needful. My uncle gave me a few gold
pieces ere I left—I mean my good cousin, Sir Richard.â€
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 137
“ Ay, boy, ay. But I trow that thine own uncle can do
better by thee than that. Didst ever know that thy
mother once looked to have a fortune of her own, albeit a
modest one ?â€
Cuthbert shook his head, and Martin rose from his seat
and disappeared from the room for a few minutes. When
he came back he had a coffer in his hands that seemed to
be heavy. He placed it on the table, and went on with his
speech as though he had not been interrupted.
“Yes. Our father was a man of substance, and he had
but three children—myself, Susan, and Bridget. To me
he willed his house, his business, and all the money locked
up in that. To Susan and Bridget he divided the savings
of his lifetime that had not been used in enlarging the
business. There was two thousand pounds apiece for them
when he died.â€
Cuthbert’s eyes dilated with astonishment, but he said
nothing, and his uncle continued speaking.
“You doubtless marvel why you have received none of
this before. I will tell you why. When Bridget married
a Papist, our father was in a great rage, and vowed she
should never have a penny of his money. He scratched
her name out of his will, and bid us never speak her name
again. But as he lay a-dying, other thoughts came into
his mind, and he was unhappy in this thing. He bid me
get together the two thousand pounds that had once been
Bridget’s portion, and when I did so—with some trouble
at a short notice—he counted it all over, and with his own
hands locked it away in this chest â€"—laying his hand on
138 MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER PARTY.
the weighty iron-bound box. “Then he turned to me and
said, ‘Martin, I verily believe that thy sister is dead.
Something tells me that I shall see her before I see any of
you. The dead are ever forgiven. ‘Take this coffer and
keep it for thy sister's children, if she have had the mis-
fortune to bring children into this world of sorrow. Keep
it for them till they be grown. Let not their evil father
know aught of it. And even then be cautious. Prove and
see if they be worthy of wealth—if they will make good
use of it. It is thine in trust for them. Keep or with- â€
hold as thou thinkest right; but be honest and be true, so
shall my blessing follow thee even after death. .Those
were amongst the last words he spoke. I took the chest,
and I have kept it until now. I have thought often of it;
but no word reached me of my sister, and time has failed
me to seek her abroad. I knew her children, if any lived,
could but just have reached man or woman’s estate, and I
have waited to see what would chance. Cuthbert Trevlyn,
this chest and all it contains may one day be thine. I
give it not yet into thy keeping, for I must prove thee
first ; but I tell thee what is within it and what was thy
grandsire’s charge, that thou mayest know I have no desire
save to do what is right by thee and thy sister, and that I
trust and hope the day may. come when I may deliver the
chest to thee, to divide with her the portion bequeathed to
your hapless mother.â€
Cuthbert’s astonishment was so great he hardly knew
what to say. For himself he cared but little. He was a
man, and could fight his own way in the world. But those
MARTIN HOLT’S SUPPER-PARTY. 139
golden coins would make a dowry for his sister that. many
a high-born dame might envy. A flush came into his
cheek as he thought of Philip’s eager words overheard by
him. If Petronella was the mistress of a fair fortune, why
should any forbid them to be wed ?
Martin liked the lad none the less that his first thought
was for his sister. But for the present Petronella was
beneath her father’s roof, and could not be benefited thereby.
Still, it would be something for Cuthbert to know, and to
look forward to in the future, and therein he rejoiced.
The chest was carefully restored to its hiding-place and
securely locked away, and then the kindly uncle took from
his own pocket a small purse and put it into the reluctant
hands of the lad.
“Nay, nay, thou must not be proud, boy; though I like
thee none the less for thy pride and thine independence of
spirit. But thou must not be penniless as thou goest about
this city; and if one uncle gave thee gold, why not another?
So no more words about it. Take it, and begone to thy
chamber ; for we are simple folks that keep early hours,
and I am generally abed an hour ere this.â€
So Cuthbert went to his queer little attic-chamber
beneath the high-pitched gable, with a mind confused yet
happy, and limbs very weary with travel. Yet sleep fell
upon him almost before his head touched the pillow, for
he had slept but brokenly since leaving his father’s house,
and nature, in spite of all obstacles, was claiming her due
at last.
CHAPTER VIL.
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
ND so a new life began for Cuthbert beneath the
roof of his uncle. -
He found favour in the sight of Martin Holt because of
his unpretending ways, his willingness, nay, his eagerness
to learn, his ready submission to the authority exercised by
the master of the house upon all beneath his roof, and the
absence of anything like presumption or superciliousness
on his nephew’s part on the score of his patrician birth on
his father’s side. Trevlyn though he was, the lad conformed
to all the ways and usages of the humbler Holts; and even
Mistress Susan soon ceased to look sourly at him, for she
found him as amenable to her authority as to that of
Martin, and handy and helpful in a thousand little name-
less ways. He was immensely interested in everything
about him. He would as willingly sit and baste a capon
on the spit as ramble abroad in the streets, if she would
but answer his host of inquiries about London, its ways
and its sights. Mistress Susan was not above being open
to the insidious flattery of being questioned and listened
to; and to find herself regarded as an oracle of wisdom
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 141
and a mine of information could not but be soothing to her
vanity, little as she knew that she possessed her share of
that common feminine failing.
Then Cuthbert was a warm appreciator of her culinary
talents. The poor boy, who had lived at the Gate-House
on the scantiest of commons, and.had been kept to oaten
bread and water sometimes for a week together for a
trifling offence, felt indeed that he had come to a land of
plenty when he sat down day after day to his uncle's
well-spread table, and was urged to partake of all manner
of dishes the very name of whieh was unknown to him.
His keen relish of her dainties, combined with what seemed
to her a very modest consumption of them, pleased Mistress
Susan not a little; whilst for his own part Cuthbert began
to look heartier and stronger than he had ever done before.
The slimness of attenuation was merged in that of wiry
strength and muscle. His dark eyes no longer looked out
from hollow caverns, and the colour which gradually stole
into his brown cheek bespoke increase of health and well-
being. .
Martin and Susan looked on well pleased by the change.
They liked the lad, and found his Popery of such a mild
kind that they felt no misgiving as to its influence upon
the girls. Cuthbert was as willing to go to a privately
conducted Puritan service as to mass, and liked the ap-
pointed service of the Establishment rather better than
either. Martin did not hinder his attending the parish
church, though he but rarely put in an appearance himself.
He was not one of the bitter opponents of the Establishment,
142 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
. but he was a bitter opponent of persecution for conscience’
sake, and he was naturally imbittered by the new rigour
with which the old laws of eonformity were enforced.
However, he was true to his principles in that he let
Cuthbert go his own way freely, and did not forbid Cherry
to accompany him sometimes to church, where she found
much entertainment and pleasure in watching the fashion-
able people come and go; and perhaps her father divined
that she would give more attention to the mode of the
ladies’ head-gears and hair-dressing and the cut of their
farthingales than to any matters of doctrine that ee be
aired in the pulpit.
As for Cuthbert, he drank in voraciously all that he
heard and all that he saw in this strange place, which
seemed to him like the Babylon of old that the Puritan
pastors raved over in their pulpits. He was to be allowed
his full liberty for some weeks, to see the sights of the
city and learn his way about it. Perhaps after Christmas-
tide his uncle would employ him in his shop or warehouse,
but Martin wished to take the measure of the lad before
he put him to any task. ,
So Cuthbert roamed the London streets wondering and
amazed. He saw many a street-fight waged between the
Templars and ’prentices, and got a broken head himself
from being swept along the tide of mimic battle. He saw
the rude and rabble mob indulging in their favourite
pastime of upsetting coaches (hell-carts as they chose to
dub them), and roaring with laughter as the frightened
occupants strove to free themselves from the clumsy
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY 143
vehicles. Cuthbert got several hard knocks as a reward
for striving to assist these unlucky wights when they
chanced to be ladies; but he was too well used to blows to
heed them over much, and could generally give as good as
he got. The fighting instinct often got him into tight
places, as when he suddenly found himself surrounded by
a hooting mob of ruffians in one of ‘the slums of “ Alsatia,â€
as Whitefriars was called, where he had imprudently
adventured himself. And this adventure might have well
had a fatal termination for him, as this was a. veritable
den of murderers and villains of the deepest dye, and even
the authorities dared not venture within its purlieus to
hunt out a missing criminal without a guard of soldiers
with them. The abuse of “Sanctuary†was well exem-
plified by the existing state of things here; and though
Cuthbert was doing no ill to any soul, but merely gratify-
ing his curiosity by prowling about the narrow dens and
alleys, the cry of “A spy! a spy!†soon brought a mob
about him, whilst his readiness to engage in battle caused
the tumult to redouble itself in an instant.
The lad had just realized his danger, and faced the fact
that the chances of escaping alive were greatly against
him, when a window in a neighbouring ‘house was thrown
open, and a stern, musical voice exclaimed,—
“For shame, my children, for shame! Is it to be one
against a hundred? Is that Alsatia’s honour? What has
the lad done ?â€
Cuthbert raised his eyes and beheld the tonsured head
of a priest clad in a rusty black cassock, who was standing
144 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
at the only window to be seen in a blank wall somewhat
higher than that of the other houses surrounding it. The
effect of those words on the angry multitude was wonderful.
The hands raised to strike were lowered, and voices on all
sides exclaimed,—
“Tt is Father Urban; we may not withstand him.â€
Still the anger of the mob was not calmed in a moment,
and fierce voices exclaimed in threatening accents,—
“A spy! he is a spy!â€
“Then bring him hither to me; I will judge him,†said
the priest, in the same tones of calm assurance. “If I find
him worthy of death, I will give him over to your hands
again.â€
“That will do; Father Urban shall judge him!†cried
a brawny fellow who seemed to be something of a leader
with his fellows. “The Father never lied to us yet. He
will give him back if he finds him a spy.â€
Cuthbert was now jostled and hustled, but not in the
same angry fashion, to a small narrow door in a deep
embrasure, and when this door presently swung back on
its hinges, the crowd surged quickly backwards as though
in some sort afraid. Within the narrow doorway stood the
priest, a small, slim man in rusty black, with a crucifix sus-
pended from his rosary, which he held up before the crowd,
who most of them crossed themselves with apparent devotion.
“Peace be with you, my children!†was his somewhat
incongruous salutation to the blood-thirsty mob; and then
turning his bright but benignant eyes upon Cuthbert, he
said,—
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 145
“This is a leper-house, my son. Yet methinks thou
wilt be safer here a while than in the street. Dost thou
fear to enter? If thou dost, we must e’en talk where we
are.â€
“T have no fear,†answered Cuthbert, who indeed only
experienced a lively curiosity. The priest seemed pleased
with the answer, and drew him within the sheltering door ;
and Cuthbert followed his guide into a long, low room,
where a table was spread with trenchers and _ pitchers,
whilst an appetizing odour arose from a saucepan simmer-°
ing on the fire and stirred by one of the patients, upon
whom Cuthbert gazed with fascinated interest.
“He is well-nigh cured,†answered the priest. “Our
sick abide on the floor above; but there be not many here
now. The plague carried off above half our number last
year. But now of thine own matters, boy: how. comest
thou hither? Thou art a bold lad. to venture a stranger
into these haunts, unless thou be fleeing a worse peril from
the arm of the law; and neither thy face nor thy dress
looks like that. Hast thou not heard of Whitefriars and
its perils? or art thou a rustic knave, unversed in the ways
of the town ?â€
Cuthbert told his story frankly enough. He had lost
himself in the streets, and was in the forbidden region
before he well knew. A few kindly and dexterous
questions from Father Urban led him to tell all that there
was to know about himself, his parentage and his past;
and the priest listened with great attention, scanning the
face of the youth narrowly the while.
(378) / 10
146 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
“Trevlyn—the name is known to us. It was a good
old name once, and. may be still again. I have seen thy
father, Nicholas Trevlyn. It may be I shall see him again
one day. Be true to thy father’s faith, boy; be not led
away by hireling shepherds. The day is coming on
England when the true faith shall spread from end to end
of the land, and all heretics shall be confounded! See
that thou art in thy place in that day! See that thou
art found by thy father’s side in the hour of victory!â€
Cuthbert hung his head a little, and a flush crept into
his cheek; but the priest did not appear to heed these
slight indications of embarrassment, as he moved slowly
up the stairs to the window above to tell the expectant
crowd to disperse, as their victim was no spy, but an
honest country lad, whose father was known to the priest,
and who had lost his way in London, and strayed in-
advertently into their midst.
Then the crowd having dispersed to seek fresh amuse-
ment, the priest, at Cuthbert’s desire, showed him all over
this leper-house, and told him much respecting the condition
of the miserable inmates before they had been admitted to
this place of refuge; and Cuthbert gazed with awe-stricken
eyes at the scarred and emaciated sufferers, filled with
compassion and not loathing, and at last drew forth one
of his golden pieces from his purse and asked the priest to
expend it for the benefit of the poor lepers.
“That will I gladly do, my son. But I must not let
thee linger longer here; for although I myself hold that
the whole and sound are not affected by the taint, there be
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 147
leeches of repute who swear ‘tis death to abide long beside
the leper.â€
“Thou hast not found it so, Father. Dost thou live
here ?†‘
“Nay, I have no home. I go hither and thither as duty
calls me. But I am often here with these sick folks of
mine, whom so few men will dare approach unto. But I
myself have never been the worse for my ministrations
here, and I have no fears for thee, though I would not
have thee linger. We will be going now, and I will be
thy guide out of these dens of the earth, else might some
more untoward thing befall thee when none might be nigh
to succour thee.â€
The priest and the youth passed out together. The
early dusk was beginning to fall, and Cuthbert was glad
enough of the protection of Father Urban’s companionship.
All saluted the priest as he passed by, and few even looked
askance: at his comrade. The influence of these Roman
Catholics over the hearts and feelings of the masses has
always been very great—something of an enigma and a
grievance to those who would fain see naught but evil
within the fold of Rome. But facts are stubborn things,
and the facts have been in this matter in their favour.
England as a nation was slowly but surely throwing off
the Papal yoke, and emerging from a region of darkness
and superstition. Nevertheless, the influence of the priest
was a living and often a beneficent influence amongst the
most degraded of the people, and he could and did ob-
tain a reverent hearing when no man else coming in the
148 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
name of Christ would have been listened to for a single
moment.
As the pair moved along the dark, noisome streets,
Father Urban spoke again in his quick, imperious way.
“Thou spakest awhile ago of one Master Robert Catesby ;
hast thou seen aught of him since thy arrival in London?â€
“No,†answered Cuthbert; “I have had much else to
do and to think of. But I must to him one day, and
demand my purse again, else may he think I have been
left for dead on the highway.â€
“He is a good man and a true,†said the priest. “Thou
wilt do well to keep his friendship an thou mayest. Catesby
and Trevlyn come of a good stock; it were well they
should consort together.â€
Cuthbert recalled some of the strange words spoken by
Master Robert on the road, and wondered if he recalled
them aright. They seemed to partake of the character of
fierce threats. He was not certain that he altogether
relished the thought of such friendship.
“Mine uncle might not wish me to consort with him,â€
said the lad, with a little hesitation, “He is but a wool-
stapler, as I have told thee, and his friends are simple folks
like himself. He meddles not in matters that gentlefolks
love. He has no fine company to his house. Since it be
my lot to abide beneath his roof—â€
“Thou must needs conform to his ways; is that so, boy ?â€
asked the Father, interrupting the rather lame and confused
speech, and smiling as he did so. “Ay, conform, conform !
Conformity is the way of the world to-day! I would not
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 149
bid thee do otherwise. Yet one bit of counsel will I give
thee ere we part. Think not that thou canst not conform
and yet do thy duty by the true faith too. Be a careful,
watchful inmate of thine uncle’s house; yet fear not to .
consort with good men too when thy chance comes. Thou
needst not tell thine uncle all. Thou hast reached man’s
estate, and it is ordained of God that men should shake off
the fetters that bind them in youth, and act and judge for
themselves. My counsel is this: be wary, be prudent, be
watchful, and lose no opportunity of gaining the trust of
all men. So wilt thou one day live to do service to many ;
and thou wilt better understand my words the longer thou
livest in this great city, and learnest more of what is seeth-
ing below the surface of men’s lives.â€
And with a few words of dismissal and blessing the
Father sent Cuthbert on his way, standing still and look-
ing after him till the slight figure was lost to sight in the
darkness,
“There goes a man who by his face might have a great
future before him,†mused the priest. “It is with such
faces as that that men have gone to prison and to death.â€
Cuthbert bent his steps towards the bridge, interested
and excited by his recent adventure, his thoughts directed
into a new channel, his memory recalling the first com-
panion of his lonely journey, and the charm of that com-
panion’s personality and address. So many other things
had passed since, impressions had jostled so quickly one
upon the other, that he had scarce thought again of Master
Robert Catesby or the purse he had to claim from him.
150 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
~ His new uncle’s liberality had made him rich, and a certain
natural reserve had held him silent in his Puritan relative’s
house about any person not likely to find favour in Martin
Holt’s estimation. He had been equally reticent about his
strange adventure with the gipsies, though he scarce knew
why he should not speak of that. But, as a matter of fact,
every day brought with it such a crowd of new impressions
that the earlier ones had already partially faded from his
mind.
But the words of the priest had awakened a new train
of thought. Cuthbert resolved not to delay longer the
reclamation of his own property. He spoke to Cherry
that same evening about his lost purse, giving her a brief
account of his ride across Hammerton Heath, and she was
eager for him to ask his own, lest he should lose it alto-
gether.
“For gay gallants are not always to be trusted, for all
that they look so fine and speak so fair,†she said, nodding
her pretty curly head, an arch smile in her big gray
eyes. “I have heard my father say so a hundred times.
I would go quickly and claim mine own again. But tell
me the rest of the adventure. What didst thou, left thus
alone upon the lone heath? I trow it was an unmanly and
unmannerly act to leave thee thus. What befell thee then?â€
Cuthbert looked round cautiously ; but there was no one
listening to the chatter of this pair of idlers in the window.
Mistress Susan's voice was heard below scolding the serving-
wench, and Martin Holt was poring over some big ledger
whilst Jemima called over the figures of a heap of bills.
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 151
Keziah was at her spinning-wheel, which hummed merrily
in the red fire-light ; and Cherry was seizing advantage of
her aunt’s absence to chatter instead of work.
Cherry had from the first been Cuthbert’s confidante and
friend. It was taken for granted by this time that this
should be so. Nobody was surprised to see them often
together, and Cherry had never found the house on the
bridge so little dull as when Cuthbert came in night by
night to give her the most charming and exciting accounts
of his doings and adventures. Once, too, she had gone with
him to see some sights. They had paraded Paul’s Walk
together, and Cuthbert had been half scandalized and
wholly astonished to see a fine church desecrated to a mere
fashionable promenade and lounging-place and mart. They
had watched some gallants at their tennis-playing another
day, and had even been present at the baiting of a bear,
when they had come unawares upon the spectacle in their
wanderings. But Cuthbert’s ire had been excited through
his humanity and love for dumb animals, and Cherry had
been frightened and sickened by the brutality of the
spectacle. ‘And when Martin Holt had inveighed against
the practice with all a Puritan’s vehemence, Cuthbert had
cordially agreed, and had thus drawn as it were one step
nearer the side of the great coming controversy which his
uncle had embraced.
These expeditions together had naturally drawn the
cousins into closer bonds of intimacy. Cherry felt privi-
leged to ask questions of Cuthbert almost at will, and he
had no wish to hide anything from her.
152 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
“T will tell thee that adventure some day when we are
alone,†he answered. “I have often longed to share the
tale with thee, but we have had so much else to speak of.
I was taken prisoner by the robbers, and conveyed to a
ruined mill, where some of their comrades and some wild
gipsies dwell, as I take it, for the greater part of the
inclement winter. I thought my end had surely come
when first I saw the fierce faces round me; but there was
one who called herself their queen, and who made them
quit their evil purpose. She put me to sit beside her at
the board, and when the morning came she fed me again
and bid me ride forth without fear. She told me certain
things to boot, which I must not forget; but those I will
not speak of till you know the whole strange story. I
may not tell it here. I would not that any should know
it but thee, Cherry. But some day when we can get into
some lonely place together I will tell thee all, and we will
think together how the thing on which my mind is set
may be accomplished.â€
Cherry’s eyes were dilated with wonder and curiosity.
Her cousin all at once took rank as a hero and knight of
romance. He had already experienced a wonderful adven-
ture, and there was plainly some mystery behind which
was to be made known to her later.
What a proud thing it was to have such a cousin! How
she despised honest Jacob now, with his large hands and
heavy ways! She had laughed at him ever since ‘she
could remember, and had ordered him about much as
though he were a faithful dog always ready to do her
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 153
bidding; but she had never quite realized what a clumsy
boor he was till their handsome, dark-faced Trevlyn cousin
had come amongst them, with his earnest eyes, his graceful
movements, and his slim, attractive person. Cuthbert’s
manners, that in fine society would have been called rustic
and unformed, were a great advance on anything Cherry
had seen in her own home, save in the person of Anthony
Cole and his son. She admired him “immensely, and he
was rapidly becoming the sun and éentre of her life; whilst
Cuthbert, who had always been used to the companionship
of a sister, and who found several fanciful resemblances
as well as so many points of contrast between the lively
Cherry and the pensive Petronella, was glad enough of
her sisterly friendship and counsel, and did not lose in
favour with his uncle that he succeeded in pleasing and
brightening the life of his youngest born, who was in truth
the idol of his heart, though he would sooner have cut off
his right hand than have let her know as much too plainly.
As Cherry also was of opinion that Cuthbert ought to
reclaim his money, he resolved to do so upon the morrow
without any further loss of time. Cherry advised him not
to speak openly of his visit to the tavern, for her father
held all such places in abhorrence, and would likely speak
in slighting terms of any person who could frequent them.
He had better prosecute his errand secretly, and tell her the
result at the end. Cherry dearly loved a little bit of mystery,
and was very anxious that Cuthbert should continue to
occupy his present position in her father’s good graces.
The Cat and Fiddle was none too well-looking a place
154 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
when Cuthbert succeeded at last in finding it. It had one
door in the thoroughfare of Holborn, but it ran back some
way, and its other doors opened into a narrow alley turn-
ing off from the main street under a low archway. As
Cuthbert pushed open the door of the public room, he saw
several men with faces of decidedly unprepossessing type
sitting together at a table engrossed in talk, and these all
looked quickly up as he entered, and gazed at him with
undisguised suspicion.
A burly man, who had the look of a host, came forward,
and asked his business rather roughly. Strangers did not
appear to meet any warmth of welcome at this place.
Cuthbert answered that he sought news of Master Robert
Catesby, who had bidden him inquire at that place for him.
As that name passed his lips he saw a change pass over
the face of his questioner, and the answer was given with
a decided access of friendliness.
“He is not here now, but he will be here anon. He
comes to dine shortly after noon, and will spend some
hours here to-day on business. If it please you, you can
wait for him.â€
“T thank you, but I will come again later,†answered
Cuthbert, who was by no means enamoured of the place
or the company. He was surprised that his travelling
companion, who appeared a man of refined speech and
habits, should frequent such an evil-looking place as this.
But the habits of the dwellers in cities were as yet strange
to him, and it might be his ignorance, he thought, which
made it appear suspicious to him.
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 155
“ And if he asks who has inquired for him, what shall
I say?†asked the host, whilst the men at the table
continued to ‘stare and listen with every appearance of
interest.
“My name is Trevlyn,†answered Cuthbert shortly,
- disliking, he hardly knew why, the aspect and ways of
the place. He fancied that a slight sensation followed
this announcement. Certainly the landlord bowed lower
than there was occasion for as he held open the door for his
visitor to pass out. Cuthbert was puzzled, and a little
annoyed. He was half inclined not to go there again;
but curiosity got the better of his resolve as the afternoon
hours drew on. After all, what did it matter what manner
of man this was, since he need never see him again after
_ to-day? It would be foolish not to reclaim his money,
and might lead Master Robert Catesby to inquire for him
at his uncle’s house, and that he did not wish. The thing
had better be done, and be done quickly.. How foolish it
would be to go back to Cherry and say he had not accom-
plished his errand because some odd-looking men had
stared at him, and because the tavern was ill-smelling and
‘dirty!
It was three o’clock, however, before the youth again
entered the unsavoury abode. As December had already
come, the days were approaching their shortest limit; and
as heavy clouds hung in the sky, the streets already began
to look dark. Within the ill-lighted tavern the obscurity
was still greater. Cuthbert pushed his way through the
door, and found himself amongst the afternoon drinkers,
156 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
who were making the room ring with ribald songs and
loud laughter. But the host quickly singled him out, and
approached with an air of deference.
“The gentleman you asked for is upstairs. He directed
that you should be sent to him on your arrival. I am too
busy to go up the stairs with you, but you cannot miss
the way. He is in the room upon the first floor; the
first door to the right hand will lead you to him. He has
one or two gentlemen with him, but he will be glad to see
you too.â€
Cuthbert was glad to get out of the noisy room below,
and, shutting the door behind him, mounted the dark
stairs. He opened the first door to the right, after
knocking once or twice in vain, and found himself in a
very small apartment, very ill lighted a a tiny window,
and altogether empty.
He looked round in surprise. Dim as was the twilight,
he could not be.mistaken in the emptiness of the room.
He wondered if the man had misled him purposely, and a
little vague uneasiness stole over him. The noises from
below had hitherto drowned any other sound; but as for
some cause unknown to himself these suddenly and entirely
ceased for the space of some half-minute, he became aware
of voices close at hand; and almost before he realized
his position, he had caught several quickly and eagerly
spoken sentences.
“They show no mercy; let no mercy be shown to them,â€
said one voice, in low, menacing accents. “Six saintly
priests have died in cruel agonies by the bloody hangman’s
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 157
hands but a few weeks past; and look ye, what has been
the fate of that godly, courageous old man of Lancashire
who has dared to raise his voice in reprobation of these
barbarities 2? Fined, imprisoned, despoiled of all; and all
but condemned to be nailed to the pillory, that his ears
might be sliced off! Even that fate was all but inflicted
by yon infamous Star Chamber, who respect neither virtue
nor gray hairs, so they may fill the King’s coffers and
destroy all godliness in the land! It was but by two votes
he escaped that last anguish and degradation. How say ye,
friends? Can any scheme be too desperate if it rids us of
such tyrants and rulers at one blow ? â€
An eager murmur arose at that—assent, indignation,
wrath—and again the same voice spoke in the same low,
eager tones,—
“ And the way is open; the house is ours. But a few
feet of masonry to tunnel through, and the thing is done.
Shall we shrink ? shall we hesitate ?. I trow not. Strong
arms, silent tongues, a high courage—that is all we want.â€
“ And a few more strong arms to help us at the work,
for it will be a labour of Hercules to get it done.â€
At that moment the noise from below burst out anew,
and Cuthbert heard no more of this mysterious colloquy.
He had not time to think over the meaning of the words
he had heard, or indeed to attach any particular signifi-
cance to them. He was always hearing: fierce threats
bandied about between ardent partisans of Romanist and
Puritan, and was beginning to pay small heed to such
matters. He did not realize now that he had surprised
158 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
any conspirators at their work. He knocked boldly at
the door of the room, to which the place where he stood |
was plainly the antechamber, and a loud voice bid him
enter.
There was no light in the apartment, save that which
filtered in through the dirty window, and it was plain
that the meeting, whatever its nature, was breaking up.
Several men were standing about in their cloaks and hats,
the latter slouched down upon their brows, so that their
faces could not be distinguished in the gloom. Two or
three passed Cuthbert hastily as he entered, before he had
time even to see if one of them was the companion of his
journey ; but though he found some trouble in distinguish-
ing features, his own were visible enough as he stood
facing the window, and out of the shadows stepped a tall
man, who greeted him with extended hand.
“Good e’en to you, Cuthbert Trevlyn, and a fair wel-
_come to London town! I trust you have not been in
dangers and difficulties, and that you but now come to
claim your own again? How fared it with you on the
heath that night? Were you in any wise maltreated or
rough-handled by the gentlemen of the road?â€
“Nay; I was rather treated to a good supper and a
night’s lodging, and not so much as deprived of my
steed. I trow had he shown something more of mettle I
might not have so preserved him; but one or two of them
who mounted him pronounced him of no use even as a
pack-horse.â€
Catesby laughed pleasantly, and putting his hand into
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 159
his doublet drew forth the purse intrusted to him, and
placed it in Cuthbert’s hands.
“They would not have been so obliging, I fear, had you
chanced to have this upon your person. Take it, boy, and
look within and see that all is safe. I have not parted
with it since the night of our journey. I trow you will
find your treasure as it left your hand.â€
“I am sure of it,†answered Cuthbert gratefully ; “and
I return you many thanks for your good-will and sound
counsel in the matter. But for your good offices I should
have lost all. I trust you yourself escaped without mis-
adventure ?â€
Cuthbert was now anxious to be gone. His errand was
accomplished. The atmosphere of this place was offensive
to him, and he was uneasy without well knowing why.
His companion seemed to divine this; and the room being
now cleared of all other guests, he put his hat on his head
and said, “We will go out into the fresh air. The Cat
and Fiddle is better as a resort by day than by night. I
would fain know something of your whereabouts and
fortunes, boy. I have taken a liking for you, and the
name of Trevlyn sounds pleasantly in mine ears.â€
The old sense of fascination began to fall upon Cuthbert,
as Catesby, taking him familiarly by the arm, led him out
into the street, and walked along with him in the direction
of his home, drawing him out by questions, and throwing
in bits of anecdote, jest, and apt remark, that made his
conversation a pleasure and an education. Cuthbert forgot
his anxieties and vague suspicions in his enjoyment of the
160 THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY.
conversation of an accomplished man of the world; and
there was a subtle flattery in the sense that this man,
scholar and gentleman as he was, had condescended to a
liking for and an interest in his insignificant self, and was
of his own accord inviting confidence and friendship.
“Tonce had a young brother; thou something favourest
him,†was the only explanation he gave of the sudden
fancy formed when Cuthbert spoke gratefully of his
kindness. “I am growing out of youth myself, but I
like the companionship of youth when I can get it. I
would fain see more of thee, boy, an thou art thine own
master, and can come and visit me at the place I may
appoint.†,
Cuthbert was pleased and flattered, and said he should
be proud to come, but hoped it would not be at the
tavern, as his uncle misliked such places of entertainment.
“Tt is an ill-smelling spot; I mislike it myself,â€
answered Catesby. “Nay, we can do better than that
now. There is a house at Lambeth where I often frequent
with my friends. It is something lonely; but thou art a
brave lad, and wilt not fear that.†He turned and looked
Cuthbert keenly over as he spoke, and heaved a short
sigh.
“Thou art marvellous like the brother I lost,†he said.
“I would that I might have thee for my servant; but
thou art too gently born for that, I trow.â€
‘Cuthbert had well-nigh promised life-long service on
the spot, so peculiar was the influence and fascination
exercised upon him by this man; but he remembered his
THE LIFE OF A GREAT CITY. 161
uncle and his duty to him, and pulled himself up as he
replied soberly,—
“I am poor enow—poorer than many a servant—hav-
ing naught but what is given me by others. But I have
mine uncle’s will to do. I may take no step without
asking counsel of him.â€
“Ay, verily; and this secret of our friendship thou
must hide from him. Thou knowest that I am of the
forbidden faith, and my presence in London must be hid.
I may trust thee thus far with my secret? Thou wilt
not reveal my name to others?â€
“ Never, since thou hast told me not.â€
“Good lad; I knew thou mightest be trusted. And
thou wilt come to see me as I shall ask ?â€
“Tf I can make shift to do so I will very willingly.â€
“T shall remind thee of thy promise. And now, fare-
well, I have business in another quarter. We shall meet
again anon.â€
(878) 11
CHAPTER VIII.
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
LL this while Kate’s letter to her cousin Lord Cul-
verhouse had lain stowed away in the safe leathern
pocket of Cuthbert’s riding-dress, into which her deft white
hands had sewed it for safety, and he had made no attempt
to deliver it to its owner, nor to see whether the young
Viscount would have will or power to further his own
success in life. ,
The reason for this delay was no lack of good-will on
the part of the youth, but was simply due to the fact that
- Lord Andover and his family were not in London at this
season, but were in their family place in Hampshire, and
not expected to reach London much before the Christmas
season.
This much Cuthbert had discovered early on in his stay
in town; for Kate had described to him the situation of
her uncle’s house in the Strand, and he had made inquiry
at the porter’s lodge the very first time he had passed by.
But hearing this, and not wishing to intrust the letter
into any hands but those of Lord Culverhouse himself, he
had gone away again, and the excitements of the new life
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 163
had speedily driven the thought of Kate’s commission out
of his mind. |
But now the merry Christmas season was close at hand,
Mistress Susan was thrice as busy and as sharp-tongued as
usual, getting forward her preparations for that time of
jollity and good cheer, and making the bridge house fairly
reek with the mixed flavours of her numerous concoctions
and savoury dishes.
Martin Holt’s Puritanism, which would prevent his coun-
tenancing anything like drunkenness, revelling, or the gross
sports and amusements which still held full sway over the
people at festive seasons, did not withhold him from keep-
ing a well-spread table at which to ask his friends to sit,
still less from sending out to his poorer neighbours por-
tions of the good cheer which has always seemed appro-
priate to the Christmas season. So he raised no protest
against the lavish expenditure in meats and spices, rose-
water, ambergris, sugar and herbs, nor complained that
his sister and daughters seemed transformed for the nonce
into scullions, and had scarce time to sit down to take a
meal in peace, for fear that some mishap occurred to one
of the many stewpans crowding each other upon the stove.
He was used to it, and it appeared the inevitable pre-
liminary to Yule-tide; though Cuthbert looked on in
amaze, and marvelled how any household could consume
the quantities of victuals under preparation, be their hos-
pitality and generosity what it might.
As he walked abroad in the streets he saw much the
Same sort of thing everywhere going on. Cooks and
164 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
scullions were scouring the streets and markets for all
manner of dainties. Farmers were driving through the
streets flocks of young porkers, squealing lustily and jos-
tling the passers-by ; and cooks and housewives would come
rushing out from the houses to secure a pig and carry it
off in triumph ; whilst here and there a servant in livery
might be seen with a basket from which a peacock’s tail
floated, carrying off this costly prize to adorn the table of
some nobleman or wealthy merchant.
Passing by Lord Andover’s house in the Strand on the
day before the eve of Christmas, Cuthbert saw, by the stir
and bustle and liveliness of the court-yard, that the family
had plainly returned. On making inquiry he discovered
that his surmise was correct, and he walked home resolving
to lose no more time in delivering his letter, and wonder-
ing if he could contrive to take Cherry with him when he
paid the visit, to secure for her a sight of the gay streets
_ and a peep into Lord Andover’s big house. The poor child
had been regularly mewed up at home the whole of the
past week helping her sharp-tongued aunt. It was noth-
ing but fair that she should taste a little enjoyment now;
and he determined to try to get his uncle’s consent before
speaking a word to Cherry herself. Susan Holt never
opposed her brother, though she often disapproved of his
lenience towards his youngest child, whose love of pleasure
she looked upon as a peril and-a snare.
When Cuthbert made his modest request to take Cherry
out on the morrow to see the sights of the streets, and the
houses all decked with holly, the father smiled an indul-
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 165
gent smile and gave a ready assent. If Cuthbert would
be careful where he took her, and not let her be witness
of any of the vile pastimes of cock-fighting, bull or bear
baiting, or the hearer of scurrilous or blasphemous lan-
guage, he might have her companionship and welcome;
and it would doubtless amuse her to go into Lord An-
dover’s kitchen, where messengers’ generally waited who
had brought notes or messages for members of the family,
being treated to cups of sack and other hospitality ; and
as he was a good man, his household would be well or-
dered, and the maid would be treated with due civility
and respect.
“The child is kept something strait by her good
aunt,†said Martin, a smile hovering round the corner of
his lips. “We are not all cut to the same pattern, and
Cherry takes not as kindly to the gravity of life as did
her sisters. A little change will do her no harm. It boots
not too far to resist the promptings of nature.â€
How Cherry’s eyes laughed and sparkled, and how her
pretty face flushed and dimpled when Cuthbert whispered
to her of the pleasure in store for her! She had been
looking a little harassed and weary after her long seclusion
from the fresh air, striving to please Aunt Susan, who
never would be pleased; but this made amends for all.
Worthy Susan sniffed and snorted when Martin told her
to give the child a holiday on the morrow; but as all her
preparations were well-nigh complete, she did not really
want the girl, and contented herself with hoping that her
indulgent father would not live to rue the day when he
166 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
thought fit to indulge her wanton love for unhallowed
sights and amusements. Martin did not reply. Perhaps
he felt that his sister was more consistent and stanch to
the Puritan principles than he was himself in this matter ;
but he did not rescind his decision. And after a surrepti-
' tious meal behind the pantry door together on the morrow,
whilst Mistress Susan was engaged upstairs over the
weighty matter of the linen to adorn the festal board that
evening and on Christmas-day itself, the pair stole quietly
off about eleven o’clock, leaving word with Martin in pass-
ing out that they would be back before dark.
Cherry danced along as though she had wings to her
feet, as they quitted the bridge and plunged into the nar-
row but bustling and busy streets. She had always been
kept rigorously at home on all occasions of public rejoic-
ing and merriment, and it was a perfect delight to her to
see the holiday look about the passers-by, and exchange
friendly good wishes with such acquaintances as she met
by the way. She had put on her best gown, and a, little
ruff round her neck: her aunt would not let her wear
such “gewgaws†in a general way, but the girl loved to
fabricate them out of odds and ends, in imitation of the
ladies she saw passing in the street. She wore the gray
cloak and hood she had had on when first Cuthbert had
come to her assistance by the river, and her rosy laughing
face peeped roguishly out from the warm and becoming
head-gear. But suddenly, as they were passing a house in
East Cheape, she paused and glanced up at Cuthbert with
a bewitching little look of pleading.
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 167
“Wait but here for me a little five minutes,†she said ;
- “J have an errand to my cousin Rachel.â€
She was gone in a moment, slipping through the open
door and leaving Cuthbert outside in the street. He knew
the house for her uncle Dyson’s, and was in no way alarmed
about her. Nor was she long in rejoining him again. But
when she came out, laughing, blushing, and dimpling, he
scarce knew her for the moment, so transformed was she;
and he stood perfectly mute before the radiant young
vision his eyes encountered.
The sober black under-petticoat had been replaced by
cone of vivid scarlet taffeta, quilted with elaboration, and
further adorned with embroidery in white silk. The gray
upper robe was the same as before, the soft stuff and quiet
tone harmonizing and contrasting well with the bright hue
of the petticoat. The little feet were encased in the
daintiest of strong buckled shoes, and in scarlet hose to
match the quilted skirt; whilst the cloak and hood were
now of soft white lamb’s-wool cloth, such as Abraham
Dyson made a specialty of in his business; and the vivid
delicate colour upon the girl’s laughing face as it peeped
out of the snowy hood was set off to the greatest possible
advantage by the pure white frame, so suited to the child's
infantile style of beauty.
“Why, Cherry, I scarce know thee!†cried Cuthbert,
amazed.
“TI scarce know myself,†answered the laughing girl,
blushing and dimpling with mischievous pleasure; “and
I trust none else will know me neither if we meet more
168 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
friends by the way. I will pull my hood well over my
face, for I would not have this frolic reach Aunt Susan’s
ears. She would make*a mighty coil anent it. But oh,
I have so longed for pretty things such as Rachel wears!
Why is it wrong to love bright colours and soft fabrics ?
I will not believe it is. When I am grown to woman's
estate, and have a home of my own to regulate, I will wear
what I choose and what becomes me best. It is folly to
think God loves not beauty and brightness. Has He not
made the sky blue, the trees green, the flowers of every
hue of the rainbow? Does He not paint the sky with
brilliant hues ? Why is man alone of his creatures to be
dull and sad ?â€
“Nay, I know not; I am unlearned in these questions.
But how got you these fine clothes? Did Mistress Rachel
lend them ?â€
“Rachel has always longed to give this petticoat to me.
She-is weary of it, and it is something too short for her;
‘but I knew I might never wear it, and that Aunt Susan
would chide me roundly for bringing such a thing home.
So Rachel said she would lay it by for me when her new
robe came home at Christmas-tide. Then she whispered
to me last week that her father had a present for me—a
cloak and hood that he thought my father would let me
wear, albeit Aunt Susan might ill like it. So passing the
house to-day, methought I might slip in and ask Rachel if
I might wear the new cloak and hood to Lord Andover’s ;
and forthwith she had me up to her room and into this
scarlet petticoat in a twinkling, and mine uncle brought
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 169
the white cloak and hood himself and fastened it on me,
and Jacob came with the shoes and said he had had them
made strong for the muddy streets, but smart with the
buckles on the top. And here I be the happiest girl in
all London town! Nay, Cuthbert, but I feel as if my feet
could dance of themselves all the way !â€
Her happiness was infectious. Cuthbert felt more like
a light-hearted boy than ever he had done in his life be-
fore. His lively little companion, clinging to his arm and
chattering like a magpie, effectually drove away all grave
thoughts. The sun shone brightly in the steely-blue sky ;
the frost had made the streets absolutely clean and dry.
Walking, even in the most trodden places, was easy and
pleasant, and everybody seemed in excellent good-humour.
Many admiring glances were levelled at the pair as they
passed along—the charming blushing damsel in the white
hood, and the distinguished-looking youth with the grave
dark face. Cuthbert gratified the little girl’s curiosity
by taking her up and down Paul’s Walk as they passed
through St. Paul’s Churchyard, and by the time they
gained Fleet Street and Temple Bar she had reached the
limit of her farthest walk westward.
They spent several minutes before the clock of St. Dun-
stan’s-in-the-West, and watched the bronze figures striking
on their bells as the hour of mid-day sounded forth from
many steeples. Then Cherry must needs go down to the
river-banks between the gentlemen’s gardens and see how
the river looked from here. She was a little awed by the
grandeur of the houses all along the Strand, and wondered
170 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
mightily what it could feel like to be one of the fine Court
dames who drove in and out of the great gates in gilded
coaches, or ambled forth upon snow-white palfreys, at-
tended by lackeys afoot and on horseback.
Another hour had passed in delighted watching of the
street sights and the fine folks who dwelt in these parts,
before Cuthbert led her under the archway of the great
court-yard, and told her that this was Lord Andover’s
house. It was one of the finest in the Strand, and it was
plain that some gay festivity was in foot or in preparation ;
for there was such a to-ing and fro-ing of serving-men,
lackeys and scullions, such a clatter of voices, such an air
of hurry and jollity on every face, that Cherry could have
looked and listened for ever, but that Cuthbert hurried
her through the crowd towards a big door opening into
the court-yard, and whispered in her ear,—
“ They all be too busy to heed me here. Come to the
house, and see what hap we have there. I may deliver
this letter to none other save Lord Culverhouse himself.â€
The great door which stood wide open proved to be
that of the kitchen—a vast hall in itself, along the farther
side of which were no less than six huge fire-places. Cooks
and scullions stood at each of these, shouting out orders and
moving to and fro; while a perfect crowd of menials and
servants, messengers and idlers, stood or sat about, chatting,
laughing, and even gaming in corners. Huge tankards of
ale, hot and strongly spiced, stood upon the table, and
every one who passed by appeared permitted to help him-
self at will.
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 171
Busy and noisy as this place was, an air of good-fellow-
ship and good-humour pervaded it which was reassuring
and pleasant; and before the cousins had stood many
minutes in their corner, a serving-man came up and asked
them civilly enough of their business. Cuthbert replied
that he had a letter which he had been charged to give
into Lord Culverhouse’s own hands; and hearing that, the
servant gave a keen look at the pair, and apparently
satisfied with his inspection, bid them follow him.
He took them up a wide staircase, and brought them
out into another large hall, where servants of a different
class were gathered together—the liveried footmen and
pages and lackeys, and some waiting-women, very grandly:
attired, who speedily beckoned Cherry amongst them,
and began making much of her, rather as though she
were a little child, feeding her with comfits and cakes and
spiced wine, examining her soft. white cloak, and asking
a host of questions as to where she got it, who was the
maker, and if her ‘uncle sold his wares to the public.
Cherry had pretty, dainty little ways of her own, and was
not in the least shy where she felt herself liked. She did
not even miss Cuthbert when he was summoned away, so
happy was she to be talked to by these fine waiting-
women, who were kind and comfortable souls enough.
She learned on her side that there was to be a play given
in half-an-hour’s time within the house itself,and that all
the serving men and women were permitted to witness it.
She was pressed to stay and see it herself, and her eyes
beamed with delight at the bare thought. To see a play
172 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
had always been the very height of her youthful ambition,
and had not father said that she could get no hurt at Lord
Andover’s house ?
Presently Cuthbert came back, his face aglow with
pleasure.
“ Cherry,†said he, “I have seen Lord Culverhouse, and
methinks Kate’s letter was like a talisman; for after read-
ing it he bid me welcome as though I were in some sort
a kinsman, and said that I must stay and see the mask
that is to be played here in a short while, and remain as
a guest at the feast which will follow, where the boar’s
head is to be brought in, and all sorts of revelry are to be
held. I told him I could not stay till dark, for that we had
promised to be home ere that; but that I would gladly see
the play-acting an I might. And then I told him of thee,
and he bid me go fetch thee. My cousin, said he, must
i faith be in some sort his cousin, since Kate, who was his
cousin, also spoke of me as one. I told him nay, but that
thou wert cousin only on my mother’s side; but he laughed,
and would not listen, and bid me fetch thee, that he might
place thee well to see the mummery. So come with me,
fair cousin, for we must not keep him waiting.â€
Cherry’s cheeks were dyed with bewitching blushes, and
her big gray eyes were shining like stars, as she followed
her cousin, accompanied by a little murmur of congratula-
tion from the waiting-women, who had all fallen in love
with the charming child. She looked a perfect picture as
she stood before Lord Culverhouse in her scarlet petticoat
and snow-white hood, making her pretty quaint reverence
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 173
to him, hardly daring to raise her eyes, but quite lost in the
glamour of the honour done to her in being thus noticed
by a real lord and good-humouredly dubbed a cousin.
And then her hand was actually taken by this handsome
and elegant young gallant, and she felt herself being con-
ducted through rooms the magnificence of which she could
not take in in her timid, hasty glances. She had almost
begun to think it all a dream from which she must soon
awaken, when she heard her companion say in his sweet
voice,—
“ Mother mine, have you room beneath your ample wing
for a little city ouest—a cousin of Cuthbert Trevlyn, who
has brought me a most welcome missive from my dear
cousin Kate?†And then Cherry lookéd up with a pretty,
frightened, trusting glance, to find herself being examined
and smiled at by quite a bevy of wonderfully-dressed
ladies, who after one good look began to laugh in a very
reassuring and kindly way, and made room in their midst
for the little city maiden with that ease of true good-
breeding which has ever been the truest test of the blue
blood of the English aristocracy. She looked such a child,
in her pretty confusion and bashfulness, that not one of
them resented her presence amongst them. Courtesy and
kindliness had always been Lady Andover’s salient char-
acteristics, and there was a native refinement and quaint
simplicity about Cherry that would have gone far to
disarm severer critics than the present company round
Lady Andover.
“Come, my pretty child,†she said; “thou shalt sit be-
174 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
side me, and tell me all about thyself. The name of
Trevlyn is well known and well-loved in this house.
Thou comest under good auspices.â€
And so Cherry again found herself the plaything and
pet of a group of good-humoured people, though this time
they were fine ladies in dresses that fairly took away her
breath, as she ventured to study them with eager, furtive
glances. She answered all their questions with pretty,
candid frankness; told of her adventure in the osier-beds,
and of Cuthbert’s timely rescue; told of her life under her
father’s roof, and her simple daily duties and pleasures.
And the grand ladies listened and laughed, and made
much of her; and her soft white hood was removed and
admired, and passed round almost as it had been amongst
the waiting-women. Cherry felt quite bashful at sitting
amongst those fine ladies with no cover for her head but
her own curls; but she noted that the younger ladies
_ present had no adornment beside that, unless it were a
bow of ribbon or a few sparkling pins: so she took courage,
and her hot cheeks burned less brightly, though she could
not help her eyes sparkling and dancing beneath their long
lashes as she wondered what in the world her aunt Susan
would say could she see her-for a moment in her present
surroundings,
And then the play began, and Cherry sat entranced
from the moment the curtain rose till it fell again. She
had never seen anything of the sort before, and was per-
fectly captivated and carried away, living in the glamour
of absolute enchantment, and amusing her fashionable
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 175
companions almost as much by her artless admiration and
enthusiasm as the players did by their mummery and stage
tricks.
But time was flying all too fast, and almost as soon as
the curtain fell for the last time, Cuthbert came up and
carried her away, Lord Culverhouse walking with them
once more through the long rooms, and insisting on their
partaking of some spiced wine and game pasty before
going out into the cold air again.
What with the fumes of the wine, the extraordinary
grandeur of the house, and the wonderful nature of the
adventure altogether, Cherry hardly knew whether or not
she any longer trod on solid ground as she pursued her
way along the streets clinging tight to Cuthbert’s arm.
It was growing dusk now, and Cuthbert was anxious to
get his charge home before the early darkness should have
fallen upon the city. They hardly spoke as they wended
their way. Cherry gave a little gasp from time to time
indicative of her unbounded delight, whilst Cuthbert was
thinking pleasantly of the kind and cordial reception he
had met with from Lord Culverhouse.
Both felt more or less in dreamland till they reached
Abraham Dyson’s house, where Cherry ran in-doors again
to rid herself of her finery.
When she emerged once more into the familiar streets
of the city, her cheeks had lost a little of their bloom, her
eyes some of their star-like brightness; and heaving a
great sigh as she took Cuthbert’s arm, she said,—
““Ah me! it is a hard fate to be a city maid and a ~
176 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
Puritan’s daughter. I shall never see such lovely sights
again! And oh, how happy I should be if only I could be
a lady, and live where everything is soft and beautiful
and gentle! Oh how I shall dream of it all now! But it
will never be anything but a dream!†and a great tear
like a diamond sparkled on the thick lashes and rolled
down the girl’s soft cheek.
Cuthbert had been thinking hard as he stood there in
the gathering darkness. He was rather taken out of him-
self, which was perhaps the reason he forgot all prudence
and reserve. Bending suddenly over Cherry, he kissed away
the tears on her cheeks, and said in low, passionate tones,—
“Nay, sweet Cherry, weep not for that. I will make
thee yet a lady, whom none shall dare flout. I have loved
thee, sweet cousin, from the day I found thee by the
river in hapless plight. And when I have found the lost
treasure of Trevlyn, and have brought luck and fortune to
each one that bears the old name, then will I come and
wed thee, sweet coz; and thou wilt be a Trevlyn then,
and none shall dare to scorn thee for thy good, father’s
honest name. My father did wed a Holt, and his son
shall do the same. Tell me, Cherry, dost thou love me
well enough to be my little wife one day? for by the
mass I will have none other; and if thou lovest me not I
will go unwed all the days of my life!â€
Cherry turned hot and cold, flushed scarlet, and then
grew pale as this speech proceeded, till at the last words
the red came back in a flood, and hiding her face on
Cuthbert’s shoulder, she sobbed out,—
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 177
“Oh, how could I love anybody else? O Cuthbert,
how happy thou hast made me! Art sure thou speakest
sooth ?â€
“Sooth! ay, that I do. Thou art the sweetest maid
the sun e’er looked on. Thou wert the fairest of all that
gay company at my Lord Andover’s, and many beside my-
self said as much. Cherry, thou shalt one day be my own
true wife; and if kind fortune do but favour me, thou
shalt have gold and jewels and fine robes enow, and shalt
hold up thy head with the best of them: see if it be not so!â€
A boy-and-girl wooing certainly, but none the less
hearty for that. The love had been growing silently for
many weeks, the young folks scarcely knowing what they
were learning to be to each other. And now these sudden
burning words had revealed all, and Cherry felt more
than ever that she trod on air and moved in a dream; only
this time there was the pleasant sense that the dream
would not vanish away in smoke, but would become more
and more a living reality.
But there was something Cuthbert had said which yet
required explanation, and presently she looked up and
asked ,— .
“What didst thou mean when. thou spokest of a lost
treasure? What is it, and who has lost it ?â€
And then Cuthbert forthwith plunged into the. story of
the lost treasure of Trevlyn, as he had heard it from ‘his
cousin Kate; and Cherry listened with parted lips, thinking
that it was almost like living in some play to be bene
this strange tale.
(378) 12
178 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
When she heard of the gipsies and their vengeful words,
she stopped suddenly short and gazed intently at Cuthbert.
“This is the second time thou hast spoken of gipsies,â€
she said, in a whisper. “Thou hast yet to tell me the tale
of how thou didst spend a night in the gipsies’ cave.
Cuthbert, were those gipsies thou didst light upon that
night of thy flight the same as have stolen the treasure
from Trevlyn ?â€
“Cherry, I trow that they are,†he answered, in a very
low voice, bending his head closer over her as he spoke.
“ Listen, and I will tell thee all. There was an old fierce
woman, with hair as white as driven snow, among them,
who, when she heard the name of Trevlyn, launched at me
a glance of hatred that I never can forget; and I knew
well by her looks and her words that, had she had her
will, I should have suffered the same fate that her mother
had done from the hands of my grandfather. I knew not
then that it was her mother who had been burnt by him
as a witch; but I saw the evil purposed me, and knew
she was my foe. But a stately woman—the old gipsy’s
daughter, as I later learned—interposed on my behalf, and
her all obeyed as queen, even her mother bowing down
before her. She protected me, and bid me sit at table with
them, saw me served with the best, and at night showed
me herself to a ruinous bedchamber, where, however,
a weary man might comfortably lodge. There she left
me, but bid me not to undress; and presently after I had
slept, I know not how many hours, I was awakened by her
entrance with a dim light, and she bid me rise but speak
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 179
low, as she had somewhat of moment to say to me. She
asked me then of myself and my kindred ; and I asked her
many things, and to my questions she gave ready response.
Last of all, I dared to name the lost treasure, and I saw a
new look come upon her face. I said that I had heard
enough to make me think it had been stolen and hidden in
the forest, and I asked her if in her wanderings there she
had heard aught of it. I saw that the question moved her.
I saw her flashing glance rest on me again and again, and
her lips tremble as though she fain would speak, and yet
was half afraid to do so. Every moment I suspected more
and more that she knew somewhat; but whether or no she
would reveal this I dared not guess. At the last the eager
light died out of her eyes. She answered that she had
heard somewhat of the story, but that she herself knew
naught. The treasure had been lost many years before she
had first seen the light, and men had long ceased to look
for it, albeit there were many traditions that it would one
day be found. As to that she knew naught; but she
promised me this thing, that she would ask and strive to
learn if any in the forest knew more than she. And she
bid me meet her at a certain cave in the heart of the forest
upon May-day next, when she said she would speak with
me again anent this same matter.â€
Cherry’s lips were parted, her eyes were full of wonder
and curiosity. She shivered with excitement and sur-
prise.
“Thinkest thou that she knows the place 2â€
“That I know not, but I trow well that she knows
180 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
more than she said then, and that I shall learn more when
I seek her again, and we are not in a walled place where
eavesdroppers may lurk with itching ears.â€
“ Then thou wilt keep the tryst ?â€
“ Assuredly I will.â€
“And thou art not afraid that harm will befall thee ?
Oh beware, Cuthbert, of that wicked, fierce old woman!â€
“Oh, I fear her not. Their queen has bidden me.
They dare not defy her. I shall go to the forest and keep
the tryst. I trow there be much yet for me to know.â€
Cherry hesitated and trembled, and hesitated again, and
finally said in a low whisper,—
“ Cuthbert, it may be that there is a speedier and a safer
way of discovering what thou wouldest know.â€
“ And what way is that, sweet coz?â€
Again came the little pause of hesitation, and then
Cherry said,—
“ We might consult the wise woman.â€
“The wise woman! and who is she ?â€
“There be many of them,†answered Cherry, still speak-
ing in a very low and rapid whisper. “But breathe not a
word at home, for father says they be surely in league with
the devil, if they be not impostors who deserve whipping
at the cart’s tail. But Rachel went to one three years
back, and the dame told her a husband would come wooing
within three short months, and told the colour of his hair
and his eyes. And sure enough it all came true, and now
she is quickly to be wed. And others have done the like,
and the things have all come true. And she is not a wicked
CUTHBERT AND CHERRV GO VISITING. 181
woman neither, for she cures agues and fevers, and the
leeches themselves ask her simples of her. There may be
wicked women plying this trade too ; I know not how that
may be, But this dame is not wicked; Rachel goes to her
still, and she has never deceived her yet. But she liveth
very secretly now, as a wise woman must needs to in these
times ; for the King, they say, is very wroth against all
such, and in the country men are going about from him
and burning all who practise such arts, and otherwise cruelly
maltreating them. So no man speaks openly of them now,
though they still ply their trade in secret.â€
“ Hast thou ever been to one thyself, Cherry ?â€
Her face was all in a glow. She clung closer to Cuth-
bert’s arm.
“Chide me not, and tell not my father; but I went
with Rachel once, when she went to have a wart charmed
that was causing her much vexation. I asked nothing of
the dame myself ; but she took my hand and looked into
my eyes, and she nodded her head and chuckled and made
strange marks upon a bit of paper, which she said was
casting my horoscope. And then she told me that I had
an ugly lover that I loved not, but that another more
gently born should come in time, and that we should love
each other well and be faithful through all, and that I
should end by being a lady with all I wanted at com-
mand.†And there Cherry stopped, blushing and palpitat-
ing with happiness and shy joy; whilst Cuthbert, struck
by this very remarkable and original specimen of fortune-
telling, began to think he might do worse than consult
182 CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING.
this same wise woman who had gauged his sweetheart’s
case so fairly.
He himself had no scruples. He had a strong belief in
necromancy, and had never heard that there was sin in its
practice. He was still Romanist enough at heart to look
upon the confessional as an easy and pleasant way of
getting rid of the burden of an uneasy conscience. His
mind was very open to conviction and impression in re-
ligious matters. He was no bigot, but he had a constitu-
tionally inherited tendency towards the old faith that was
possibly stronger than he knew. Had he seen his father’s
party in power, persecuting and coercing, he would have
had scant sympathy or love for them and their ways; but
as the contrary was now the case, and he saw them down-
trodden and abused, he felt considerable drawings towards
them, and these drawings were not the less strong from the
intercourse he was enjoying almost daily with Anthony
Cole and his son Walter. Cuthbert’s love of learning and
eager wish to improve his scholarship drew him almost
daily to the dark little shop in the bridge, wedged in, as it
were, between two larger and more imposing structures,
where the father and son plied a modest trade and lived
somewhat hazardously; for they did not hesitate to circu-
late pamphlets and leaflets the sale of which had been
forbidden, and which might at any time get them into
serious trouble with the authorities, and lead to imprison-
ment, if not to death.
But to return to the pair now closely approaching their
home. and lagging somewhat in their walk to prolong the
CUTHBERT AND CHERRY GO VISITING. 183
talk for a few minutes. Cherry was in a fever of curio-
sity and impatience, and longed to hear her lover speak
the word.
“Tt is so long to wait till May-day; and I trow that
she could tell us all. Say, Cuthbert, shall we go to
her ?â€
It was sweet to Cuthbert to hear the little word “weâ€
dropping so naturally from Cherry’s lips. He pressed the
hand that lay upon his arm, and looked down into the
upraised eager face.
“Wilt thou go with me an I go?â€
“To be sure I will. I should love to be thy companion.â€
“ And brave thy father’s wrath should he find out?â€
Cherry clung yet closer to his arm.
“T fear nothing when thou art beside me, Cuthbert. I
would go with thee to death.â€
He stooped and kissed her eagerly, passionately.
“Then thy sweet will shall be law,†he answered, “and
I will go as soon as thou canst make shift to take me.â€
Cherry uttered a little ery of delight.
“ Ah, how pleased I am—how pleased I am! We will
go this very week, so soon as the Yule-tide stir be past. O
Cuthbert, Cuthbert, what a wondrous day this has been!
Methinks it must surely be a dream. But thou art no
dream; thou art real and true. So long as thou art
near me and with me, I shall know that it is all true.â€
CHAPTER Ix.
THE WISE WOMAN
i UTHBERT! alas, Cuthbert!†;
“Why, how now? What ails thee, Cherry ?â€
“ Cuthbert, my father hath been speaking with me.â€
“Well, and wherefore not? Thy father is no stern
tyrant like mine, sweet coz.â€
Cherry was panting with excitement and what appeared
like terror. She clung fast to Cuthbert’s arm, and her
eyes were dilated with fear. She was an excitable little
. mortal, so he did not feel any great alarm at her looks,
but strove to reassure her in a friendly, brotherly fashion.
The Christmas festivities and excitements, which had lasted
above a week, had doubtless done something to upset the
balance of her mind. She had been so extravagantly and
overwhelmingly happy with the remembrance of her ad-
venture at Lord Andover’s house, and her knowledge of the
secret between herself and Cuthbert, that the young man
had felt half afraid lest she should contrive to betray it to
others by her blushes, her bright, fitful glances, and her new-
born softness in his presence, which gave a sweeter quality
to her childish charms. He himself did not wish Martin
THE WISE WOMAN. 185
Holt to be aware that anything had passed between him
and Cherry till he could come boldly forward and ask her
at her father’s hands, having the wherewithal to support
her. He had been surprised into an admission of youth-
ful devotion, and he by no means wished the words unsaid ;
for the secret understanding now existing betwixt himself
and Cherry was the sweetest element in his daily life,
and he was more and more in love every day with his
charming cousin. But he knew that until he could come
with his share of the Trevlyn treasure in his hands, he
could scarce hope or look for a patient hearing from the
shrewd man of business. And though he himself was
increasingly confident that the treasure had been hidden
out of spite, and not really made away with, and that
some day it would be found, he knew that this opinion
would be regarded by the world at large as a chimera of
ardent youth, and that Martin Holt for one would bid him
lay aside all such vain and idle dreams, and strive by
steady perseverance in business to win for himself a modest
independence. Only to the young, the ardent, the lovers
of imaginative romance, had the notion of hidden treasure
any charm. ;
And here was Cherry crying, palpitating, trembling in
his arms as though some great trouble menaced them.
“What ails thee, sweetheart?†he asked, with playful
tenderness; and Cherry choked back her sobs to answer,—
“Cuthbert, he has spoken to me of marriage—my
father. He has told me plainly what he purposes for me.
He and ny uncle Dyson have talked of it together. I am
186 THE WISE WOMAN.
to wed my cousin Jacob. O Cuthbert, Cuthbert! what
must I do? what must I say ?â€
Cuthbert heard the news in silence. It was not alto-
gether unexpected, but he had scarce looked to have
heard the subject openly broached so soon. Cherry had
been regarded in her home as such a child, and her father,
sisters, and aunt had so combined to speak and think of
her as such, that although her eighteenth birthday was hard
at hand, and she was certainly of marriageable age, he had
not looked to have to face this complication in the situa-
tion quite so quickly. But as he stood holding Cherry in
his arms (for she had come to him in the upper parlour
at an hour when all the household were elsewhere en-
gaged, and there was no fear of interruption), a look of
stern purpose and resolution passed across the young man’s
face—an expression which those who knew the Trevlyn
family would have recognized as a true Trevlyn look. His
face seemed to take added years and manliness as that
expression crossed it; and looking tenderly down at the
quivering Cherry, he asked,—
“ Thinkest thou that he has seen or suspected aught ?â€
“TI know not. He said no word of that, only looked
hard at me as he spoke of Jacob.â€
“ And what saidst thou ?â€
“ Alack! what could I say? I did but tell him I had
no thoughts of such a thing. I prayed he would not send
me from him. I told him I was over young to think of
marriage, and besought him to speak of it no more. And
as my-tears began to flow I could say no more.â€
THE WISE WOMAN. 187
“ And he?â€
“He reminded me that many another girl was a wedded
wife and mother at my age; and then I turned and said,
that since Jemima and Kezzie were yet unwed—ay, and
Rachel too, for all her rosy cheeks and her dowry —it
was hard that I should have to be the one to be turned
first out of the nest. And at that I cried the more; and
he put his arm about me, and said he had no thought to
grieve me, and did not think that Jacob would wish me
vexed in the matter. And I begged for a year’s grace;
and, after thinking and pondering awhile, he answered
that he had no wish to hurry things on—that I was full
young to leave my girlhood behind and be saddled with
the cares of a household. And then it came out that the
haste was all Uncle Dyson’s doing. Rachel is to be wed
at Easter, and he wants his son to bring home a wife to
nurse Aunt Rebecca and mind his house. And when I
heard that I was in a pretty rage; for I cannot abide
Aunt Rebecca, who is as cross as a bear with a sore head,
and she cannot abear the sight of me. I know not where-
fore I have offended her, but so it is. And I know naught
of managing a house, and so Aunt Susan will tell them an
they ask her. So I dared to stamp my foot, and to tell
father I would not wed Jacob to be made his mother’s
slave; that I would rather live and die a maid like the
good Queen who has been taken from us. And father, he
scarce seemed to know what to say. I know he muttered
something about its being a sore pity it was not Jemima
or Kezzie that had been chosen. And then he bethought
188 THE WISE WOMAN.
him that it was not right to let a daughter see too much of
his mind, or speak too much of her own; and he bid me
begone something sternly, declaring he would think the
matter over, but that he looked for dutiful obedience from
any child of his, and that I was not to think I might set
up mine own will against his whatever his decision might
be in the end.â€
Cherry’s tempest of tears was by this time ended, and
she spoke collectedly enough, raising her eyes now and
then to the grave face of her lover to mark the effect of
her words upon him. Cuthbert’s face was grave but not
unhopeful, and taking Cherry’s hand firmly in his as she
ended her tale, he said,—
“Tf he will but put the matter off for a year, all will be
well. If the treasure is to be found at all, I shall have
found it by then. Let these dark winter days but change
to the long soft ones of spring, and I go forth into the
forest upon my quest. When I return laden with my
share of the spoil, I trow I shall be able to win and wed
my Cherry, be there never so many Jacobs in the field
before me!â€
Cherry laughed a soft little laugh, and her fears and
tremblings ceased for the time being. Looking fondly up
into Cuthbert’s face, she said,— -
«And why wait till the spring to begin? Hast for-
gotten what we spoke of not long since? ‘The wise woman.
—let us go to her! Thou hast money, and I trow she
will be able to tell thee somewhat of the treasure. Men
say that she hath a marvellous gift.â€
THE WISE WOMAN. 189
Waiting was slow work, and Cuthbert was by no means
averse to testing the skill of the old sorceress. He had a
certain amount of faith in the divinations of magic, and
at least it could do no harm to see what the beldam
would say. He would but have to risk a gold or silver
piece, and it would satisfy Cherry that he was. not loiter-
ing and half-hearted.
“T will go gladly an thou canst come with me. But
when shall it be? I have heard that these witches and
diviners only exercise their skill at night, and how couldst
thou be abroad with me then? There would be a pretty
coil if it were discovered that we were not within doors.â€
But Cherry was full of invention, and had all a woman’s
wit and readiness of resource. She was a true daughter
of Eve, this little rosy-cheeked maiden ; and when her heart
was set on a thing, she could generally find the means to
carry it out.
“Listen!†she said, after pausing a few moments to
think the thing out. “Any time after dark will do for
the wise woman. It matters not for it to be late in the
night, so long as the sun be down and the world wrapped
in gloom. That happens early enow in these winter days.
Now do thou listen and heed me, Cuthbert. Thou hast
heard of good Master Harlow, hast thou not ?â€
“ Ay, verily! I have heard of little else these many
days!†answered Cuthbert, with a touch of impatience in
his voice. “I am well-nigh weary of the sound of his
name. He is a notable Puritan preacher, is he not?â€
“ Ay, verily, most notable and most wearisome!†an-
190 THE WISE WOMAN.
swered Cherry, with a delightful little grimace. “ Thou
speakest of being weary of the sound of his name. Thou
wouldest be tenfold more weary of the sound of his voice
didst thou but attend one of his preachings. I have known
him discourse for four hours at a time—all men hanging
on his words as if they were those of God Himself, and
only poor little me well-nigh dead from weariness and
hunger.â€
“JT marvel not at that,†answered Cuthbert. “Four
hours would tax the patience of the most ardent disciple.â€
“ Nay, but thou little knowest. There be those amongst
my father’s sect who call it all too short, who would listen,
I verily believe, till they dropped from their benches with
starvation. But however that may be, this Master Harlow
is.one of the hunted martyrs of the cause, and he is not
allowed to exercise his gifts save by stealth; and the
preaching, of which thou hast heard these many whispers,
is to be held by night, and in some obscure cellar under-
ground, where they who go will be safe from all molesta-
tion from spies and foes.â€
“Ah!†said Cuthbert, looking quickly at her, “and
thou thinkest that this will be our chance?â€
“Let them but once start forth without us and all will
be well,†answered Cherry quickly. “The only trouble
will be that Aunt Susan loves to drag me whither she
knows I love not to go, and father thinks that these
wearisome discourses are for the saving of souls. He will
wish to take the twain of us. It must be ours to escape
him and abide at home.†.
THE WISE WOMAN. 191
‘ And how can we compass that ?â€
“For thee it will be easy,’ answered Cherry. “Thou
must promise Walter Cole to assist him with some task of
printing or binding that same evening, and tell my father
that thou art not seasoned to long discourses, and hast no
desire to fill the room of another who would fain hear the
words of life from the notable man. There will be more
crowding to hear him than the room will hold, so that it
will be no idle plea on thy part. Once thou art gone I
can yawn and feign some sort of ache or colic that will
make me plead to go to bed rather than attend the preach-
“ing. Aunt Susan will scold and protest it is but mine
idleness and sinfulness in striving to avoid the godly dis-
course; but father will not compel me to go. And when
all have started thou canst return, and we will together
to the wise woman; and be she never so long with her
divinations, we shall have returned long ere they have
done, and none will know of the visit.â€
Cuthbert agreed willingly to this plan. A bit of mis-
chief and frolic was as palatable to young folks in the
seventeenth century as it is in the nineteenth, and as a
frolic those two regarded the whole business. They were
both full of curiosity about the wise woman and her
_divinations, and it seemed to Cherry that to fail in taking
advantage of her skill when they had the chance of doing
so would be simple folly and absurdity. If she could
read the secrets of the future, surely she must be able to
tell them somewhat of the lost treasure.
Cherry’s plan was carried out to the letter without the
192 THE WISE WOMAN.
least real difficulty, and without raising any suspicion.
Martin Holt was not particularly anxious that the exact
locality of the underground meeting-place should be known
to his nephew, who had not professed himself by any means
on the Puritan side as yet, though listening with dutiful
and heedful attention whenever his uncle spoke to him on
the matter of his tenets. As for Cherry, her dislike to
sermons had long been openly declared, and it was scarcely
expected that she would patiently endure another of the
discourses that had caused her such distaste before.
And so it came about that upon a chill, frosty January
night, Cuthbert and Cherry stood before a small, narrow
house in Budge Row—a house that seemed to be jammed in
between its two neighbours, and almost crushed by their
overhanging gables and heavy beams; and Cherry, with
a trembling hand, gave a peculiar knock, thrice repeated,
upon the stout panels of the narrow door, that at the third
summons opened slowly and noiselessly, as if without any
human agency.
The dark passage thus revealed to view was black as
pitch, and Cuthbert involuntarily recoiled. But Cherry
had been here before, and knew the place, and laid her
hand upon his arm.
“ Courage!†she said, in a voice that quivered with ex-
citement and not with fear; “it is always so here. Walk
boldly in; there is naught to hurt us. When the door
has closed we shall see a light.â€
Stepping across the threshold, and keeping fast hold of
Cherry’s arm, his quick glance roving from side to side in
THE WISE WOMAN. 193
search of any possible foe lurking in the shadows, Cuthbert
entered this strange abode, and felt rather than saw that
the door closed noiselessly behind them, whilst he heard
the shooting of a heavy bolt, and turned with a start, for
it seemed impossible that this could have been done with-
out some human hand to accomplish the deed. But his
sense of touch assured him that he and Cherry were the
only persons at this end of the narrow passage, and with
a light shiver at the uncanny occurrence, he made up his
mind to follow this adventure to the end.
“See, there is the light!†whispered Cherry, who was
quivering with excitement. “That is the sign that the
wise woman is ready. We have to follow it. It will lead
us to her.â€
The light was dim enough, but it showed plainly in the
pitchy darkness of the passage, and seemed to be consider-
ably above them.
“We must mount the stairs,†whispered Cherry, feeling
her way cautiously to the foot of the rickety flight; and
the cousins mounted carefully, the dim light, which they
did not see—only the reflections it cast brightening the
dimness—going on before, until they reached an upper
chamber the door of which stood wide open, a soft radi-
ance shining out, whilst a strange monotonous chanting
was heard within.
Upon the threshold of the room stood a huge black cat
with bristling tail and fiery eyes. It seemed as though
he would dispute the entrance of the strangers, and Cuth-
bert said to himself that he had never seen an uglier-looking
(378) 13
194 THE WISE WOMAN.
brute of the kind since the monster wild-cat he had killed
in the forest about his home. He drew Cherry a pace
backwards, for the creature looked crouching for a spring.
“Tt is the wise woman’s cat, her familiar spirit!†whis-
pered the girl, in a very low voice. “Show him a piece of
money; then he will let us pass. He takes toll of those
who come to the wise woman. Show him the gold, and
then place it within that shell. After that he will let us
go in.†.
Cuthbert took a small piece of gold from his purse. He
held it up before the formidable-looking creature, and then
let it drop into a shell fixed in the outer wall of the room.
He heard it fall as if through a slot, and fancied that some
person within the room had taken it out and examined it.
There. was a slight peculiar call, and the cat, whose tail
had begun to grow less, and whose snarlings had ceased
at sight of the coin, now sprang suddenly backwards and
. vanished within the room, whilst a cracked voice was
heard bidding them enter.
“That is the voice of the wise woman,†said Cherry.
“ Come, Cuthbert, and fear nothing.â€
Together the pair stepped over the threshold, and again
the door closed noiselessly behind them, and the bolt flew
as it seemed of. itself into its socket. Cuthbert did not
altogether relish this locking of doors behind them as they
went; but Cherry, who had been here before, did not
seem to mind, and doubtless it was but prudence that had
taught the old woman to carry on her arts secretly if she
wished to escape imprisonment or death.
THE WISE WOMAN. 195
Glancing curiously round him, Cuthbert saw himself in
a long, low, narrow room that was all in deep shadow save
at the upper end, where a soft bright light was burning,
carefully shaded at one side, and so arranged that whilst
it illuminated the features of those who stood beside the
table behind which the oracle sat, it left the features of
the wise woman herself in the deepest shadow, a pair of
small black beady eyes being at first glance the only
feature Cuthbert could distinguish.
The lamp stood upon a table, and the old woman, clad
from head to foot in a long black mantle, sat on the farther
side. There were a few implements of her profession
about her—one or two big books, a crystal bowl containing
some black fluid very clear and sparkling, an ebony wand,
and a dusky mirror in a silver frame. She fixed her
bright bead-like eyes upon her guests as they advanced,
and asked in her cracked, harsh tones,—-.
“ Who comes here ?.†-
“Two persons desirous of testing your skill,†answered -
Cuthbert boldly. “It is told me that you can read the
future; I would ask if you can also look back into the
past ?â€
He felt ‘the snake-like glance bent fixedly upon him.
There was a subtle fascination in those eyes, and he looked
into them fixedly whether he would or no. As his eyes
’ became used to the dimness in which the old woman sat,
- he saw that her face was brown and wrinkled like a frag-
ment of ancient parchment, that her features were very
sharp and wasted, and that there was something weird and
196 THE WISE WOMAN.
witch-like in her whole aspect. He felt as though he had
seen before some face that that withered one faintly re-
sembled, but in the confusion of the moment he could put
no name to it. He wanted to keep his head, and to retain
his firmness and acuteness, but he was conscious of a
strange whirling in his brain as the old woman continued
to gaze and gaze upon him as though she would never be
satisfied with her inspection.
At last she spoke again.
“And who art thou that comest so boldly to pry into
the dead secrets of the past?â€
“Tam one Cuthbert Trevlyn, son of a house that has
suffered sore vicissitudes. I come to ask the skill of the
wise woman in discovering a secret long hidden from our
family.†|
He stopped suddenly, for the woman held up her hand
as if to stop him, and her voice took a strange hissing
_ tone.
“Silence! Enough—thou hast spoken enough. Let
me now tell thee the rest. I will tell thee what thou hast
come to seek for. Silence! I will consult the spirits ;
they will tell me all.â€
Drawing nearer to her the crystal bowl, the old woman
bent her head over it, and whispered incantations, as it
seemed, over its contents. For a while there was deep
silence in the room, and Cherry felt chill with excitement
and wonder. This was very different from the reception
she and her cousin Rachel had met. They had but been
bidden to show their hands, and had then seen some
THE WISE WOMAN. 197
cabalistic characters formed by the wise woman, from
which she had told them all they wished to know. But
there had been nothing half so mysterious as this, and
the girl felt certain that the wise woman regarded Cuth-
bert and his questions with far greater interest than any
she had bestowed upon the fortunes or the ailments of
Rachel.
Presently there arose, as if in the far, far distance, a
sound of voices faint and confused. Cherry clung to
Cuthbert’s arm, and looked about her with a pale, scared
face, half expecting to see the room filled with disembodied
spirits; but his glance never shifted from the down-bent
face of the wise woman, and he half suspected that the
sounds proceeded in some way from her, albeit they seemed
to float about in the air round them, and to approach and
die away at will.
Suddenly the old woman raised her head and spoke.
“Thy mission to me this day is to ask news of the lost
treasure of Trevlyn.â€
Cherry started, and so did Cuthbert. There could be
no doubting the old woman’s power now. If she could
see so much in her bowl, could she not likewise see where
that lost treasure lay buried ?
“Thou speakest sooth, mother,†he said boldly. “It is
of the lost treasure I would speak. Canst tell me if it
still remains as it was when it was lost? Canst tell me
the spot where it lies hid, that I may draw it thence? If
thou canst lead me to it, thou shalt not lose thy reward ;
thou shalt be rich for life.â€
198 THE WISE WOMAN.
The youth spoke eagerly; but a curious smile crept
over the old woman’s face at his words.
“Foolish boy!†she said. “Seest thou not that if gold
were my desire I have but to discover the place where the
treasure lies to some stalwart knave sworn to do my
bidding, and all would be mine? Could I not sell this
golden secret to the highest bidder, an wealth was all I
craved? Foolish, foolish boy—impetuous like all thy
race! What hast thou to offer me that I may not obtain
by one wave.of this wand ?â€
Cuthbert was silent, wondering alike at the old woman
and her words. If she was not disposed to sell her golden
secret (and what she said was but too true—that the
treasure would be more to her than any reward), what
hope was there of her revealing it to him? He stood
silent and perplexed, waiting for the old woman to speak
again. . ,
“Cuthbert Trevlyn,†she said, after a long pause, “ me-
thought that the hope of finding the treasure had long
since been abandoned by thy race ?â€
“That may well be, but it has not been so abandoned.
by me. Whilst I have youth and health and strength, I
will not give up that hope. I, the grandson of Isabel
Wyvern, will not cease to strive till I have won back the
lost luck that was to return to that house through the
daughters’ sons.â€
It was almost at random that Cuthbert had spoken
these words, but. some recollection had come over him of
the story he had heard of the devotion of certain gipsy
THE WISE WOMAN. 199
people to the family of the Wyverns, and their prognosti-
cations concerning them. This woman, with the brown
and crumpled skin and the beady black eyes, was very
like some of those wild gipsy folk he had seen from time
to time in the forest. Was it not just possible that she
might be one of their tribe, who for some reason or some
physical infirmity had abandoned the wandering life, and
had set up for a wise woman in the heart of the great
city? Was there not some strange community of know-
ledge and interest amongst all these wandering people? and
might she not in any case know something about the
families of foe and friend, and the loss of the vast treasure
one day to be restored ?
As his grandmother’s name passed his lips, Cuthbert was
certain that he saw a flicker pass across the wise woman’s
face; but she bent her head again over her bowl, and for
some minutes remained in deep silence. Then she looked
up and scanned his face again.
“Let me see thy hand,†she said.
He held it out fearlessly, and she bent over it for some
time.
“It is a good hand,†she said at length, “and its owner
may look for prosperity in life. But he must heed one
thing, and that is his own over-bold rashness. He must
beware of trusting all men. He must beware of fatal
fascination. He must beware of a darkly-flowing river,
and the dark cellar beyond. He must have the courage
to say ‘nay’—the courage to fly as well as to fight.
Young man, thou hast overmuch curiosity. In these
200 THE WISE WOMAN.
times of peril men must walk warily. Choose the safe
path, and keep therein. Think not to play with eres:
tools and yet keep thy fingers unscarred.â€
Cuthbert felt the colour rising in his face. He felt the
home-thrust embodied in these words. He knew that they
were a warning addressed to that side of his character
which urged him to make friends on all sides, and strive to
see good in all men, and to avoid joining himself to any
one party in Church or State whilst in measure belonging
to all. For a man of quality he knew such a course
would be impossible and foolishly perilous, but he had felt
secure in his own insignificance. He, however, well under-
stood the warning, and so he marked the words about
the flowing river and dark cellar, and though by no means
understanding them now, he resolved that he would not
forget.
But Cherry was shivering with excitement, and at last
she could keep silence no longer. The wise woman had
been kind to her before; surely she would not resent it
if she spoke now.
“But the treasure, mother, the treasure,†she urged.
“Canst not thou help us there?â€
The old woman shifted her bright eyes to the flushed
face of the girl, and a flicker passed over her face as she
repeated,—
“Us—us? And what part or lot has Martin Holt’s
daughter in the lost treasure of Trevlyn? What, my
pretty child, has thy handsome lover come so soon? and
art thou looking already to be made a lady of by him ?â€
THE WISE WOMAN. 201
_The girl hid her blushing face on Cuthbert’s shoulder,
whilst he answered with boyish straightforwardness—
“JT will wed my cousin Cherry or none else. We
have plighted our troth secretly, and she shall one day
be my bride. If thou canst help: me in this matter, it
will make our lot easier; but, poor or rich, she shall be
mine !â€
The old woman nodded her head several times, and
Cuthbert fancied that a greater benignity of expression:
crossed her wrinkled face.
“Brave words! brave words!†she muttered, “and a
brave heart behind. Grandson to Isabel Wyvern! Ay,
so it is; and there is Wyvern in that face as well as
Trevlyn. For her sake—for her sake! Ay, I would do
much for that. Boy,†she said suddenly, raising her voice
and speaking in her witch-like accents again, “thou hast
*spoken a name which is as a talisman, and though thou hast
asked a hard thing, I will help thee an I can. Yet I
myself know naught. It is the familiar spirits that know,
and they will not always come even at my call; they
will not always speak sooth at my bidding. I can but
use my arts—the rest lies with them; and this is a secret
that has been long-time hid.†,
“ Ay, and the time has now come when it should be re-
vealed,†answered Cuthbert boldly. ‘Use what arts thou
wilt! I ask the answer to my question. I would know
where the lost treasure lies.â€
As he spoke these words the room became suddenly dark-
ened. Around them again as they stood there seemed to
202 THE WISE WOMAN.
float voices and whispers, though not one articulate word
could either hear. In the gloom they saw nothing save the
fiery eyes of the great cat, which appeared to be crouched
upon the table beside its mistress. The whisperings and
voices, sometimes accompanied by soft or mocking laughter,
continued for the space of several moments, and appeared
to be interrupted at last by the tap of the wise woman’s
wand upon the table, which three times repeated enforced
a sudden silence.
The silence was for a moment more awe-inspiring than
what had gone first; but before Cherry had more time
than sufficed to nip Cuthbert hard by the hand, they heard
the old woman’s voice, in an accent of stern command,
uttering one single word,—
“ Speak !â€
There was a brief pause, and then a sweet low voice
rose in the room and seemed to float round them, whilst *
the words with their rhythmic. cadence fell distinctly on
the ears of the listening pair :—
“ Three times three—on a moonlight night,
The oak behind, the beech to right ;
Three times three—over ling and moss,
Robin's gain is Trevlyn’s loss.
** Three times three—the way is long,
But vengeance burns, and the back is strong ;
Three times three—the dell is deep,
It knows its secret well to keep.
‘‘ Three times three—the bones gleam white,
None dare pass by day or night ;
Three times three—the riddle tell !
The answer lies in the pixies’ well.â€
THE WISE WOMAN. 203
The voice ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
“Ts that all?†asked the harsh accents of the wise
woman.
“That is all the spirits choose to tell,†answered the soft
voice, already, as it seemed, far away; and in. another
moment the lamp shone forth again. The cat leaped down
from the table with a hissing sound, and the old woman
was revealed in her former position, resting her two elbows
on the table, her withered face supported in the palm of
her hand.
“Thou hast heard ?â€
“Ay, but I have not understood. Canst thou read the
riddle to me?â€
But the old woman shook her head.
“That may not be; that thou must do for thyself. I
will write down the words for thee, that thou mayest not
forget; but thou, and thou alone, must find the clue.â€
With swift fingers she transcribed some characters on
a fragment of parchment, and Cuthbert marvelled at the
skill in penmanship the old woman displayed when she
gave the paper into his hands. It was with a beating
heart that he scanned the mysterious characters; but the
old woman had risen to her feet, and motioned them away.
. Begone !†she cried, “begone! I have no more to
say. Heed my warning. Beware of menaced perils. The
perils of the forest are less than the perils of the city; and
an open foe is better than a false friend—a friend who
lures those that trust him to a common destruction, even
though he himself be ready to share it. Harden thine
204 THE WISE WOMAN.
heart—beware of thine own merciful spirit. Turn a deaf
ear to the cry of the pursued. Swim with the current,
and strive not to stem it. And now go! I have said my
say. Thou hast fortune within thy grasp an thou hast
wits to find it and hold it.â€
There was no disobeying the imperious gesture of the
old woman. Cuthbert would fain have lingered to ask
more questions, but he dared not do so. With a few brief
words of thanks and farewell, he took Cherry’s hand and
turned away. The bolt of the door flew back; the door
opened of itself again. The cat stalked on before down
the dark staircase, and a faint gleam from above showed
them the way down. The outer door sprang open be-
fore and closed behind them, and the next minute Cuth-
bert was hurrying his companion along the dark street,
pulling her into the shadow of a doorway if any sounds
announced the approach of any of the tavern roisterers,
and so protecting her from any danger or peril till they
stood at last in safety beneath Martin Holt’s roof, and
looked wonderingly into each other's eyes, as if ques-
tioning whether it had not all been part and parcel of a
dream.
They had not been long gone; a bare hour had elapsed
since they had stolen out into the darkness together.
There was no fear that any other member of Martin Holt’s
household would be back for a considerable time. The
two conspirators bent over the scrap of parchment they
placed between them on the table, and -pored earnestly
over it together.
THE WISE WOMAN. | 205
“What does it mean, Cuthbert? what can it mean ?
Canst read the words aright ?â€
“ Ay, it is well writ. I can read it, but I know not
what it means.â€
“Read it again to me.â€
He obeyed, and she forthwith began to ask a hundred
questions.
“« Three times three ’—-that comes so many times. What
can that mean, Cuthbert? it must mean something.â€
“Yes, doubtless, but I know not what.â€
“ And again, ‘ Robin’s gain is Trevlyn’s loss.’ Cuthbert,
who may Robin be ?â€
“I know not. Yet stop—hold! Yes, I have it now.
Not that it may be aught of import. Robin is a name
a score of men may bear even in one village. But when
the robbers of the road found themselves at the ruined
mill where the gipsies were, I heard the leader ask, ‘ Where
is Long Robin ?’â€
“And was he there?†asked Cherry eagerly. .
“TI know not: none answered the question, and I heeded
it no more. Most like he was but some serving-man they
wanted to take the horses.â€
“Cuthbert, it seems plain that some Robin has stolen
this treasure, and carried it off and hidden it. The verses
must mean that!â€
“ Ay, I doubt it not, Cherry,†answered Cuthbert, smiling;
“but see you not, fair cousin, that almost any person
knowing of this lost treasure and the legend of the gipsies’
hate could have strung together words like these? All men
206 : THE WISE WOMAN.
hold that it may still be hidden in the forest around the
Chase; but there be deep dells by the dozen, and the
pixies, men say, have all fled away. And there be wells
that run dry, and men find fresh ones bursting out where
never water was before. These lines scarce show me more
than I have known or thought before.â€
“ But they do, they do!†cried Cherry excitedly. “They
tell that it was Robin who has stolen it. Cuthbert, when
thou goest to the forest next thou must find this Long
Robin and see if it can be he.â€
The young man smiled at her credulity and enthusiasm.
He was not so entirely sceptical as to some possible clue
being given by these verses as he would have her believe,
but he could not see any daylight yet, and wished to save
her from disappointment.
“That is scarce like to be. The treasure was stolen
nigh on fifty years agone, and he must have been a lusty
robber who stole it then—scarce like to be living now.
But we will think of this more. The wise woman must
have dealings with.a familiar, else how could she have
known our errand? We must heed her words well; they
may be words of wisdom. She knew strange things from
my hand. I marvel how she could read it all there.â€
Cuthbert looked upon his palm and shook his head. It
was all a mystery to him. But he had greater faith in
the wise woman than he altogether felt prepared to admit,
and as he sought his couch that night he kept saying over
and over to himself the magic words he had heard.
“«Three times three—three times three!’ What can
~~
THE WISE WOMAN. 207
that signify? In the forest perchance I shall read the
riddle aright. Or perchance the gipsy queen, the dark-
eyed Joanna, will aid me in the search. If I could but
trust her, she might see things that I cannot in these lines.
Would that the winter were past; would that the sum-
mer were about to come! The perils of the forest are
to be less to me than the perils of the city. I wonder
what perils menace me here. Beneath my father’s roof I
oft went in peril of my life; but here—why, here I feel
safer than ever in my life before!â€
CHAPTER X.
THE HUNTED PRIEST.
HE two friends that Cuthbert had made of his own
sex during the first weeks spent beneath his uncle’s
roof were the same two guests he had seen at the supper-
table on the evening of his arrival—Walter Cole and
Jacob Dyson.
Both these men were several years older than himself,
but in a short time he became exceedingly intimate with
the pair, and thus obtained insight into the home life of
persons belonging to the three leading parties in the realm.
The Puritan element was strongly represented in Martin
Holt’s house, the Romanist in that of the Coles, whilst the
Dysons, although springing from a Puritan stock, had been
amongst those willing to conform to the laws as laid down
in the late Queen’s time. Both Rachel and Jacob pre-
ferred the Episcopal form of worship to any other, and
openly marvelled at the taste of those who still frequented
the private conventicles, where unlicensed preachers, at the
risk of liberty and even life, held forth by the hour to-
gether upon their favourite doctrines and arguments.
But honest Jacob was no theologian. He did not
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 209
hesitate to assert openly his ignorance of all controversy,
and his opinion that it mattered uncommonly little what
a man believed, so long as he led an upright life and did
his duty in the world. He was “fair sick†of long-drawn
arguments, the splitting of hairs, and those questions which
the theologians of all parties took such keen joy in dis-
cussing,—though, as nobody ever moved his opponent one
whit, the disputes could only be held for the love the
disputants felt for hearing themselves talk. Jacob had
long since claimed for himself the right to leave the room
when politics and religion came under discussion. As an
only son, he had some privileges accorded him, and this
was one he used without stint. ;
Honest Jacob had taken an immediate and great liking
for Cuthbert Trevlyn from the first appearance of that
youth at his uncle’s house. Though himself rough and un-
couth of aspect; clumsy of gait and slow of speech, he was
quick to see and admire beauty and wit in others. He had
picked out Cherry from amongst her sisters for those
qualities of brightness and vivacity in which he felt him-
self so deficient, and it seemed as though he took to Cuth-
bert for very much the same reason.
Cuthbert was ready: enough to accept the advances of
this good-natured youth. He was a stranger in this great
city, whilst Jacob knew it well. He was eager to hear
and see and learn all he could; and though Jacob’s ideas
were few and his powers of observation limited, he was
still able to. answer a great many of the eager questions
that came crowding to the lips of the stranger as they
(378) 14
Be) THE HUNTED PRIEST.
walked the streets together. And when Cuthbert accom-
panied Jacob to his home, Abraham Dyson could fill up
all the blank in his son’s story, and was secretly not a
little pleased with Cuthbert’s keen intelligence and ready
interest.
The Dysons were merchants in a small way of business,
‘but were thriving and thrifty folks. They and the Holts
had been in close relations one with the other for more
than one generation, and any relative of Martin Holt’s
would have been welcome at their house. Cuthbert was
liked on his own account; and soon he became greatly
fascinated by the river-side traffic, took the greatest inter-
est in the vessels that came to the wharves to be unladed,
and delighted in going aboard and making friends with
the sailors. He quickly came to learn the name of every
part of the ship, and to pick up a’few ideas on the sub-
ject of navigation. Whenever a vessel came in from the
New World but recently discovered, he would try to get
on board and question the sailors about the wonders they
had seen. Afterwards he would discourse to Jacob or to
Cherry of the things he had learned, and would win more
and more admiration from both by his brilliant powers of
imagination and description.
So the river became, as it were, a second home to him.
Abraham Dyson had more than one wherry of his own in
which Cuthbert was welcome to skim about upon the
broad bosom of the great river. He soon became so
skilful with the rude oars or the sail, that he was a
match for the hardiest waterman on the river, and more
“THE HUNTED PRIEST. 211
than once Cherry had been permitted to accompany
Cuthbert and Jacob upon some excursion up or down
stream.
And now, after many weeks of pleasant comradeship,
Cuthbert found himself in the unenviable position of
standing rival to his friend’ in the affections of Cherry,
and the more he thought about it the less he liked the
situation. He could not give Cherry up—that was out
of the question; besides, had he renounced her twenty
times over, that would not improve Jacob’s case one whit.
Cherry was her father’s own daughter, and, with all her
kittenish softness, had a very decided will of her own.
She was not the sort of daughter to be bought and sold,
or calmly made over like a bale of wool. She would
certainly insist on having a voice in the matter, and her
choice was not likely at any time to fall upon the worthy
but unprepossessing Jacob.
All this Cuthbert understood with the quick apprehen-
sion of a lover; but it was very doubtful if Jacob would
so see things, and Cuthbert felt as though there was
something of treachery in accepting and returning his
many advances of friendship whilst all the time he was
secretly affianced to the girl for whose hand Jacob had
made formal application, and had been formally accepted,
though for the present, on account of the maiden’s tender
years, the matter was allowed to stand over.
With Walter Cole there was no such hindrance to
friendship, and just at this juncture Cuthbert prosecuted
and confirmed his intimacy at that house by constant
212 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
visits there. He was greedy of information and book-
learning, and in this narrow dim dwelling, literally stacked
with books, papers, and pamphlets of all kinds, and par-
tially given over to the mysteries of the printing-press,
seldom worked save at dead of night, Cuthbert’s expanding
mind could revel to its full content.
He devoured every book upon which he could lay
hands—history, theology, philosophy ; nothing came amiss
to him. He would sit by the hour watching Anthony
Cole at work setting type, asking him innumerable ques-
tions about what he had been last reading, and finding the
white-headed bookseller a perfect mine of information.
Controversy and the vexed topics of the day were gen-
erally avoided by common consent. The Coles had learned
through bitter experience the necessity for silence and
reticence. Everybody knew them for ardent and devoted
sons of Rome, and they were under suspicion of issuing
many of the pamphlets against the policy of the King that
raised ire in the hearts: of the great ones of the land. But
none of these “seditious†writings had so far been traced
to them, and they still lived in comparative peace, although
the tranquillity somewhat resembled that of the peaceful
dwellers upon the sides of a volcanic mountain, within
whose crater grumblings and mutterings are heard from
time to time.
Cuthbert’s frequent visits, and the manifest pleasure he
took in their society, were a source of pleasure to both
father and son; and though they never showed this plea-
sure too openly, or asked him to continue his visits or help
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 213
them in their night work, they did not refuse his help
when offered, and sometimes would look at each other and
say,—
“He is drawing nearer; he is drawing nearer. Old tra-
ditions, race instincts, are telling upon him. He is too true
a Trevlyn not to become a member of the true fold. His
vagrant fancy is straying here and there. He is tast-
ing the bitter-sweet fruit of knowledge and restless search
after the wisdom of this world. But already he begins to
turn with loathing from the cold, lifeless Puritan code.
Anon he will find that the Established Church has naught
to give him save the husk, from which the precious grain
has been carefully extracted.â€
“Father Urban thinks well of him,†Walter once re-
marked, as they discussed the youth after his departure one
evening. “He has met him, I know not where, and believes
that there may be work for him to do yet. We want those
with us who. have the single mind and honest heart, the
devotion that counts not the cost. All that is written
on the lad’s face. If he breaks not away from us, he may
become a tool in a practised hand to do a mighty work.â€
Cuthbert, however, went on his way all unconscious of
the notice he was arousing in certain quarters. His mind
was filled just now with other matters than those of
religious controversy. He had become rather weary of
the strife of tongues, and was glad to busy himself with
the practical concerns of life that did not always land him
in a dilemma or a difficulty.
Abraham Dyson was having a new sloop built for
214 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
trading purposes, and both Jacob and Cuthbert took the
keenest interest in the progress of the work. The sloop
was to be called the Cherry-blossom when complete, and
it was Abraham Dyson’s plan that the christening of the
vessel by Cherry herself should be the occasion of her
formal betrothal to his son.
This ceremony, however, would not take place for some
while yet, as at present the little vessel was only in the
earlier stages of construction. Neither Jacob nor Cuthbert
had heard anything about this secondary plan, but both
took the greater interest in the sloop from the fact that
she was to be named after Cherry.
Cuthbert visited her daily, and Jacob as often as his
duties at his father’s warehouse allowed him. On this
particular bright February afternoon the pair had been
a great part of their time on the river, skimming about in
the wherry, and examining every part of the little vessel
under the auspices of the master-builder. Dusk had
fallen upon the river before they landed, and a heavy fog
beginning to rise from the water made them glad to leave
it behind. They secured the wherry to the landing-stage,
leaving the oars in her, as they not unfrequently did when
returning late, and were pursuing their way up the dark
and unsavoury streets, when the sound of a distant tumult
smote upon their ears, and they arrested their steps that
they might listen the better.
Cuthbert’s quick ears were the first to gather any sort of
meaning from the discordant shouts and cries which arose.
“They are chasing some wretched fugitive!†he said
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 215
in a low voice. “That is the sound of pursuit. Hark!
they are coming this way. Who and what are they thus
hounding on?â€
Nearer and nearer came the surging sound of many
voices and the hurried trampling of feet.
“Stop him—catch him—hold him!†shouted a score of
hoarse voices, rolling along through the fog-laden air long
before anything could be seen. “Stop him, good folks,
stop him! stop the runaway priest—stop the treacherous
Jesuit! He is an enemy to peace—a stirrer up of sedition
and conspiracy! Down with him—to prison with him!
it is not fit for such a fellow to live. Down with hin—
stop him !â€
“ A priest!†exclaimed Cuthbert between his shut teeth,
a sudden gleam coming into his eyes. “Jacob, heard you
that? A priest—a man of God! one man against a
hundred! Canst thou stand by and see such a one hunted
to death ? that cannot I.â€
Jacob cared little for priests—indeed, he had no very
good opinion of the race, and none of Cuthbert’s traditional
reverence; but he had all an Englishman’s love of fair
play, and hated the cruelty and cowardice of an angry
mob as he hated anything mean and vile, and he doubled
back his wrist-bands and clinched his horny fists as he
answered,—
“I am with thee, good Cuthbert. We will stand for
the weaker side. Priest or no, he shall not be hounded
to death in the streets without one blow struck in his
defence. But how to find him in this fog ?â€
216 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
“We need not fight; that were mere madness,†an-
swered Cuthbert in rapid tones. “Ours is to hurry the
fugitive into the wherry, loose from shore, and out into the
river; and then they may seek as they will, they can
never find us. Hist! hark! the cries come nigher. If
the quarry is indeed before them, it must be very nigh.
Hark! I hear a gliding footfall beside the wall. Keep
close to me; I go to the rescue.â€
Cuthbert sprang swiftly through the darkness, and in
a moment he felt the gown of a priest in his hand, and
heard the sound of the distressed breathing of one hunted
well-nigh to the verge of exhaustion. As the hunted man
felt the clasp upon his robe he uttered a little short, sharp
cry, and made as if he would have stopped short; but
Cuthbert had him fast by the arm, and hurried him along
the narrow alley towards the river, upholding him over
the rough ground, and saying in short phrases,—"
“Fear nothing from us, holy Father; we are friends.
We have come to save you. ‘Trust only to us, and, believe -
me, in three more minutes we shall be beyond the reach
of these savage pursuers. The river is before us, though
we see it not, and our boat awaits us there. Once aboard,
they may weary themselves in their vain efforts to catch
us; they will never find us in this fog. Here ig the
water-side. Have a care how you step—Jacob, hold fast
the craft whilst the Father steps in. So, All is well;
cast off, and I will follow.†There was the sound of
a light spring; the boat gave a slight lurch, and then,
gliding off into the mysterious darkness of the greab
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 217
river, was lost to sight of shore in the wreaths of foggy
vapour.
“Where is the hound? where is the caitiff miscreant ?
Has he thrown himself into the river? Drowning is too
good for such a dog as he!†shouted angry voices on the
river's bank, and through the still air the sound of tram-
pling footsteps could be heard up and down the little
wharf which formed the landing-stage.
“JT hear the sound of oars!†shouted one.
“ He has escaped us—curse the cunning of that Papist
brood!†yelled another.
“Let us get a boat and follow,†counselled a third; but
this was more easily said than done, as there was no other
boat tied up at that landing-stage, and the fog rendered
navigation too difficult and dangerous to be lightly at-
tempted. With sullen growls and many curses the mob
seemed to break up and disperse ; but the leaders appeared
to stand in discussion for some moments after the rest had
gone, and several sentences were distinctly heard by those
in the boat, who thought it safer to drift with the tide
awhile close to the shore than to use their oars and be-
tray their close proximity to their foes.
“We shall know him again; and if he dares to show
his face in the city, we will have him at last, even if we
have to search for him in Alsatia with a band of sol-
diers. He has too long escaped the doom he merits, the
plotter and schemer, the vile dog of a seminary priest!
Once let us get him into our hands and he shall be hanged,
drawn, and quartered, like those six of his fellows. No
218 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
mercy for the Jesuits; it is not fit that such fellows should
cumber the earth. There will be no peace for this realm
till we have destroyed them root and branch.â€
The boat had now drifted too far for the conversation
to be any longer audible. Jacob gave a long, low whistle,
and took to the oars. Cuthbert, who sat beside the priest
in the stern, had his hand upon the tiller; and as the fog-
cloud lifted just a little, so that the darkness about them
became hardly more than that of twilight, he looked at
the silent, motionless figure beside him, and exclaimed in
surprise,—
“ Father Urban !â€
A slight smile hovered for a moment over the wan face
of the priest. He lifted his thin hand and said solemnly —
“ Peace be with thee, my son !†:
Cuthbert bent his head in reverence, and then turned
again towards ‘the Father.
“What hast thou done that they should rail at thee
thus—thou the friend of the poor, the friend even of the
leper? What has come to them that they turn thus
against thee? Sure, but a few short weeks ago and
thou didst hold back an angry crowd by the glance of
thine eye.â€
“ My son, trust not in the temper of the crowd, in the
good-will of the multitude. Was it not the same crowd
who on the Sabbath shouted, ‘Hosanna to the Son of
David!’ that on the Friday yelled, ‘ Crucify Him! crucify
Him! Never put faith in man, still less in the multi-
tude that is ever swayed like a reed, and may be driven
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 219
like a wave of the sea hither and thither as the wind
listeth. And then I was not amongst mine own flock. J
had—rashly, perchance—adventured myself further than
I ought, for I had a message of consequence to execute,
and I have not been wont to hide myself from my fellow-
men. But there is no knowing in these fearful times of
lawlessness and savage hate what will be the temper
either of rulers or people. It seems that I am known—
that there is some warrant out against me. So be it. If
I must flee from this city to another, holier men have
done the like ere now. I would mine errand had been
completed. I would I had accomplished my task. But—â€
The priest's voice had been growing fainter for some
moments. Cuthbert supposed it to be a natural caution
on his part, lest even Jacob should hear him as he plied
his oars; but as he came to this sudden stop, he felt that
the slight frame collapsed in some way, and leaned heavily
against him as he sat. Turning his eyes from the dim,
rippling water, so little of which could be seen in the
darkness and the fog, to the face of the priest, he saw
that it had turned ghastly pale, and that the eyes were
glazing over as if with the approach of death. Plainly the
fugitive had received some bodily hurt of which he had
not spoken, and the question what to do with their help-
less burden became a difficult one to answer.
“My father will not receive him,†said Jacob, shaking
his head, as he leaned upon his oars and let the boat drift
along with the tide that was carrying them towards the
bridge. “He hates the priests worse than your good
220 _ THE HUNTED PRIEST.
uncle and mine, who has something of a fellow-feeling for
them in these days of common persecution; and you know
well what sort of a welcome we should receive from him
did we arrive with a seminary priest in our arms.â€
“ And I trow the mob would be upon us ere we had
got him safe housed, and for aught we could do to stop
it might tear him limb from limb in our very sight.â€
“ Ay, there is always some rumour afoot of a new
Papist plot; and whether it be true or no, the people set
on to harry the priests as dogs harry the hunted hare. I
know not what to do. To land with him will do neither
good to him nor to us. A fine coil there would be at
home if my father heard of me mixing myself up with
Jesuit traitors; and Martin Holt would not be much
better pleased neither.â€
“Martin Holt is not my father,’ answered Cuthbert,
with a touch of haughtiness; “and let him say what he
will, I must save this man’s life, even if it cost me mine
own. Thou knowest how he saved me that day in the
dens of Whitefriars. To leave him to the mercy of the
howling mob would be an act of blackest treachery; it
would disgrace my manhood for ever.â€
“Tush, man, who asked that of thee?†answered Jacob,
with something of a smile at the lad’s impetuosity. “I
love not a black cassock nor a tonsured head so passing
well; but a man is a man, even though he be a priest,
and I call shame upon those who would thus maltreat a
brother man, and the more so when he is one who has
visited the sick and tended the leper, and been the friend
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 221
of those who have no friends in this great city. I would
no sooner than thou give him up to the will of the mob;
but we must bethink ourselves where he may be in safety
stowed, else the mob will have him whether we will or
no. All I was meaning by my words was that neither
my home nor thine could be the place for him.â€
“JT ask thy pardon, good Jacob, for my heat,†answered
Cuthbert humbly. “I should have known better thy
good heart than to have thought such a thing of thee.â€
“ Nay, nay; I am no hero.â€
“Thou art a kindly-hearted and an honest man, which
I misdoubt me if all the world’s heroes are,†answered
Cuthbert quickly. “And now, Jacob, it behoves us to
think, Yes, I have it. We must ask counsel of Master
Anthony Cole. He would be the one to hide Father
Urban if it could be done. Let me land nigh to the
bridge, and go to them and tell them all; and do thou
push out once more and anchor the craft beneath the pier
on which their house rests. Methinks when I have taken
counsel with them I can make shift to slip down the
wooden shaft of that pier, and so hold parley with thee.
Walter has done the like before now, and I am more agile
in such feats than he; moreover, I can swim like a duck
if I should chance to miss my hold, and so reach the
water unawares. That will be the best, for the boat may
not linger at the wharf side. We know not what news
may be afoot in the city, nor that there may not be
‘searchers bent on finding Father Urban, let him land
where he may.â€
222 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
Whether or not Jacob relished this adventure, he was
too stanch and too honest-hearted to turn back now. The
priest lay insensible at the bottom of the boat, his head
pillowed upon the cloaks the youths had sacrificed for his
better comfort. It was plainly a matter of consequence
that he should soon be housed in some friendly shelter.
His gray face looked ghastly in the dim moonlight which
began to struggle through the fog-wreaths. When Cuth-
bert leaped lightly ashore hard by the bridge, and Jacob
sheered off again in the darkness, he felt as though he
were out alone on the black river, with only a corpse for
company.
“If it were but for Cherry’s sake, I would do tenfold
more,†he murmured, as he glanced up in the direction of
the wool-stapler’s shop, and pictured pretty Cherry step-
ping backwards and forwards at her spinning-wheel.
“But I trow she will hear naught of it; or if she does,
she will think only of Cuthbert’s share. Alack! I fear
me she will never think of me now. Why should she,
when so proper a youth is nigh? If he should go away
and leave her, perchance her heart might turn to me for
comfort; but I fear me he looks every day more tenderly
into her bright eyes. How could he live beneath the
roof and not learn to love her? He would be scarce
human, scarce flesh and blood, were he to fail in loving
her; and what is my chance beside his? I might almost
as well yield her at once, and take good Kezzie instead.
Kezzie would make a better housewife—my mother has
told me so a hundred times: and I am fond of her, and
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 223
â€
methinks she—†But there Jacob stopped short, blushing
even in the darkness at the thought of what he had nearly
said. Anchoring against the wooden piles of the bridge,
and letting his fancy run riot as it would, he indulged in
a shifting day-dream, in which pain and a vague sense of
consolation were oddly blended. He sighed a good many
‘times, but he smiled once or twice likewise, and at last
he gave himself a shake and spoke out aloud.
“At least it shall make no cloud and no bitterness be-
twixt us twain. He is a fine lad and a noble one, and he
deserves more at Dame Fortune's hands than such a clown
as I. Shall I grudge him his luck if he gets her? never
a whit! There may not be more than one Cherry in the
world, but there are plenty of good wives and honest
maidens who will brighten a man’s home for him.â€
Musing thus, Jacob kept his watch, and was not long
in hearing strange and cautious sounds above his head.
Looking up, he beheld a lithe form slipping, in something
of a snake fashion, down the woodwork of the bridge, and
the next moment Cuthbert sprang softly down, so deftly
that the wherry only rolled a little atthe shock.
“ Hast thought me long? Hast been frozen with cold ?
T have made all the haste I could. All is planned. This
is not strange work to them. See, I have brought with
me this cradle of cord. We can place Father Urban within,
and they will draw him up from above, that no man shall
see him enter their house. All the windows be shuttered
and barred by now. None will see or hear. They have
harboured many a fugitive before, I take it. They had
224 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
all the ropes and needful gear ready beneath their hand
at a moment’s notice.â€
Whilst he was speaking, Cuthbert was wrapping the
inanimate figure in the cloaks, and placing it gently in the
hammock, as we should eall it, that, suspended by strong
cords from above, had assisted him in his descent to the
boat. Then at a given signal this hammock, with its
human load, was slowly and steadily drawn upwards, with
a cautious, silent skill that betokened use and experience ;
and as the eager watchers pushed out their boat a, little
further into the river, they saw the bulky object vanish at
last within the dimly-lighted window of the tall, narrow
house. A light was flashed for a moment from the win-
dow, and then all was wrapped in darkness.
“ All is well,’ exclaimed Cuthbert, with an accent of
relief ; “and I trow that not a living soul but our two
selves knows whither the priest has fled. He is safe from
that savage, howling mob. Methinks I hear their cries
still! It was just so they yelled and hooted round me
when Father Urban came so timely to my rescue.â€
Mistress Susan chid Cuthbert somewhat roundly for
being late for supper that night. But when he said he
had been belated by the fog on the river with Jacob, the
excuse was allowed to stand. Cherry was eager to know
the progress making with her namesake, and no incon-
venient questions were asked of Cuthbert when once her
chattering tongue had been unloosed.
Cuthbert’s dreams were a little troubled and uneasy
that night ; but he woke in good spirits, and was anxious
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 225
to know the state of Father Urban. He made an early
excuse for visiting the Coles’ abode, and found the elder
man busy over his type.
He looked up with a smile as Cuthbert appeared, but
laid his fingers on his lips. .
_ “Be cautious; he has but just sunk to sleep after a
night of wakeful pain. He is anxious to see thee. He
asked for thee a score of times in the night; but he must
not be wakened now. Thou hast done a good deed, boy.
Had Father Urban fallen a victim to yon hooting mob
last eve, a deadly blow would have been dealt to the faith
of this land.â€
“And is his sickness very sore? has he any grievous
hurt ?â€
“He was sore knocked about and bruised ere he first
wrenched himself from the officer of the law who sprang
upon him with an order of arrest. Two of his ribs be
broke; and that long and fearful race for his life did
cause him sore pain and greater injury, so that a fever has
been set up, and he has had to lose much blood to allay
it. But he is quiet and at rest just now. Thou hadst
better come again at sundown; he will doubtless be
awake then. He has somewhat to say to thee, I know.
I believe that he has some mission to intrust to thee.
Thou hast a kindly heart and a strong arm. I trow thou
wilt not fail him now.â€
Anthony Cole looked fixedly into the boy’s face, and
Cuthbert returned the glance unflinchingly. He was
possessed by the generous feeling all young and ardent
(378) 15
226 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
natures know of keen desire to assist further any person
already indebted to them for past grace. The fact that
already he had run some risk on account of Father Urban
only made Cuthbert the more anxious to help him in what-
ever manner might best conduce to his well-being and com-
fort. He looked full at his interlocutor, and said,—
“ Whatever I may with honour and right do for Father
Urban shall not be lacking. I owe him my life. I can
never grudge any service for him, be it great or small.â€
“Well spoken, my boy,†answered the bookseller, with
his calm, penetrating smile. “May the blessed saints long
preserve untainted that true nobility of soul.â€
Cuthbert spent a restless day, wondering what mission
the priest had for him, and whether his uncle would be
angry at him for meddling in any such matters. But
Martin Holt was friendly with several of the Papist families
about him, notably with the Coles themselves; and Cuth-
bert had a growing sense of his own independence and the
right to choose his own associates and his own path in life.
It was growing dusk when he stood beside the narrow
bed on which Father Urban lay. The light filtered in
scantily through the narrow window-pane, and illumined a
face lined by pain and white with exhaustion. Upon the
bed lay a packet which looked like papers, and one of the
priest’s wasted hands lay upon it as if to guard it. As
Cuthbert bent over him and spoke his name, Father Urban
looked up, and a dim light crept into his eyes.
“Is it thou, my son, come at last 2â€
“Yes, Father. What may I do for thee 2â€
THE HUNTED PRIEST. 227
“ Wilt thou do one small service more for me, my son ?â€
« Willingly, Father, if it lies within my power.â€
“Tt is well within thy power, boy. It is not the power
I question, but the will. We live in dangerous days.
Art willing to partake of the peril which compasses the
steps of those who tread in the old ways wherein the
fathers trod ?â€
“Try me and see,†was the quiet reply.
Perhaps none could better have suited the astute reader
of character. The hollow eyes lighted, and the old man
bent upon Cuthbert a searching glance whilst he seemed
to pause to gather strength.
“TI would have thee take this packet,†he said, speaking
slowly and with some pain and difficulty. “There is no
superscription ; and sooner than let them be found by
others on thy person, fling them into the river, or cut
them to fragments with thy dagger; and plunge thy
dagger into thine own heart sooner than be taken with
them upon thee. But with caution and courage and
strength (and I know that thou hast all of these) thou
canst avoid this peril. What thy part is, is but this: De-
liver this packet into the hand of Master Robert Catesby
himself. Thou knowest him. Thou wilt make no error.
Seek him not at any tavern or public place. Go to a lone
house at Lambeth, with moss-grown steps down to the
water’s edge. Go by thine own wherry thither, and go
alone. Thou canst not mistake the house. There is none
like it besides. It stands upon the water, and none other
building is nigh at hand; but a giant elm overshadows it,
228 THE HUNTED PRIEST.
and there is a door scarce above high-water level, and
steps that lead from it. Knock three times, thus, upon
that doorâ€â€”and the priest gave a curious tap, which
Cuthbert repeated by imitation; “and when thou art ad-
mitted, ask for Robert Catesby, and give him the packet.
That is all. Thy mission will then be done. Wilt thou
do as much for me ?â€
Cuthbert answered, without the least hesitation,—
ie, T will.â€
CHAPTER XI
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
7 UTHBERT, do not go—ah, do not go!â€
“ And wherefore not, my Cherry ?â€
“JT am afraid. I had such dreams last night. And,
Cuthbert, didst thou not heed? Notedst thou not how in
handing the salt at supper thy hand shook, and it was
spilled? I like not such auguries; they fill my heart
with fear. Do not go—ah, do not!â€
Cuthbert smiled as he caressed his little love, not averse
to feeling her soft arms clinging round his neck, yet quite
disposed to laugh at her youthful terrors.
“ But what dost thou fear, sweetheart ? â€
“T fear everything,†she replied, with imconsequent
vehemence. “I remember the stories I have heard of the
wiles of the priests, and how they tempt unwary men to
their destruction. What is this Father Urban to thee,
that thou shouldst risk aught for him? I will not let thee
go—I will not!â€
“ Father Urban saved my life.â€
“And thou. hast saved his. That debt is paid in full,â€
was the prompt response. “He saved thee at no peril to
230 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
himself; thou hast saved him when it might have cost
thee thy life. Thou owest him nothing—nothing! Why
should he ask this further service of thee ?â€
Cuthbert smiled. Cherry’s petulance and vehemence
amused him. Her little spoiled-child tempers and exactions
were beginning to have a great charm. He scarcely knew
how much of the deeper fears of dawning womanhood
were beginning to intermingle with the “child’s†eager
lowe of her own way. Love was gradually transforming
Cherry, but the transformation was as yet scarcely seen,
amd. the added charm of her new softness and timidity had
hardly begun to be observed by those about her.
“He is sorely sick, sweetheart, and he has asked this
thimg of me. I have passed my word. Thou wouldst not
hawe me go back therefrom ?â€
“He should not have asked thee; he had no right,â€
flashed out Cherry, in some despite. “ Why did he not ask
Walter Cole? he was a fitter person than thou,â€
“And wherefore so ?â€
“ Why, everybody knows him for a pestilent Papist !â€
answered Cherry, with a flash of her big eyes. “ Nothing
he did would surprise anybody. He is suspected already ;
whilst thou—nay, Cuthbert, wherefore dost thou laugh ?â€
“ Marry, at the logic of thy words, sweetheart! Father
Urban desires a safe and secret messenger, and thou
wouldest have him employ one already suspected and
watched! That were a strange way of setting to work.
Why, I may come and go unquestioned. No man has sus-
pected me of aught, and I am one of those who willingly
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 235
conform to the laws. With Walter things be far different :
he might be stopped and searched by any suspicious
knave who saw him pushing forth into the river.â€
“And a good riddamee too!†eried Cherry, who was in
no humour to be toleramt of the Romanists who were, as
she thought, putting her lover im peril. “I hate those
plotting, seeret, cunning Papists! They are like men who
are always miming im the dark, working and striving in
deadly secret, no mam knowing what will next be heard or
seen. I like not such ways. I like mot that thou shouldst
meddle with them. Those be treasonable papers, I doubt
not. Cuthbert, it is not meet that thou shouldst have
dealings with traitors !â€
Cuthbert smiled, but the carmesimess with which Cherry
spake impressed him im spite of himself. It had beem one
thing to make this promise to the sick priest who trusted
him, but it was a different matter to be told.that he was
meddling in treason. Still what did Cherry know about
it? she was but a child.
“I know that there be treasoms amd treacherous plots
enow in the world,†answered Cherry, as he put the ques-
tion to her, “I hear more tham men thimk ; and since thou
hast been here, Cuthbert, I have listened and heeded as I
was not wont to do. All men whisper of the treachery
and malice of the Papists, All men know that had they
their will the King would be semt to death or imprison-
ment, and some other person placed upon the throne.â€
“I know not how that may be,†answered Cuthbert
slowly, “and I have no concern in such matters, All I
232 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
have to do is to give these papers to one whom I know,
and who has befriended me; and that must I do at all cost,
for my word is pledged, and thou wouldst not have me go
back from that, wouldst thou, Cherry ?â€
“IT would not have thee run into danger,†answered
Cherry, sticking persistently to her point with true femi-
nine insistence, “and I know better than thou canst do
what evil haps befall them who meddle in matters too
hard for them, and that they reck not of. Cuthbert,â€
drawing a little nearer and speaking in a breathless whis-
per, “dost call to mind what the wise woman said: how
thou wast to beware of the dark river—the flowing river ?
And yet thou wilt venture forth upon it this eve! I
like it not; I like it not! I would that I could make a
prisoner of thee, that thou mightest not go.â€
“It were sweet imprisonment to be held in such thrall,â€
answered Cuthbert, smiling, as he loosed the clasp of the
warm arms from about his neck; “but this time, sweet-
heart, I must needs go: I will be cautious and careful. I
am too much upon the river in the wherry for any .to
question my coming or going. None knew aught’ of our
rescue of the hunted priest; none but thyself. knows of
him nor where he lies. It is impossible that any can
suspect me yet; and for the future, for thy sweet sake,
I will be cautious how I adventure myself into any like
peril, if peril there be.â€
With that Cherry had to be content, for Cuthbert was
immovable where his word was pledged, and she had per-
force to let him go, since he would not be stayed.
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 233
“Tell thy father that I sup to-night with Abraham
Dyson,†said Cuthbert, as he kissed her for the last time
before he left. “It may be I shall not be home in time
for the supper, and I would not be too close questioned on
my return. I will go thither when I have landed once
more. Good Jacob will wish for news of Father Urban.â€
Cuthbert was gone, Cherry looking wistfully after him.
She had already begun to know something of the pain as
well as of the joy of love. She felt that there was in
Cuthbert’s nature a strain of self-devotion and heroism
which frightened her whilst it enthralled her fancy. She
had an instinct that he would never turn back in any
quest he had undertaken for the peril he might have to
face. She felt that in him she was realizing her vague
ideals of knightly prowess and dauntless courage; but all
the same, unless she might be at his side to share the
peril, she would almost have felt happier had this fearless
bravery been somewhat less.
Cuthbert meantime pursued his way with a light heart,
his packet of papers securely buttoned in the breast of his
doublet. The keen air of the February afternoon fanned
his face. His heart was full of tender thoughts of Cherry
and her sweet affection for him. How soon would it be
possible, he wondered, to claim her as his own; and what
would Martin Holt say to the frustration of one of his
favourite schemes ?
Of his present mission, and of any peril likely to accrue
to him therefrom, Cuthbert thought little or nothing. He
did not see how he could possibly come under suspicion
234 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE kIVER.
simply from fulfilling the priest’s request. It would have
been brutal to refuse ; and what harm could he do to him-
self or others by simply delivering a packet of papers ?
He had almost promised Master Robert Catesby before
this to visit him in his river-side house. Doubtless this
was the very place for which he was now bound. Any-
thing like an adventure was agreeable to one of Cuthbert’s
imaginative nature, and a spice of possible danger did
not detract from the sense of fascination, even though he
might not see wherein the danger lay.
The wherry he was wont to use lay moored near to the
Three Cranes, and no one heeded or questioned him as he
stepped in and pushed off into the river. A couple of
soldiers were lounging upon the little wharf and watching
the small craft as they came and went. They appeared
to take some note of Cuthbert, as of others who passed by,
but they did not speak to him, and he wondered what
their business was there.
A fragment of talk between two watermen reached him
as he began rowing out in the direction of the Cherry-
blossom ; for he did not wish to take the up-stream direc-
tion till twilight should have fallen and his movements
would escape unheeded, and the voices of these men as
they passed him reached him clearly over the water.
“On the look-out for the runaway priest, I take it.
Thou surely didst hear how he gave them the slip in the
fog, just when they thought they had him safe. He had
been well bruised and battered. It was a marvel how he
got free. But he knew the narrow lanes well, and doubled
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 235
like a hare. Doubtless he had his friends in waiting, for
he slipped into some. craft and eluded pursuit. But for
the fog they would have made sure of him that time.
They say he—â€
But the rest of the sentence was lost in the distance,
and Cuthbert laughed silently as he plied his oars.
“Beshrew me, but they make a mighty coil anent this
good Father Urban. One would have thought they could
have made shift to lay hands on him before were he so
notable a miscreant. He was not in hiding when I saw
him first; he appeared to go about the city fearlessly.
Doubtless it is but some new panie on the part of the
King. God help us all now that we be ruled over by such
a poor poltroon !â€
Cuthbert had caught the prevailing contempt for the
foolish and feeble James that was shared by the nation in
general, and London in particular.
They put up with him to avoid the horrors and con-
fusion of a disputed succession and a possible repetition of
the bloody strife of the Roses; but there was not one
section of the community with whom he was popular: even
the ecclesiastics of the Episcopal party despised whilst
they flattered and upheld him. Cuthbert felt an access of
zeal in his present mission in the thought that it would be
displeasing to the unkingly mind of the King. He had
seen the ungainly monarch riding through Westminster
one day not long since, and the sight of his slovenly and
undignified figure, trapped out in all the extravagance of
an extravagant age, his clumsy seat on horseback (of
236 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
which, nevertheless, he was not a little proud), and his
goggle eyes and protruding tongue, filled the young man
with disgust and dislike. But for the noble bearing and
boyish beauty of the Prince of Wales, who rode beside his
father, his disgust would have been greater; and all men
were somewhat more patient with the defects of the
father in prognosticating better and happier times when
young Henry should succeed to the throne.
Nevertheless treasonable plottings at this juncture did not
appear as fearful and horrible as they had done in the days
of “good Queen Bess,†who, with all her faults and follies,
contrived to keep her people’s affection in a marvellous
fashion, as her sire had done before her. Men who would
have recoiled with horror at a whisper against the Queen's
Majesty, shrugged their shoulders with comparative in-
difference when they heard vague whispers of Popish or
Puritan plots directed more or less against the person of
King James. Any warm personal love and loyalty was
altogether lacking to the nation, and with it was lacking
the element which has always been the strongest bulwark
of the sovereign’s safety.
James appears to have been dimly conscious of this,
always insisting on wearing heavy and cumbersome gar-
ments, quilted so strongly as to defy the thrust of a dagger.
A monarch who goes about in habitual fear of assassination
betrays his knowledge that he has failed to win the love or
veneration of his subjects.
Cuthbert mused idly of these things as he pushed out
into the middle of the river, and then eased up and looked
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 237
about him to see if his movements were observed. It was
beginning to grow dusk now. The sun had dipped behind
the trees and buildings. The two sentries on the wharf
had turned their backs upon the river, and were entering a
tavern. The other wherries were all making for the shore,
and the tide was running in strongly and carrying Cuth-
bert’s boat up-stream for him in the direction whither he
would go.
Letting himself drift with the tide, and contenting him-
self with keeping the prow in the right direction, Cuthbert
drifted on his way quite as fast as he cared to. He had
not often been as far up the stream as this, since business
always took him down towards the shipping in the mouth
of the river. He had never before gone higher up than
the Temple Stairs, and now as he drifted past these and
saw the fine pile of Westminster rising before his eyes, he
felt a thrill of admiration and awe, and turned in his seat
the better to observe and admire.
Westminster was almost like another town in those days,
divided from the busy walled city of London by fields and
gardens and fine mansions standing in their own grounds.
On the south side of the river the houses were few and
far between, and save at Southwark, hardly any attempt
at regular building had been made. Past the great
Palace of Whitehall and Westminster, with its Parliament
Houses rising majestic against the darkening sky, drifted
the lonely little boat. And then Cuthbert took his oars
and pulled for the southern bank ; for he knew that Lam-
beth was not very much farther away, and he recalled to
238 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
mind the directions of the priest, how to find it and
know it.
Trees fringed the southern bank here, leafless at this
season, but still imparting a certain dark dreariness to the
scene. The hoot of an owl occasionally broke the silence,
and sent light shivers through Cuthbert’s frame. He was
not free from superstition, and the evil-omened bird was no
friend of his. He would rather not have heard its harsh
note just at this time; and he could have wished that the
river did not look so inky black, or that the trees did not
cast such weird shadows.
But the tide ran strong beneath the overhanging bank,
and Cuthbert was carried onwards without any effort of
his own. There was something just a little uncanny in
this swift force. It reminded Cuthbert of relentless des-
tiny sweeping him onward whether or not he would go.
But it was too late to consider or turn back even if
such had been his desire. Already he began to see white
gleams as of stone-work along the water’s edge. The
willow trees came to an end; a wall bounded the river for
fifty yards or more, and then there arose before his eyes
the structure of the lonely old house, guarded by its giant
elms—a house seeming to be actually built upon the water
itself, one door, as Cuthbert had been told, opening upon
the flight of steps which at high water were almost
covered.
It was well-nigh high water now, and Cuthbert could
bring the prow of his boat to within a foot of the door.
There were rings all along the topmost step for the moor-
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. © 239
ing of small craft, and he quickly made fast his wherry
and stood at the iron-clamped portal.
How dark and silent and lonely the house looked, rising
gaunt and dim in the uncertain light! Who would choose
such a spot for a home? Surely only those whose deeds
would not bear the light of day. And why that deadly
silence and torpor in a house inhabited by human beings ?
It seemed unnatural and uncanny, and as a great white
owl swept by on silent wing with a hollow note of chal-
lenge, Cuthbert felt a chill sense of coming ill creep
through his veins and run down his spine; and fearful
lest his resolution should desert him at the last, he raised
his hand and gave the thrice-repeated knock he had been
taught by Father Urban.
He doubted if the signal would be heard. He could
scarcely believe that the house boasted any inhabitants ;
but soon he heard a heavy yet cautious tread approach the
door from the other side. Some heavy bolts were drawn
back, and the door was opened a little way.
“Who is there?†asked a muffled voice.
“One wishful to see Master Robert Catesby.â€
“Why come to this back door then? why not approach
the house by the front way, like an honest man ?â€
Cuthbert was rather taken aback by this question. He
answered with a touch of sharpness,—
“TI came the way I was bidden to come. If I am in
fault, the blame lies with him who sent me.â€
“And who is that?â€
“Father Urban.â€
240 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
At the sound of that name the door was cautiously
opened a little further, and Cuthbert felt himself con-
fronted by a man whose face still remained in deep
shadow.
“You come from Father Urban, and with a message to
Robert Catesby ?â€
“Not a message; a packet which methinks contains
papers. I was bidden to deliver them into no hand but
his, and to destroy both them and myself sooner than let
them fall into alien hands.â€
At that the door opened wider yet, and Cuthbert could
look along a dark stone passage, at the end of which
glowed a light. His companion’s first suspicions now ap-
peared laid to rest.
“Come in, come in. Speak not thus aloud without, even
at this dead hour of dim loneliness. Men like ourselves
stand in sore need of every caution. Come in, and let me
lock the door behind us. There may be spies lurking even
round these walls.â€
“Spies!†echoed Cuthbert, as he strode along the pas-
sage towards the light. “TI fear no spies; I have naught
to conceal!â€
But the other man was drawing the heavy bolts, and
did not hear this remark. He followed Cuthbert into the
great vaulted kitchen, which was illumined by a noble fire,
the warmth of which was very welcome to the youth after
his chilly voyage on the river. There was some cooking
going on at the stove, and an appetizing odour filled the air.
Cuthbert turned his curious glance upon the custodian
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 241
of this strange place, and saw a man who was evidently
a gentleman, though very plainly and simply dressed, and
employed at this moment in menial toil. He had a thin,
worn face, and his eyes gleamed brightly under their heavy
brows. He looked like one who had seen both trouble
and suffering, and had grown somewhat reckless under
successive miseries. ,
He on his side was attentively regarding Cuthbert.
“Thy name, good youth?†he asked abruptly.
“Cuthbert Trevlyn,†was the unhesitating rejoinder.
The lad had not yet learned the prudence of reticence in
dealing with strangers. He was neither ashamed of his
errand nor of his name.
“Trevlyn—tTrevlyn. It is a good name, and I have
heard it before. I have heard Catesby speak of thee. So
thou hast come with papers for him? Art thou indeed to
be one of us ?â€
The question was asked almost in a whisper, accompanied
by a very keen and searching glance. Cuthbert did not
exactly know what to make of it.
He shook his head as he replied,—
“Nay, I know naught of that. I am but a messenger
from Father Urban, who was in sore straits but two days
back, and well-nigh fell into the hands of his foes with
these papers upon him. JI had the good hap to help him
to escape the peril; and as he was sore hurt, he begged of ©
me to carry them to Master Catesby and deliver them with
mine own hand. This have I come to do. He bid me
seek this house, for that I should likely find him here, If
(378) 16
242 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
he be not so, I pray you direct me where he may be found:
for I have no mind to return with my task unfulfilled, nor
yet to carry about with me these same papers an hour
longer than need be.â€
“Heaven forfend!†ejaculated the custodian of the place
with unfeigned anxiety. “Father Urban in peril! Father
Urban sore hurt! We must know more of this business,
and that without delay. Art sure he is safe for the
present? Art sure he hath not fallen into the hands of
the King’s hirelings ?â€
“ He is safe enow for the nonce.†|
“ And where—where is he hidden ?â€
Cuthbert gave the man a keen look as he answered,—
“That will I tell to none save Master Robert Catesby
himself, whom I know. You, good sir, are a stranger to
me, albeit, I doubt not, a very worthy gentleman.â€
The man’s thin face lighted up with a gleam of approval.
“You are i’ the right, young sir; you are i’ the right
of it,†he said. “In.these days of peril and trouble men
cannot walk too warily. My name is Robert Kay, and
the fate which has been your father’s has been mine too.
I have been ruined and beggared for my devotion to my
faith; and but for Master Robert Catesby and others who
have given me assistance and employment, I might well
have starved in some garret ere now. Yet I was gently
born and nurtured, and mine only cause of offence was the
religion which but a generation back all men in this realm
honoured and loved. Well-a-day! alack-a-day! we have
fallen on evil times. Yet there is still a God in the
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 243
heavens above us, and our turn may come—yea, our turn
may come!â€
The fierce wild gesture that accompanied these words
recalled to Cuthbert’s mind the same sort of prediction and
menace uttered by Catesby on the night of their journey
together over Hammerton Heath. He felt at once a lively
curiosity and a sense of awe and repulsion; but he made
no remark, and Kay quickly recovered himself.
“Tt boots not to linger. We must to Catesby without
delay. He must hear your news, young man, and must
learn of you the fate of Father Urban. You will come
with me to find him ?â€
“Very gladly, an you know where he is to be found.â€
A curious expression flitted across the man’s face.
“ Ay, that do I know well; nor is he far from here. We
shall soon reach him in that wherry of yours. He is but
across the river at Westminster, in. the house of Thomas
Perey, who has a lodging there in right of his office and
stewardship to my Lord of Northumberland.â€
Kay glanced rather keenly into Cuthbert’s face as he
spoke these words, but they evoked no answering spark
of intelligence, and again the mask fell, leaving the face
expressionless and weary as before.
“T can take you across in my boat right well,†answered
Cuthbert ; “and the sooner we start the better I shall be
pleased, for I have a dark journey back to-night, and there
be sentries on the watch along the banks who may per-
chance ask somewhat too curiously of my movements an I
be detained late.â€
244 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
“Nay, then let us hurry,†said Kay restlessly; “for
Catesby will not be back for many hours, and we must
needs find him. I will but tarry to get my cloak, and then
we will to the boat.â€
He vanished as he spoke through an open door, and
Cuthbert stood looking inquisitively about him. There
were several deep recesses in this vault-like place, and in
one of these were piled a large number of small barrels,
the contents of which Cuthbert guessed to be wine or
spirits. He was rather amused at the store thus got to-
gether, and thought that Master Kay and his companions
knew how to enjoy themselves, even though they did lead
lonely and troubled lives. His eyes were still fixed upon
the barrels when Kay returned, and a smile hovered round
the corners of his lips. The man seemed to note the
glance, and looked sharply at him.
“Thou knowest the meaning of those?†he said sud-
denly; and Cuthbert smiled again as he answered readily,—
“ Ay, verily that do I.â€
That was all which then passed. Kay took up a lantern
and led the way. Cuthbert followed, and soon the door
was unbarred and barred again behind them, the wherry
was pushed out into deep water, and Cuthbert’s strong
arms were soon propelling it across the river, Kay steering
carefully, and with the air of a man well used to the
transit.
He cautioned quietness as they neared the shore, but in
the little creek where the boat was pushed up not a living
thing was seen. Another boat somewhat larger in build
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 245
was already in the creek, and there was a post to which
craft could be made fast whilst the owners landed. Kay
dexterously performed this office, and taking Cuthbert by
the arm, bid him muffle his face in the collar of his cloak,
and walk cautiously and with circumspection. They
quickly reached the great block of buildings of which the
Houses of Parliament formed the most conspicuous feature ;
and diving down a narrow entry, Kay paused suddenly
before a low-browed door, and gave the peculiar knock
Cuthbert had learned from the priest.
The door was quickly opened, and a rough head thrust
forth.
“Who goes there ?â€
“Tt is I, good Bates—I and a gentleman—one of us—
come on business that brooks no delay with Master Robert
Catesby. Go summon thy master, good knave, without
delay. It is needful this gentleman speak with him at
once.â€
Kay had been leading Cuthbert along a passage with
the familiarity of a friend of the house, whilst the serving-
man barred the door, and answered somewhat gruffly, as
though disturbed by the interruption,—
“ Nay, if he is one of us, let him seek the master below.
He is there, and hard at work, and will not be best pleased
at being called away. I have but just come up myself.
Iam weary as a hunted hare and thirsty as a fish in a
desert. Find my master thyself, Master Kay; I am no
servant of thine.†,
Kay appeared in no way astonished at this rough an-
246 THE LONE HOUSE ON. THE RIVER.
swer. He went on before without any remark, and Cuth-
bert, not knowing what else to do, followed. Presently
they reached the head of a long flight of stairs that seemed
to descend into the very heart of the earth, and from
below there arose strange hollow sounds—the sound of
blows steadily struck upon some hard substance ; it seemed
as though they were struck upon the very rock itself.
Greatly amazed, and wondering not a little what it
could mean, Cuthbert paused at the head of this long
flight, and saw his companion prepare to descend; but
just at that moment the sound of blows ceased. A ery
and confusion of voices arose, as if the speakers were
somewhere in the heart of the earth; and almost immedi-
ately there dashed up the stairs a man with stained gar-
ments, blood-shot eyes, and a white, scared face, crying
out in fearful terror,—
“The bell! the bell! the tolling bell! God and the
Holy Saints protect us! It is our death-knell—our death-
knell!â€
Kay seized the man by the arm.
“What ails you, man? what is it?†he asked, quickly
and sternly; but at that moment the pale face of Robert
Catesby appeared, and he was followed by a tall bearded
man of very soldierly bearing, who said, in calm, authori-
tative accents,—
“I have here some holy water, blessed by the Pope
himself. If we do but sprinkle the walls with that and
bid the daring fiend cease, all will be well. It is no work
of God; it is a work of the devil, striving to turn us aside
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 247
from our laudable and righteous purpose. Prove me if it
be not so. If yon booming bell sounds again after this
holy water has been sprinkled, then will I own that it is
God fighting against us; but if it cease after this has been
sprinkled, then shall we know that heaven is on our side
and only the powers of darkness against us.â€
“So be it,†answered Catesby, quickly and decisively ;
“thou shalt make trial of it, good Guido. I trow we shall
learn by that token that God is on our side.â€
All this Cuthbert saw and heard, as he stood in the
shadow at the top of the stairs consumed by a burning
curiosity. Something had occurred of such overwhelming
interest as to obliterate even from Kay’s mind for the
moment the errand on which he had come, and his pres-
ence in the house at this moment awoke no question
amongst the men assembled there, who were plainly other-
wise engrossed. All vanished again down the stairs, and
Cuthbert stole after them with cautious footfalls, too eager
to discover what could be so moving them to consider
what he was doing.
It was easy to track, by their voices and the light they
carried, the men who had preceded him. The long flight of
stairs terminated in a long stone passage, deadly cold; and
this led in turn to a great cellar, at. the far end of which a
group of seven men was assembled. They appeared to be
standing round the entrance to a small tunnel, and this
tunnel they had plainly been making themselves; for a.
number of tools for boring and picking lay about, and the
faces, hands, and clothes of the assembled party plainly
248 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
indicated the nature of their toil, albeit from their speech
and bearing it was plain that all were gentlemen.
Robert Catesby was sprinkling the walls of this tunnel
with some water, using words of supplication and exor-
cism, and his companions stood bareheaded around him.
A great hush fell upon all as this ceremony ceased, and all
seemed to listen intently.
“There is no sound; the devil hath taken flight. I
knew how it would be!†spoke the tall dark man exult-
antly. “And now, comrades, to work again, for we have
heard the last of our knell to-night. No powers of dark-
ness can stand before the charm of His Holiness’s power.â€
With an air of relief and alacrity the gentlemen seized
their tools, and again the hollow or ringing sounds com-
menced to sound in that dim place; but Kay had plucked
Robert Catesby by the sleeve, and was whispering some
words in his ear.
Catesby turned quickly round, made a few strides
towards the staircase, and then catching sight of Cuthbert,
stopped short, and seized Kay by the arm.
“Fool!†he cried, in a low, hissing tone, “what pos-
sessed you to bring him here? We are undone!â€
“Nay, but he knows; he is one of us.†:
“He is not; it is a lie! If he said so, he is a foul
spy!†And then striding up to Cuthbert with eyes that
gleamed murderously, he looked into the youth’s face, and
suddenly the fury died out of his own.
“Why, it is Cuthbert Trevlyn! Good luck to you,
guod youth! I had feared I know not what. But thou
THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 249
art stanch and true; thou art a chip of the old block. If
it had to be some one, better thee than any other. Boy,
thou hast seen a sight to-night that must have awakened
thy curiosity. Swear to spcrcoy-=- Sweat to reveal nothing
—and I will tell thee all.â€
“Nay, tell me nothing,†answered Cuthbert firmly ; “I
love not mysteries. I would fain forget all I have heard
and seen. Let me tell thee of Father Urban—let me
give thee his letters; but tell me naught in return. I will
not know—I will not.â€
Cuthbert spoke with sudden vices He and
Catesby were mounting the stairs together. As they
reached the dim vestibule above, Catesby took him by the
arm and looked him searchingly in the face, as he said,—
“Maybe thou art in the right. It may be better so.
But thou must swear one thing ere thou goest hence, and
that is—to reveal to no living soul what thou hast seen
this night. Know, boy, that if thou wilt not swear this—â€
But Cuthbert shook himself free, and looked proudly at
his interlocutor.
“Nay, threaten me not, good Master Catesby, else I
may be moved to defy thee and thy power. For the
good-will I bear thee, and for that I loathe and abhor those
craven souls who will betray their fellow-men to prison
and death, I will give thee my word of honour to hold
sacred all that I have seen and heard in this house this
. night. I know not what it means, nor do I desire to
know. Be it for good or be it for ill, it is thy secret, not
mine, and with me it is safe. But I will not be threat-
250 THE LONE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
ened nor coerced—no, not by any man. What I will not
give for friendship and brotherly love, no man shall wrest
from me through fear.â€
Catesby looked at the lad with his flashing eyes and
proudly-held head, and a smile illuminated his features.
Whether or not his companions would have been satisfied
with this pledge, he himself was content, and with a kindly
grip of the hand he said
“Enough, boy, enough! I like thy spirit, and I ask
thy pardon for dreaming of treating thee in any unworthy
fashion. And now let us talk of Father Urban and what
has befallen him; and give to me these papers of which
thou hast been such a careful custodian.â€
An hour later, Cuthbert’s wherry floated out into mid-
stream once more, and swiftly sped along the dark water,
propelled by a pair of strong young arms. Could any
have seen the rower’s face, it would have been seen to
be very grave and rather pale. The lights of the bridge
beginning to gleam ahead of him as he looked over his
shoulder, Cuthbert muttered to himself,—
“This has been a strange night’s work, and there be more
in all than I can rightly understand. Pray Heaven I be not
further entangled in such mysteries and secrets! . Well
did the wise woman bid me beware of underground cellars.
Would I had never been into that ill place this night!â€
CHAPTER XII
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
. ANST put up with my company, good Cuthbert? for .
I have a mind to travel with thee.â€
Cuthbert turned quickly as these words fell upon his
ear, and found himself face to face with a gay-looking
youth dressed all in forester’s green, whom at first he took
for a stranger, till the young man with a laugh removed
his wide-brimmed hat, so that the evening light fell full
upon his handsome boyish face; and Cuthbert exclaimed,
with a start of surprise,—
“ Verily, it is Lord Culverhouse
“ And thy very good cousin, Cuthbert Trevlyn,†said the
Viscount, as he linked his arm within that of his would-be
comrade, “So let there be no more ceremony betwixt thee
{â€
and me; for we are both bent upon a merry time in the
forest, and we will fare forth thither together as brothers
and friends.â€
“With all my heart,†answered Cuthbert warmly; for
he loved companionship, and greatly liked what he had
seen of Kate’s cousin and lover, the gay and handsome
Lord Culverhouse. He had been once or twice recently to ~
the great house in the Strand, generally rowing himself up
252 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
to the garden steps, and sometimes taking the Viscount
upon the river with him. In this way they had struck
up a certain friendliness and intimacy ; and Cuthbert had
spoken to Lord Culverhouse of his proposed visit to. the
forest on May-day, although without explaining to him the
real and chief object of that journey. Culverhouse had
not at the time expressed any desire to accompany him,
though he had asked a good many questions respecting the
forest and the forest fétes held upon that day. Cuthbert
had observed an unwonted animation in his eyes as he
had done so; but nothing in the young nobleman’s manner
had prepared him for this freak on his part, and he had
actually failed at the first moment to recognize this fanciful
figure in its smart forester’s dress when first saluted by
the wearer. But he was glad enough of the meeting, and
the proposition of travelling in company was very welcome,
though he still had one qualm to set at rest.
“T only go on foot, my lord. Doubtless you have a
horse in waiting, and will soon outride me.â€
“A horse! not I. I have neither beast nor man in
waiting. I travel alone and on foot, and for the nonce am
no more Lord Culverhouse, but only Rupert de Grey—thy
trusty comrade Rupert—and a would-be follower of «bold
Robin Hood, did he but hold his court with his merry,
merry men in the free forest now. See, I wear his livery.
I feel as free as air. I marvel I never thought of such a
masquerade before. We will have a right merry time this
Joyous spring-tide. How long dost thou purpose to remain
in the greenwood thyself ?â€
MAV-DAY IN THE FOREST. 253
“I know not,†answered Cuthbert, as the pair strode
southward together, quickly leaving behind the last houses
of London, and striking away in the direction of the forest
whither both were bound. It was the last day in April:
the soft south wind was blowing in their faces, the trees
were beginning to hang out their tassels of tender green,
the hawthorn was bursting into bloom and filling the air
with its fragrance. It was, in fact, the eve of one of those
old-fashioned May-days which seem utterly to have gone
by now, and all nature was rejoicing in the sweet exalta-
tion of the happy spring-tide, full of the promises of the
golden summer to come.
Cuthbert’s heart swelled with delight as he looked about
him and felt that the strife and bustle of the great city
were at last shaken off. In spite of the spell exercised
upon him by the life of London, he had for some weeks
been pining like a caged bird for the freedom of the country
again, the vault of the sky alone above him, the songs of
the birds in his ears. The spring -had brought to him
yearnings and desires which he scarcely understood, and
latterly he had been counting the days which must pass
ere he should find himself in the forest once again.
In his uncle’s house matters were growing a little strained.
Martin Holt undoubtedly suspected something of the matter
betwixt him and Cherry, and as plainly disapproved. He
looked upon Cherry as promised to her cousin Jacob, and
doubtless he thought the steady, plodding, slow-witted son
of the house of Dyson a far safer husband for his feather-
brained youngest than handsome Cuthbert Trevlyn, with
°
254 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
his gentler birth, his quick and keen intelligence, and his
versatile, inquiring mind, which was always inclining him
to meddle in matters better left alone, and to judge for him-
self with an independence that was perilous in times like
these. Not that Martin Holt was himself averse to inde-
pendence of judgment, rather the reverse ; but he knew the
dangers besetting the path of those who were resolved to
think and judge for themselves, and he would fain have
seen his youngest and dearest child safely made over to the
eare of one who would be content to go through life with-
out asking troublesome questions or intermeddling with
matters of danger and difficulty, and would conform to all
laws, civil and religious, without a qualm, recognizing the
King’s will as supreme in all matters, temporal and spiritual,
without a doubt or a scruple. Cherry would be safe with
Jacob, that was Martin’s feeling, whilst with Cuthbert he
could have no such security. Cuthbert had still his way
to make in the world, and it had not yet appeared that he
would be of any use-in business matters. He was clever
with his pen. He was a good scholar, and had been able
to make himself useful to his uncle in a number of small
matters where his quickness and sharp wits had room to
work. He was also of no small use in the matter of the
building and fitting up of the new sloop, in which he took
such keen interest. He would go over every bit of the
work, comparing it with what he saw in other vessels, and
learning quickly to distinguish good workmanship from
bad. He became so ready of resource and suggestion when
any small difficulty occurred, that both Martin Holt and
MAY-DAV IN THE FOREST. 255
Abraham Dyson learned to think exceedingly well of his
abilities, and employed him largely in matters where quick-
ness of observation and apprehension was wanted. But
for all that, and despite the fact that he had earned some
considerable sum of money (as he reckoned it) during the
winter and spring months, he had shown no great desire
to settle himself down to any steady occupation or trade,
and neither of the elder men saw any opening for him
that should give him regular and permanent occupation.
“He has too much of the gay gallant about him for my
taste,†Abraham would say. “He is more Trevlyn than
Holt; and some folks ‘say more Wyvern than Trevlyn.
Be that as it may, he is a gentleman to the finger-tips ;
and one might as well try to tame an eagle as set him down
to the round of work that comes natural to lads like Jacob.â€
And Martin Holt would nod assent, feeling that there
was something about his sister’s son that would never
assimilate with the life of a merchant tradesman. He
liked his nephew, and thought well of him in many ways;
but he was not sorry to receive his request for leave to
revisit his old haunts and his own kindred when the long
spring days were upon the world; and he bid the lad please
himself for the future, and return or not as he best liked.
There was the gold to be given up to him when he should
make formal claim for it. Martin had satisfied himself by
now:that he was worthy to be intrusted with it; but Cuth-
bert intended Petronella to have the bulk of that, so that
she might wed Philip, if they were both inclined that way.
As for himself, he was still bent on finding the lost treasure
256 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
of Trevlyn, and he had vowed the whole of the long
summer to the search, resolved that he would find it, be
the perils and perplexities what they might.
So that although he saw by his uncle’s manner that he
was not especially anxious to see him back soon, and
shrewdly guessed that this was in part on Cherry’s account,
he did not let the matter distress him. When good Jacob
had had his turn, and had failed in winning Cherry’s hand,
and when he himself should return laden with the treasure
which should enable him to place his little love in a nest
in all ways worthy of her, surely then his uncle would give
her up to him without opposition. This was how he spoke
to Cherry, comforting her as the hour for his departure
drew near, and vowing eternal constancy and unchanging
love. He was beginning to feel that he was doing his
cause more harm than good by lingering on, unable to de-
clare himself, yet betraying himself, as he often felt, in a
hundred little nameless ways. It would be better for all
when the wrench was finally made; and neither he nor
Cherry doubted for a moment that he would be successful
in his search, and would come riding up at last to the house
on the bridge, the gayest of gay gallants, to claim Cherry
in the sight of all, lifting her upon his horse, and riding
away with her in the fashion of the bold knights of old,
whose deeds of prowess they both so greatly admired.
It was this brilliant prospect of glory to come which
consoled Cherry and reconciled her to the parting of the
present. Hard as it would be to live without Cuthbert,
she would strive to do so in the thought that he would
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 257
come again ere long and take her away for ever from the
life which was becoming odious to her, she scarce knew
why. So they had parted in hope as well as in sorrow,
and Cuthbert felt all his elasticity of spirit returning to
him as he strode along by his unexpected comrade’s side.
“JT know not how long I shall be absent from London,â€
he said in answer to Culverhouse’s question. “There be
many things depending on that. I have set myself a task,
and I know not how long a time it will take to accomplish.
And you, my good lord, how goes it with you? Are you
about to visit Trevlyn Chase, as you will be thus near, and
see your kinsfolks there ?â€
“Call me not good lord, call me Rupert, as I have bidden
thee before!†was the quick response, as a flush dyed for
the moment the smooth fair cheek of the Viscount.
“Cuthbert, since we are to travel together, I must needs
tell thee my secret. I am not bound for Trevlyn Chase.
My father has forbidden me for the nonce to visit there,
not for any ill-will he bears our kinsfolk, but—but-
that—â€
“But that he fears the bright eyes of Mistress Kate, and
hopes by keeping you apart to help thee to forget? Is it
not so, Rupert ?â€
“Marry, thou hast well guessed. Or has it been no
guess? Hast thou heard aught?â€
“My cousin Kate herself told me somewhat of it,â€
answered Cuthbert; “but she laughed to scorn the arti-
fice. She is not made of the stuff that forgets.â€
“Heaven’s blessing be upon her for a true - hearted
(378) 17
258 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
maiden!†cried Culverhouse, with a lover's easily-stirred
enthusiasm. ‘Cuthbert, since thou knowest so much, thou
shalt know more. I have made shift to write to Kate
about this purpose of mine to visit the forest glades on
blithe May-day ; and she has sent me a little missive, fresh
and sweet and dainty like herself, to tell me that she will
ride forth herself into the forest that day, and giving the
slip to her sisters or servants, or any who may accompany
her, will meet me without fail in a certain dell that doubt-
less I shall find from the directions she gives. There is a
giant yew tree in the midst that would hide six men in its
hollow trunk, and a laughing streamlet circles well-nigh
round it. She tells me it has got the name of Oberon’s
Horse-shoe.â€
“T know the place well,†answered Cuthbert. “I can
guide thee thither. So Mistress Kate will meet thee there!
It is like her. She has a daring spirit. I would I could
help her to her dowry.â€
“Her dowry! thow!†echoed Culverhouse in surprise ;
and then as they walked onwards through the dewy night,
Cuthbert could not but tell a little of his purpose to the
comrade who had intrusted him with his own secret;
and Culverhouse listened with the greatest interest, albeit
without quite the same sanguine hope of suecess that
Cuthbert himself entertained. Still, he was of opinion that a
patient search and inquiry instituted by an obscure lad like
Cuthbert, used to rough ways and the life of the forest,
would be more likely to succeed than one set on foot by
any person better known. If the old tradition were true
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 259
that the gipsies had hidden the gold again in spite, it was
possible that after this lapse of time the old hatred would
have died out, and that somebody might be willing to betray
the precious secret for a sufficient reward. At any rate
Cuthbert’s idea of living in the forest and cultivating and
studying these strange folk was amply worth a trial. If
his quest succeeded, the whole Trevlyn family would be once
more wealthy and prosperous ; if not, no harm would have
been done, and the youth would have enjoyed his free life
and new experiences after the winter spent in the confine-
ment of the great city.
The travellers walked on through the twilight and
until long after moonrise. They had put a good twelve
miles between them and London before they talked of
halting. They had no intention of seeking shelter for the
night in any wayside hostelry. A hollow tree would give
them all the cover they needed, and both had brought
with them such supply of provision as would render them
independent of chance hospitality for twenty-four hours at
least.
Cuthbert’s quick eyes soon sought out the sort of rest-
ing-place they desired—a great oak, into whose hollowed
trunk the dead leaves had drifted, and were now piled up
into a soft heap. Lying luxuriously upon this easy couch,
the two travellers took such refreshment as each needed ;
and as Cuthbert saw in the distance before them the bold
outlines of the high ground, part of which went by the
name of Hammerton Heath, he recounted to his companion
his adventure there the November previous, and by what
260 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
means he had saved his purse from the hands of the
robbers.
Culverhouse listened to the story, and when it was done
he said,— .
“Take heed, good Cuthbert, that thou dost not meet
with a worse mischance than the loss of thy purse. I
would sooner have mine filched from me by freebooters
than owe aught to Robert Catesby that could give him
any claim upon me.â€
Cuthbert looked up quickly. Since that night when
he had delivered the papers to Catesby, and had seen and
heard so much that was mysterious, he had gradually let
the strange incident slip from his memory. Nothing had
occurred to recall it, or to render him in any wise uneasy.
He had seen nothing of Catesby or his companions.
Father Urban had said that they had all dispersed into
the country. He himself shortly took leave of the Coles,
and was taken off by a boat on a dark night to reach
a vessel about to start for Spain. The whole incident
seemed more like a dream than a reality now; and Cuth-
bert’s vague sense of uneasiness had by this time died quite
away.
“What dost thou mean?†he asked, as the Viscount’s
words fell on his ear.
“No more than this, that yon Catesby is a dangerous
man. I know naught against him, save that he is a
Papist of the type I like not—a plotting, designing, des-
perate type, that ofttimes injure themselves far more than
they injure others, yet too often drag their friends and
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 261
those who trust them to destruction with them,—and all
for some wild and foolish design which they have not the
wits to carry through, and against which Heaven itself
fights to its overthrow. Have no dealings with this same
Catesby, good Cuthbert; thou wilt rue it an thou dost.â€
“T am not like to see him again,†answered Cuthbert
slowly. “He is gone I know not whither. If men look
thus darkly upon him, doubtless he will not adventure
himself in London again.†:
“T know not how that may be. My father hath heard
disquieting rumours of late, and the name of Robert
Catesby is mingled in all of them. However, he speaks
little to me of matters of state. Men in high places are
for ever hearing whispers and rumours, and it boots not to
give over-much credence to every idle tale. Only, what
thou spakest of this Catesby recalled the matter to my
mind. He is a man to fear, to avoid. He has a way
with him that wins men’s hearts; yet it is but the fatal
fascination of the glittering snake, that snares the flutter-
ing bird to its destruction. So, at least, I have heard.â€
Cuthbert made no direct reply. He would have liked
to tell Culverhouse of the incident of the lonely house on
the river, and the dark cellar in which Catesby and others
had been at work; but his tongue was bound by his
promise. Moreover, the hour for sleep was at hand, and
the travellers, wrapping themselves in their cloaks and
stretching their limbs upon their soft couch, were soon
lost in the land of dreams.
The following morning dawned as fair and clear and
262 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
bright as heart could wish. It was just such a May-day
as one pictures in reading of those old-time festivities
incident to that joyous season. And the forest that day
was alive with holiday-makers and rustic folks, enjoying
themselves to the full in all the green glades and bosky
dells. Culverhouse and Cuthbert found it hard to push
along upon their way into the heart of the forest, so at-
tractive were the scenes enacted in every little clearing
that had become the site of a tiny hamlet or village, so
full of hospitality to wayfarers was every house they
passed, and so merry were the dances being footed on
the greensward, in which every passer-by was expected to
take a part.
Culverhouse, in his green forester’s dress, daintily faced
with silver, a silver hunting-horn slung round his. neck,
was an object of universal admiration, and the fact that
he was plainly some wealthy gentleman masquerading and
playing a part did not in any way detract from the in-
terest his appearance excited. His merry, courteous ways
and well-turned compliments won the hearts of maidens
and matrons alike, whilst his deft and elegant dancing was
the admiration of all who watched; and he was besought
on all hands to stay, and found no small difficulty in pur-
suing his way into the forest itself.
However, they had made an early start, and as they
drew near to the denser part of the wood interruptions
became less frequent, and presently ceased altogether.
Cuthbert found a track he knew which led straight to
the trysting-place with Kate; and though from time to
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 263
time the travellers heard distant sounds of mirth and
revelry proceeding from the right hand or the left, they
did not come upon any groups of gipsies or freebooters,
who were doubtless enjoying the day after their own
fashion, and the two pursued their way rapidly and with-
out molestation.
“This is the place,†said Cuthbert at length, as the
underwood grew thick and tangled and the path became
almost lost. “And see, yonder is a lady’s palfrey tethered
toa tree. Mistress Kate is the first at the tryst. Go down
thither to her, and I will wait here and guard her steed ;
for there be many afoot in the forest this day, and all
may not be so bent on pleasure-taking that they will not
wander about in search of gain, and a fair palfrey like
yon would be no small prize.â€
CulverlOuse readily consented to this arrangement, and
for some time Cuthbert was left to a solitary enjoyment
of the forest. He caressed the horse, which responded
with great gentleness and good-will; and then he lay
down in luxurious ease, his hands crossed behind his head,
his face turned upwards towards the clear blue of the
sunny sky, seen through the delicate tracery of the burst-
ing buds of elm and beech. It was a perfect feast for
eye and ear to lie thus in the forest, listening to the songs
of the birds, and watching the play of light and shadow.
Fresh from the roar and the bustle of the city, Cuthbert
enjoyed it as a thirsty traveller in the desert enjoys a
draught of clear cold water from a spring. He was
almost sorry when at last the sound of voices warned
264 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST,
him that the lovers’ stolen interview was at an end, and
that they were approaching him at last.
Kate’s bright face was all alight with happiness and
joy-as she appeared, holding fast to her lover’s arm.
She greeted Cuthbert with the prettiest air of cousinly
affection, asked of himself and his welfare with undis-
guised interest, and then told them of some rustic sports
being held at a village only three miles distant, and
begged Culverhouse to take her to see the spectacle. She
had set her heart upon it all day, and there would be no
danger of her being seen in the crowd sure to be assem-
bled there to witness the sights. Her sisters had no love
for such shows, and nobody would be greatly troubled
at her hardihood in escaping from the escort of her serv-
ants. She was always doing the like, and no harm had
ever befallen her. Her father was wont to call her his
Madcap, and her mother sometimes chided, and feared she
would come to ill by her wild freaks; but she had always
turned up safe and sound, and her independent ways had
almost ceased to excite comment or uneasiness. On May-
day, when all the world was abroad and in good-humour,
they would trouble still less on her account. . Kate had no
fear of being overtaken and brought back, and had set her
heart on going with Culverhouse to this village fétée and
fair. She had heard much of it, yet had never seen it.
Sure this was the very day on which to go.
Culverhouse would have gone to the moon with her
had she asked it—or would at least have striven to do so
—and his assent was cordially given. Cuthbert knew the
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 265
place well; and Kate was quickly mounted on the palfrey,
Culverhouse walking at her bridle-rein, whilst Cuthbert
walked on ahead to choose the safest paths, and warn
them of any peril in the road. He could hear scraps of
lover-like dialogue, that sent his heart back to Cherry,
and made him long to have her beside him; but that
being impossible, he gave himself up to the enjoyment of
the present, and found pleasure in everything about him.
He had been before to this gay fair, held every May-
day, to which all the rustic folks from far and near
flocked with one accord. He knew well the look of the
tents and booths, the bright dresses of the women, the feats
of skill and strength carried on between the younger men,
the noise, the merriment, the revelry that towards sun-
down became almost an orgie.
But in the bright noon-day light all was at its best.
Kate was delighted with everything, especially with the
May Queen upon her throne, surrounded by her attendant
maidens in their white holiday dresses, with their huge
posies in their hands. This was the place for love-mak-
ing, and it attracted the lovers not a little. Cuthbert,
who undertook to tie up the horse in some safe place, and
then wandered alone through the shifting throng, found
them still upon the green when he rejoined them after his
ramble. Plainly there was something of interest greater
than before going on in this quarter. People were flock-
ing to the green, laughing, chattering, and questioning.
Blushing girls were being led along by their ardent swains ;
some were protesting, others laughing. Cuthbert could
266 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
not make out what it was all about, and presently asked
a countryman why the folks were all in such a coil.
“Why? because the priest has come, and all who will
may be wed by him. He comes like this every May-
day, and he stands in the church porch, and he weds all
who come to him for a silver sixpence, and asks no ques-
tions. Half our folks are so wed year by year, for there —
be no priest or parson here this many years, not since
the last one was hunted to death by good Queen Bess—
Heaven rest her soul! The church is well-nigh falling to
pieces as it stands; but the porch is the best part of it,
and the priest who comes says it is consecrated ground,
and so he can use it for his weddings. That is what the
coil is about, young sir. You be a stranger in these parts,
I take it?â€
Cuthbert was not quite a stranger, but he had never
heard before of these weddings.
“Are they lawfully wed whom he marries?†he asked;
but the man only shook his head.
“Nay, as for that I know naught, nor do any of the
folks hereabouts neither. But he is a priest, and he says
the right words, and joins their hands and calls them man
and wife. No man can do more so far as my poor wits
tell me. Most of our young folks—ay, and some of the
old ones too—have been married that fashion, and I can’t
see that there is aught amiss with them. They be as
happy and comfortable as other folks.â€
Cuthbert moved on with the interested crowd to see
these hap-hazard weddings. It was plain that the marry-
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 267
ing of a number of young couples was looked upon as
part of the May-day sports. It was a pretty enough
sight to see some of the flower-crowned blushing girls in
their festal white led along by their gaily-bedecked swains
in the direction of the church, which was hard by the
open village green. Some other importunate youths were
eagerly pleading their cause, and striving to drag their
mistresses to the nuptial altar amid the laughter and
encouragement of the bystanders. Cuthbert moved along
in search of his companions, greatly amused by all he saw
and heard; and presently he caught sight of Kate and
Culverhouse standing together close beside the church, half
hidden within a small embrasure enclosed between two
buttresses. Her face was covered with brilliant blushes,
whilst he had hold of her hand, and seemed to be plead-
ing with her with impassioned earnestness. As Cuthbert
approached he heard these words,—
“Nay, sweetest Kate, why hold back? Have we not
loved each other faithfully and long? Why dost thou
fear ?â€
“© Culverhouse, methinks it would be wrong. How
can we know that such wedlock would be lawful? Me-
thinks my mother would break her heart did she think
the knot had been thus loosely tied.â€
“ Nay, but, Kate, thou scarce takest my meaning as yet.
This pledge given betwixt us before yon priest would be
to us but the betrothal troth-plight. I doubt myself
whether such wedlock would be lawful; nor would I dare
to call thee my wife did none but he tie the knot. But
268 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
listen, sweet coz: if we go before him and thus plight our
troth and join our hands together, none will dare to bid us
wed another. It will be too solemn a pledge to be lightly
broken. Men think gravely of such matters as solemn
betrothal, and in days to come if they should urge upon
thee or me to wed with another, we have but to tell of
what was done this day, and they will cease to strive
to come between us more. O sweetest mistress, fairest
Kate, let us not part to-day without some pledge of mutual
faith and constancy! Let me hold this little hand and
place my token on thy finger; then be the time of waiting
never so long, I shall know that at last I may call thee
mine before all the world!â€
Kate was quivering, blushing, trembling with excite-
ment, though not with fear; for she loved Culverhouse too
completely to feel aught but the most perfect confidence
in him and his honour and faith.
“If only I could be sure it was not wrong!†she
faltered.
“Wrong to plight thy hand, when thy heart is long
since given?†he asked, with tender playfulness. “ Where
can the wrong be there ?â€
“T know not. I would fain be altogether thine. But
what would my father and mother say ?†:
Tt was plain already that she was yielding. Culverhouse
drew her tenderly towards him.
“ Nay, sweet coz, there be times when the claim of the
parent must give place to the closer claim of the lover, the
husband. Does not Scripture itself tell us as much? Trust
MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST. 269
me, I speak for our best good. Let us but go together
before this priest and speak the words that, said in church,
would make us man and wife, and none will dare to keep
us apart for ever, or bid us wed with another. Such words
must be binding upon the soul, be the legal bond little or
much. It is hard to say what the force of such a pledge
may be; but well I know that neither my father nor thine
would dare to try to break it, once they were told how
and when it had been made. Thou wilt be mine for ever,
Kate, an thou wilt do this thing.â€
The temptation was too great to be resisted. To plight
her troth thus to Culverhouse, in a fashion which might
not be wholly ignored or set aside, was a thing but. too
congenial to the daring and ardent temperament of the
girl. With but a few more quivers of hesitation she let
herself be persuaded ; and Culverhouse, turning round with
a radiant smile of triumph, saw that Cuthbert was stand-
ing beside them, sympathy and interest written upon his
face.
“Thou wilt be witness to our espousals, good cousin,†he
said gaily, as he led his betrothed to the porch, where the
crowd made way for them right and left, seeing well the
purpose for which these gentlefolks had come. It pleased
them mightily that this fine young forester with his air of
noble birth, and this high-born maiden in her costly riding-
dress, should condescend to come before the priest here in
their own little church porch, and plight their troth as their
own young folks were doing.
A hush of eager expectation fell upon the crowd as
270 MAY-DAY IN THE FOREST.
Culverhouse led his betrothed love before the priest; and
when the ring, bought from an old peddler who always
attended at such times and found ready sale for his wares,
was placed on Kate’s slim finger, a murmur of applause
and sympathy ran through the crowd, and Kate quivered
from head to foot at the thought of her own daring.
The thing was done. She and Culverhouse had plighted
themselves in a fashion solemn enough to hinder any
person from trying to make light of their betrothal.
Right or wrong, the deed was done, and neither looked as
though he or she wished the words unsaid.
But Kate dared not linger longer. Cuthbert fetched
her palfrey, and Culverhouse lifted her to the saddle; and
hiring a steed from a farmer for a brief hour, promising to
bring it back in time for the good man to jog home again
at dusk, the newly-plighted pair rode off into the forest
together, he promising to see her to within sight of her
own home before taking a last adieu.
Cuthbert stood looking after them with a smile on his
lips.
“ Now, if Heaven will but speed my quest and give me
happy success, I trow those twain may yet be wed again,
no man saying them nay; for if sweet Mistress Kate can
but bring with her the dower the treasure will afford, none
will forbid the union: she will be welcomed by Lord
Andover as a fitting wife for his son and heir!â€
CHAPTER XIII.
THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
“ (ecu is surely the spot. Methinks she will not fail
me. Moonrise was the hour she named. I will
wait with what patience I may till she comes to keep the
tryst.â€
So said Cuthbert to himself as, at the close of that long
and varied day, he stood at the mouth of a natural cave,
half hidden by tangled undergrowth, which had been
appointed months ago by Joanna the gipsy as the place
where on May-day evening she would meet him, and tell
him more of the matter so near to his heart.
Culverhouse and he had parted company when the
former had escorted towards her home the lady of his
choice, to whom his troth had been so solemnly plighted
a short while before. The young Viscount was going to
make his way rapidly to London again; but Cuthbert
purposed a long stay in the forest. The search for the
lost treasure might be a matter of weeks, possibly of
months. But he was very well resolved not to give it up
until the search had been pursued with unabated zeal to
the last extremity, and he himself was fully satisfied as to
272 THE GIPSY’S TRYST,
its fate. Nothing but actual knowledge that it had been
dissipated and dispersed should induce him to abandon the
quest.
Standing at the mouth of the cave, leaning against the
rocky wall, and enjoying the deep solitude of the forest
and its tranquil stillness, Cuthbert revolved many matters
in his mind, and it seemed more certain than ever that the
finding of the treasure alone could save him and many
that he loved from manifold difficulties and perplexities,
How that treasure would smooth the path and bring hap-
piness and ease to the Trevlyn family! Surely it was
well worth a more vigorous search than had long been
made! Cuthbert took from his pocket the bit of parch-
ment containing the mystic words of the wise woman, or
her familiar spirit, and perused them again and again,
albeit he knew them well-nigh by heart.
“Thou art here! It is well.†.
Cuthbert started at the sound of the rich, deep tones,
and found himself confronted by the queenly-looking gipsy.
He had not heard her approach. She seemed to have
risen from the very ground at his feet. But he was
scarcely surprised. She had the air of one who could
come and go at will even upon the wings of the wind.
“T am here,†answered Cuthbert, making a courteous
salutation. “I thank thee that thou hast not forgotten the
tryst.†i
“TI never forget aught, least of all a promise,†answered
Joanna, with her queenly air of dignity. “I come to
strive to do my share to atone a wrong and render restitu-
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 273
tion where it is due. What paper is that, boy, that thou
studiest with such care ?â€
Cuthbert handed her the scrap of parchment. He did
not know if she would have learning to decipher it; but
the writing appeared to have no difficulties for her. She
read the words in the clear light of the May evening,
albeit the sun had set’ and the crescent moon was hang-
ing like a silver lamp in the sky; and as she did so she
started slightly, and fixed a keenly penetrating glance
upon Cuthbert.
“ Where didst thou get these lines, boy ?â€
“They were given me by a wise woman, whom I con-
sulted to see if she could aid me in this matter.â€
“A wise woman! And where didst thou find her ?â€
“In London town, where she practises her arts, and
many come unto her by secret. She is veritably that
which she professes, for she told me the object of my
quest ere I had told mine errand to her.â€
“ But thou hadst told her thy name?â€
“ Yes, verily, I had done that.â€
“ And knowing that, she divined all. Verily thou hast
seen Esther the witch! And this was all she knew—this
was all she knew!â€
Joanna’s head was bent over the parchment. Her eyes
were full of fire. Her words seemed addressed rather to
herself than to Cuthbert, and they excited his ardent
curiosity.
“And who is Esther? and dost thou know her? thou
speakest as if thou didst.â€
(378) 18
274 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
“ All of us forest gipsies know Esther well. She is one
of us, though she has left the forest to dwell in cities.
According to the language of men, she is my aunt. She is
sister to old Miriam, whom thou sawest in the forest mill,
and who would have done thee to death an I had not
interposed to save thee, And Miriam is my mother, albeit _
I am her queen, and may impose my will on her.â€
“And does she know aught of the lost treasure?â€
asked Cuthbert, with eager impatience.
“T had hoped she did,†answered Joanna slowly, her
eyes still bent on the paper. “I have seen her myself
since I saw thee last. I have spoken with her on this
same matter. I could not draw from her what I strove
to do; but I see now that I prepared the way, and that
when thou didst go by chance to her, she was ready for
thee. But if this is all she knows, it goes not far. Still
it may help—it may help. In a tangled web, no one may
say which will be the thread which patiently followed may
unravel the skein.â€
“ Belike she knows more than she would say,†suggested
Cuthbert quickly. “If she can look into the future, sure
she may look into the past likewise—â€
But Joanna stopped him by a strange gesture.
“ Peace, foolish boy! Thinkest thou if gipsy lore could
unravel the riddle, that it had not long ago become known
to me? We have our gifts, our powers, our arts, and
well we know how to use them be it for good or ill. But
we know full well what the limits are. And if men
know it not, it is more their blindness than our skill that
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 275
keeps them in ignorance. And if they give us more praise
and wonder than we merit, do they not also give us hatred
and enmity in like meed? Have we not gone through
fire and sword when men have risen up against us and
called us sorcerers? Have we not suffered for our reputa-
tion; and do we not therefore deserve to wear it with
what honour we may ?â€
The woman spoke with a strange mixture of bitterness,
earnestness, and scorn—scorn, as it seemed, almost of her-
self and of her tribe, yet a scorn so proudly worn that it
scarce seemed other than a mark of distinction to the
wearer. Cuthbert listened in amaze and bewilderment.
It was all so different from what he had looked for. He
had hoped to consult an oracle, to learn hidden secrets of
which the gipsies had cognizance through their mysterious
gifts ; and, ‘behold, he was almost told that these same gifts
were little more than the idle imagining of superstitious
and ignorant men.
“Then canst thou tell me nothing?†he asked.
“T can tell thee much,†was the steady answer, “ albeit
not all that thou wouldest know; that will still be thine
to track out with patience and care. But these lines may
help; they may contain a clue. I wonder how and
where Esther learned them! But come within the cave.
The evening air grows chill, and I and thou have both
walked far, and stand in need of refreshment. All is
ready for us within. Come; I will lead the way.â€
Joanna stepped on before, and Cuthbert followed. He
had thought the cave a small and shallow place before,
276 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
but now he discovered that this shallow cavity in the rock
was but the antechamber, as it were, to a larger cavern,
where twenty men might sit or lie at ease; and the
entrance to this larger place was through a passage so
narrow and low that none who did not know the secret
would think it possible to traverse it.
Cuthbert wondered if he were letting himself be taken
in a trap as he followed the gipsy through this narrow
way; but he trusted Joanna with the confidence of instinct
which is seldom deceived, and presently felt that they had
emerged into some larger and wider place. In a few mo-
ments the gipsy had produced a light, and the proportions
of the larger cavern became visible. It was a vaulted
place that had been hollowed out of the ruddy sandstone
either by some freak of nature or by the device of men,
and had plainly been adapted by the wandering gipsy
tribes as a place of refuge and resort. There were several
rude pieces of furniture about—a few pallet beds, some
benches, and a table. On this table was now spread the
wherewithal for a modest repast—some cold venison, some
wheaten bread, a piece of cheese, and a flagon of wine.
Cuthbert, who had fared but scantily all that day, was
ready enough to obey the gipsy’s hospitable invitation,
and seated himself at the board. She helped him liberally
to all that was there, but appeared to want nothing herself ;
and whilst Cuthbert satisfied his hunger she commenced
the tale, part of which in its bare outline was already
known to him.
“Thou knowest the story of the witch burned on the
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 277
village common, nigh to Trevlyn Chase, by the order of the
knight then ruling in that house? Dost know too that
that woman was my grandam, the mother of Miriam and
~ of Esther ?â€
“T knew that not,†answered Cuthbert.
“But so it was,†pursued Joanna, her big dark eyes
fixed upon the flickering flame of the lamp she had
kindled. “I never saw my grandam myself; she had
met her doom before I saw the light. Yet I have heard
the tale so ofttimes told that methinks I see myself the
threatening crowd hooting the old woman to her fiery
death, the stern knight and his servants watching that
the cruel law was carried out, and the gipsy tribe hanging
on the outskirts of the wood, yet not daring to adven-
ture themselves into the midst of the infuriated villagers,
watching all, and treasuring up the curses and maledictions
poured upon the proud head of Sir Richard as the old
woman went to her death.â€
“A cruel death, in all truth,†said Cuthbert. “Yet why
hold Sir Richard in fault? He was not the maker of that
law; he was but the instrument used for its enforcement,
the magistrate bound to see the will of the sovereign
performed. Most like he could not help himself, were his
heart never so pitiful. I trow the Trevlyns have always
done their duty; yet I misdoubt me if by nature they
have been sterner or more cruel than other men.â€
A faint smile flickered round the lips of the gipsy. She
went on with her story without heeding this plea.
“They had made shift to see her once before her death—
278 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
my mother, my father, and Esther with them. Upon those
three she had laid a sol€mn charge—a charge to be handed
down to their children, and passed throughout all the
tribe—a charge of deadly hatred to all that bore the name
of Trevlyn—a charge to deal them one day some terrible
blow in vengeance for her death, a vengeance that should
be felt to the third and fourth generation.â€
“T have heard somewhat of that,†said Cuthbert.
“ Ay, the old woman raved out her curses in the hearing
of all as she was fastened to the stake and the flamd
leaped about her. All heard and many treasured up those
words, and hence the tradition always in men’s mouths
that the treasure of Trevlyn was filched by the gipsy folks
in fulfilment of that curse. But now another word. My
grandam laid another charge upon the tribe and all who
claimed kindred with her; and that charge was that all
should give loving and watchful care and tender service to
the house of Wyvern; that all bearing that name should
be the especial care ofthe gipsies—they and their children
after them, whether bearing the old name or not. The
Wyverns had been true friends to the gipsy folk, had pro-
tected them in many an hour of peril, had spoken them
gently and kindly when all men else spoke ill of them,
had given them food and shelter and a place to live in;
and to my grandam had given a home and sanctuary one
bitter winter’s night, when, pursued by foes who strove -
then to get her into their hands and do her to death, she
flung herself upon their charity, and received a welcome
and a home in her hour of peril and sore need. It was
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 279
beneath the roof of the Wyverns that Esther first saw the
light; and in gratitude for their many acts of charity and
kindness my grandam, ere she died, laid instructions on all
who owned her sway that the Wyverns and all descended
from them should be sacred to the gipsies—watched over
and guarded from all ill.â€
“Ah!†said Cuthbert, drawing a long breath; “and
shortly after that a Wyvern wedded with this same Sir
Richard.â€
“ Ay, and that but just one short month before his house
was to have been burned about his head, and he himself
slain had he come forth alive. All the plans were laid,
and it was to be done so soon as he should return to the
Chase after long absence. Long Robin had planned it all,
and he had a head as clever and a will as firm as any man
that ever lived. He had thought of all—he had every-
thing in order; and then came the news that the knight
had wed with Isabel Wyvern, the tenderest, the sweetest,
the gentlest maiden that ever drew breath; and when
they knew that, even Long Robin knew that no hand
could thenceforward be raised against the knight.â€
“Long Robin—who is he?†questioned Cuthbert eagerly.
_ “He is Miriam’s husband—my father,†answered Joanna,
a strange shadow passing across her face.
“ And does he yet live?â€
The gipsy paused and hesitated.
“ Ask any other member of the tribe, and _,thgg#will tell
thee that he does; but for me, I do not know; I cannot
tell.â€
280 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
Cuthbert looked at her in amaze.
“Not know, and he thy father ?â€
A curious smile crossed her face.
“We think little of such ties amongst the gipsy folk.
The tie betwixt us all is stronger than the simple one of
blood. We are all of one race—of one stock; that is
enough for us. The lesser is swallowed up of the greater.â€
“But thy mother lives; she must know ?â€
Joanna's dark eyes glowed strangely.
“ Ay, she verily must know; but will she tell what she
knows? If it be as I suspect, she must be in the plot.â€
“What plot?†asked Cuthbert, beginning to feel be-
wildered with all this intricacy of mystery.
“Thou hadst better hear my story to the end,†answered
Joanna with a slight smile; “then thou wilt better com-
prehend. Listen to me, and ask thy questions when I
have done.†:
“Speak on, then,†said Cuthbert, glad enough to hold
his peace; “I will give good heed to all thou sayest.â€
And Joanna continued her tale.
“Sir Richard, wedded to Isabel Wyvern, might no
longer be the mark for the gipsy’s curse. Esther was
then queen of the tribe, and with her, love for the
Wyverns far outweighed hatred towards the Trevlyns.
She gave it out that no hair of his head should be hurt;
the vengeance must wait. If it were to be carried out,
it must be upon another generation. So said the queen,
and none dared openly lift the voice against her; but
there were angry mutterings and murmurings in the tribe,
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 281
and none were more wroth at this decree than Miriam and
Long Robin.â€
“Her sister and that sister's husband’
“Ay. Long Robin was the head of the tribe, and loved
not to yield to the sway of a woman; but amongst us
there has always been a queen, and he was powerless to
hinder the rest from owning Esther's rule. “But he and
Miriam withdrew in wrathful indignation for a time from
the rest of the tribe, and brooded over schemes of vengeance,
and delighted themselves in every misfortune that befell
the house of Trevlyn. It was whispered by many that
these two had a hand in the death of more than one fair
child. If their beasts sickened, or any mischance happened,
men laid it to the door of Miriam and Long Robin. But
for mine own part, I trow that they had little to do with
any of these matters. Trouble is the lot of many born
into this world. The Trevlyns had no more than their fair
share of troubles that I can see. One fine stalwart son grew
up to manhood, and in time he too wedded into the house
of Wyvern—married thy grandam the fair Mistress Ger-
trude, whose eyes thou hast, albeit in many points a Trevlyn.â€
“ And what said Miriam then ?â€
“She liked it not well. Sullen, brooding hatred had
gained possession of her and of Long Robin. As Esther
and some of the tribe had learned to forgive Trevlyn for
the sake of Wyvern, those twain and a few others had
come to hate Wyvern for their alliance with Trevlyn. All
this I have been told by Esther. I was not born till after
the treasure had been stolen—born when my mother had
282 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
long ceased to look for offspring, and had no love for the
infant thrust upon her care. I was taken from my infancy
by Esther, who trained me up, with the consent of all the
tribe, to take her place as their queen when I should have
grown to womanhood. Esther loved not the roving life
of the forest ; she had other wishes for herself. She prac-
tised divination and astrology and many dark arts, and
wished a settled place of abode for herself when she could
leave the tribe. She brought me up and taught me all
I knew; and she has told me all she knows about that
strange night on which the treasure of Trevlyn was taken—
and lost!â€
“Lost—lost by the Trevlyns truly; but surely thou
dost not mean that they who stole it lost it likewise!â€
Joanna’s dark eyes were fixed. She seemed to be look-
ing backwards to a far-distant time. Her voice was low
and monotonous as she proceeded with her tale.
“The years had flown by since Miriam and Long Robin
had divided themselves from the tribe; and they had long
since returned, though still keeping aloof in part from the
rest—still forming, as it were, a separate party of their own.
Long Robin had dealings with the robbers of the King’s
highway ; he often accompanied them on their raids, he
and some of the men with him. The tribe began to have
regular dealings with the freebooters, as thou hast seen.
They come to us for shelter and for food. They divide
their spoil with us from time to time. Since the hand of
all men has been against us, our hands have been raised
freely against the world. Our younger men all go out to
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 283
join the highwaymen. We are friends and brothers, and
the wronged and needy resort to us, and are made welcome.â€
Joanna threw back her proud head as though rejoicing
in this lawless freedom; and then giving herself a little
moment for recollection, she returned to the main course of
her narrative.
“Tt was easy for us gipsies, roving hither and thither
_ and picking up the news from travellers on the road, to
know all that was going on about us and in the world
beyond. We had scouts all over the forest. We knew
everything that passed ; and when the treasure was borne
in the dead of night from Trevlyn Chase, and hidden
beneath the giant oak in the forest, we knew where and
wherefore it was so hidden, and the flame of vengeance
long deferred leaped into Miriam’s eyes. ‘This is our
hour!’ she cried; ‘this the day for which we have had
long patience! Thus can we smite the false Trevlyns, yet
do them no bodily hurt; thus can we smite them, and lay
no hand upon the housé of Wyvern. It is the Trevlyns
that love the red gold; the grasping, covetous Trevlyns
who will feel most keenly this blow! Upon the gentler
spirits of the ladies the loss of wealth will fall less keenly.
The proud men will feel it. They will gnash their teeth
in impotent fury. Our vow of vengeance will be accom-
plished. We shall smite the foe by taking away from him
the desire of his heart, and yet lay no hand upon any who
is loved by a Wyvern.’ And this desire after vengeance
took hold of all those gathered in the ruined mill that
night, whilst into Long Robin’s eyes there crept a gleam
284 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
which Esther liked not to see; for it spoke of a lust after
gold for its own sake which she had striven to quench
amongst her children, and she wished not to see them
enriched beyond what was needful for their daily wants,
knowing that the possession of gold and treasure would
bring about the slackening of those bonds which had
hitherto bound them together.â€
Joanna paused, and looked long into Cuthbert’s attentive
face. He asked no question, and presently she continued,—
“Esther laid this charge upon those who were to go
forth after the treasure:—They might move it from its
present resting-place, and hide it somewhere in the forest,
as securely as they would; but no man should lay hands
upon the spoil. It should be hidden away intact as it
was found. It should belong to none, but be guarded by
all; so that if the day should come when the Trevlyns
should have won the love and trust of their whilom foes,
we should have the power to make restitution to them
in full.†— :
Cuthbert started, and his eyes gleamed beneath their
dark brows; but Joanna lifted her hand and continued,—
“Remember I am telling the tale as I learned it from
Esther. As she spoke those words she saw a dark gleam
shine in Robin’s eyes—saw a glitter of rage and wrath
that told her he would defy her if he dared. The rest
opposed her not. The wild, free life of the forest had not
bred in them any covetous lust after gold. So long as the
day brought food and raiment sufficient for their needs
they asked no more. Men called them robbers, murderers,
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 285
freebooters; but though they might deserve these names,
there was yet much good in them. They robbed the rich
alone; to the poor they showed themselves kindly and
generous. They were eager to find and secrete this
treasure, but agreed by acclamation that it should not be
touched. Only Robin answered not, but looked askance
with evil eye; and him alone of the eight men intrusted
with the task did she distrust.â€
“Then why was he sent?â€
“Verily because he was too powerful to be refused. It
would have made a split in the camp, and the end of that
might no man see. She was forced to send him in charge
of the expedition; and he alone of the eight that went
forth ever returned to the mill.â€
“What!†cried Cuthbert, “did some mischance befall.
them ?â€
“That is a thing that no man knows,†answered Joanna
-darkly.. “It is as I have said: Long Robin, and he alone,
ever came back to the“mill. He was five days gone, and
men said he looked ten years older in those days. He told
a strange tale. He said that the treasure had been found
and secreted, but that the sight of the gold had acted like
strong drink upon his seven comrades: that they had
vowed to carry it away and convert it into money, that
they might be rich for the rest of their days; and that
when he had opposed them, bidding them remember the
words of the queen, they had set upon him, had bound
him hand and foot, and had left him to perish in a cave,
whence he had only been released by the charity of a passer-
286 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
by, when he was well-nigh starved with hunger and cold.
He said that he had gone at once to the place where the
treasure had been hid, and had found all of it gone. The
seven covetous men had plainly carried it off, and he
prophesied that they would never be seen again.â€
“ And they never were?â€
“ Never !†answered Joanna, in that same dark way ; “ for
they were all dead men!â€
“Dead! how came they so?†.
“ Listen, and I will tell thee. I cannot prove my words.
The fate of the seven lies wrapped in mystery ; but Esther
vows that they were all slain in the heart of the forest by
Long Robin. She is as certain of it as though she saw the
deed. She knows that as the men were carrying their
last loads to the hiding-place, wherever that might be,
Long Robin lay in wait and slew them one by one, taking
them unawares and plunging his knife into the neck of
each, so that they fell with never a cry. She knows it-
from strange words uttered by him in sleep; knows it
from the finding in the forest not many years since of a
number of human bones and seven skulls, all lying near
together in one place. Some woodmen found the ghastly
remains; and from that day forward none has cared to
pass that way. It was whispered that it was the work of
fairies or gnomes, and the dell is shunned by all who have
ever heard the tale.â€
“ As the lines say!†cried Cuthbert, in great excitement.
“Thinkest thou that it is in that dell that the treasure lies
hid ?â€
THE GIPSY’S TRYST, 287
“Esther thinks so, but she knows not; and I have
hunted and hunted in vain for traces of digging and signs
of disturbance in the ground, but I have sought in vain.
Long Robin keeps his secret well. If he knows the place,
no living soul shares his knowledge. It may be that long
since all has been removed. It may be he has vast wealth
stored up in some other country, awaiting the moment
when he shall go forth to claim it.â€
A puzzled look crossed Cuthbert’s face. He put his
hand to his head.
“Thou speakest of Robin as though he were yet alive,
and yet thou hast said thou thinkest him dead. And there
is Miriam—surely she knows all. I am yet more than
half in the dark.â€
“None may wholly know what all this means,†answered
Joanna ; “but upon me has Esther laid the charge to strive
that restitution be done, since now the house of Trevlyn
has become the friend and champion of the poor and op-
pressed, and the present knight is a very proper gentle-
man, well worthy of being the son and the grandson of the
house of Wyvern. This charge she laid upon me five long
years agone, when she bid the tribe own me their queen,
for that her age and infirmities hindered her from acting
longer as such. Ever since then I have been pondering
‘and wondering how this thing may be done; but I have
had to hold my peace, for if but a whisper got abroad and
so came to Miriam’s ears, I trow that the treasure, if still
it lies hidden in the forest, would forthwith be spirited
away once more.â€
288 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
“Then Miriam knows the hiding-place ?â€
“T say not that, I think not that. I have watched,
and used every art to discover all I may; and I well
believe that Miriam herself knows not the spot, but that
she knows it lies yet in the forest, and that when the hour
is come she and Robin together will bear it away, and
keep it for ever from the house of Trevlyn.â€
“ But sure if they are ever to enjoy their ill-gotten gains
it should be soon,†said Cuthbert. “Miriam is old, and
Long Robin can scarce be younger—â€
“Hold! I have not done. Long Robin, her husband,
was older by far than she. If the old man who goes by
that name be indeed he, he must be nigh upon fourscore
and ten." But I have long doubted what no man else
doubts. I believe not that yon gray-beard is Robin; I
believe that it is another who masquerades in old man’s
garb, but has the strength and hardihood of youth beneath
that garb and that air of age.â€
“Marry! yet how can that be?â€
“It might not be so hard as thou deemest. In our
tribe our men resemble each other closely, and have the
same tricks of voice and speech. Nay, it was whispered
that many of the youths were in very truth sons to Robin;
and one of these so far favoured him that they were ever
together, and he was treated in all ways like a son.
Miriam loved him as though he had been her own. Where
Long Robin went there went this other Robin too. He
was as the shadow of the other. And a day came when
they went forth together to roam in foreign lands, and
THE GIPSY’S TRYST. 289
Miriam with them. They were gone for full three years.
We gave up the hope of seeing them more. But suddenly
they came amongst us again—two of them, not three.
They said the younger Robin had died of the plague in
foreign lands, and all men gave heed to the tale. But
from the first I noted that Long Robin’s step was firmer
than when he went forth, that there was more power in
his voice, more strength in his arm. True, he goes about
with bowed back; but I have seen him lift himself up
when he thought there was none to see him, and stretch
his long arms with a strength and ease that are seldom
seen in the very aged. He can accomplish long rides and
rambles, strange in one so old; and our people begin to
regard him with awe, as a man whom death has passed by.
But I verily believe that it was old Robin who passed
away, and that this man is none other but young Robin;
and that in him and him alone is reposed the secret of the
lost treasure, that he may one day have it for his own.â€
“And why to him ?-’ questioned Cuthbert, drawing his
brows together in the effort to understand ; “why to him
rather than to Miriam or any other of the tribe?â€
“Verily because he was the one being in the world
beloved of Long Robin. Miriam he trusted not, for that
she was a woman, and he held that no woman, however
faithful, might be trusted with a secret. I have heard him
say so a hundred times, and have seen her flinch beneath
the words, whilst her eyes flashed fire. Methinks that
Long Robin loved gold with the miser’s greed—loved to
hoard and not to spend—loved to feel it in his power, but
(878) 19
290 THE GIPSY’S TRYST.
desired not to touch it. Miriam was content so long as
vengeance on the Trevlyns had been taken. She wanted
not the gold herself so long as it was hidden from them.
But the secret was one that must not die, and to young
Robin it has been intrusted. And if I mistake me not, he
has other notions regarding it, and will not let it lie in its
hiding-place for ever. He is sharp and shrewd as Lucifer.
He knows by some instinct that I suspect and that I
watch him, and never has he betrayed aught tome. But
sure am I that the secret rests with him; and if thou
wouldest find it out, it is Long Robin’s steps that thou
must dog and watch.â€
“JT will watch him till I have tracked him to his lair!â€
cried Cuthbert, springing to his feet in great excitement.
“TI will never rest, day nor night, until the golden secret is
1?
mine
CHAPTER XIV.
LONG ROBIN.
THE gipsy had left him, gliding away in the moonlight
like a veritable shadow; and Cuthbert, left alone
in the dim cave, buried his face in his hands and sank into
a deep reverie.
This, then, was the meaning of it all: the long-deferred
vengeance of the gipsy tribe; the dvaricious greed of one
amongst their number, who had committed dastardly crimes
so as to keep the secret hiding-place in his own power
alone; the secret passed on (as it seemed) to one who
feigned to be what he was not, and was cunningly awaiting
time and opportunity to remove the gold, and amass to
himself this vast hoard—none beside himself of all the
tribe heeding or caring for it, all holding to the story
told long ago of the seven men who had disappeared
bearing away to foreign lands the stolen treasure. A
generation had well-nigh passed since that treasure had
been filched from the grasp of the Trevlyns. The stalwart
fellows who had been bred up amongst the gipsies, or had
joined the bands of freebooters with whom they were so
closely connected, knew little of and cared nothing for the
292 LONG ROBIN.
tradition of the hidden hoard. They found gold enough
in the pockets of the travellers they waylaid to supply
their daily needs; the free life of the forest was dear
to them, and left them no lingering longings after wealth
that might prove a burden instead of a joy to its possessor.
Out of those who had been living when the treasure
was stolen and lost, only Miriam and Long Robin (if indeed
it were he) and Esther remained alive. Esther had retired
to London, and was lost to her people. Miriam had done
everything to encourage the belief that the treasure had
been made away with by the seven helpers who had gone
forth, but had never returned to tell the tale. Esther,
who had thought very differently, had confined her sus-
picions for a time to her own bosom, and later on had
spoken of them only to Joanna. Upon her had she laid
the charge to strive to make restitution, now that vengeance
had been inflicted and the curse of the old witch fulfilled.
To Joanna it belonged to restore prosperity to the house of
Wyvern through the daughters’ sons, and it was for her to
strive to learn where the treasure lay, and give notice of
the spot to the Trevlyns.
The queen had done all that she could. She had
watched with close attention the pair with whom Esther
believed the secret to lie. Miriam, her mother, knew not
the spot, of that she was convinced ; but she did know that
the treasure had been hidden somewhere in the forest by
her husband, and that the exact place was known to the
white-bearded man whom she and others called Long
Robin.
LONG ROBIN. 293
About that weird old man, said to be well-nigh a
hundred years old, a flavour of romance existed. Men
looked upon him as bearing a charmed existence He
went his lonely way unheeded by all. He was said to
have dealings with the fairies and the pixies of the forest.
All regarded him with a species of awe. He had drawn,
as it were, a charmed circle about himself and his ways.
None desired to interfere with him; none questioned his
coming or going. All brought to him a share of the spoil
taken on the roads as a matter of right and due, but none
looked to receive aught in return from him. He and
Miriam, from their great age, lived as it were apart. They
took the place of patriarchal heads of the tribe, and were
treated with reverence and filial respect by all.
The question Cuthbert had pressed home on Joanna was
why, this being so, the treasure had not been moved away
before this, so that Miriam should end her days im peace
and luxury, instead of growing old in the wilds of the forest.
Joanna's reply had been that she did not think Miriam
had ever really wished to leave the free forest life; that
with her, vengeance upon the Trevlyns had beem the lead-
ing impulse of her life; and that she had no covetous
desires herself after the gold. Old Robin had loved it
with the miser’s love; but doubtless the younger Robin
(GE indeed the long-bearded man were he) was waiting
till such time as Miriam should be dead, amd he alone in
full possession of the golden secret. Them he would
without doubt bear it away and live like a primce the
rest of his days; but for the present he made no move,
294 LONG ROBIN.
and Joanna was very certain that he suspected her of
watching him, as indeed she did, and he had shown himself
as cunning as any fox in baffling her when she had sought
to discover any of his haunts. Her watching had been in
vain, because she was suspected of a too great knowledge,
and was looked upon as dangerous. But where she failed
Cuthbert might succeed, for he was absolutely unknown to
Robin, and if the two were to meet face to face in the
forest, it would be impossible that the wily old man (if old
he were) should suspect him of any ulterior purpose.
Robin had not been at the mill the night that Cuthbert
had been brought there by Tyrrel and his companions.
Joanna had described him so graphically that the lad was
certain of knowing him were he to come across him in the
forest. She had also indicated to him the region in which
she suspected him most generally to lurk when he spent
days and sometimes weeks alone in the forest. She believed
that during the summer months, when the forest became
the resort of many wandering bands of gipsies or of robbers
and outlaws, he kept a pretty close and constant watch
upon the spot where his treasure lay hid. The dell, at the
head of which the bones of the seven murdered men had
been found, was certainly a favourite spot of his; and she
believed it was owing to some trickery of his that men
still declared it haunted by evil or troubled spirits. Trav-
ellers passing that way had been scared almost out of
their senses by the sight of a ghostly white figure gliding
about, or by the sound of hollow moans and the rattling
of chains. None but the ignorant stranger ever ventured
LONG ROBIN. 295
within half-a-mile of that ill-omened spot. Cuthbert, as
he sat thinking over the gipsy’s words and charge, saw
clearly that there was ample room for suspicion that here
the treasure might lie, since Robin took such pains to
scare away all men from the spot.
The light burned dim; but Cuthbert still sat on beside
the rude table where he had supped. Before him lay the
scrap of parchment with the doggerel lines of the wise
woman inscribed upon them. It had been something of
a shock to his faith to find that the wise woman knew all
his story beforehand, and had had no need to dive into
the spirit world to ask the nature of his errand. He felt
slightly aggrieved, as though he had been tricked and im-
posed upon. He was very nearly burning the parchment
in despite; but Joanna had bidden him keep it, and had
added, with a slight significant smile-—
“Keep it, boy; and think not too hardly of those who
juggle with men’s fears and fancies, to obtain the greater
sway upon them. It is not always used amiss. As for
those lines, there may be more in them yet than thou or I
can see at this moment. For there may be words in them
that have been spoken by Long Robin in his dreams.
Esther has told me such before now. She knew not their
meaning, nor do I; but that they have a meaning she is
very sure. ‘Three times three’—that was what he was
muttering ever. It was the burden of his thought, even
as she made it the burden of her song. Keep the lines;
they may serve thy turn yet. Esther is a wise woman.
She did not give thee that paper for naught.â€
296 LONG ROBIN.
The day had well-nigh dawned before Cuthbert flung
himself upon one of the pallet beds in the cave, and fell
asleep from sheer weariness of mind and body; but he
was young, and sleep came quickly and held him in a fast
embrace. The silence and darkness of this underground
place were favourable to a long spell of repose. The youth
did not open his eyes till the sun had passed its meridian
many hours, though no ray of daylight glinted into that
dim abode.
It might have been the middle of the night for all he
knew when he opened his eyes once again; and when he
did so he lay perfectly still, for he was convinced that he
was yet in the midst of some strange dream. He was in
the cave of red sandstone where he had fallen asleep,
lying in the darkest corner of all upon a straw pallet,
with his sad-coloured cloak over him ; but the cave itself
was lighter than it had been when he had fallen asleep.
Two torches flamed upon the table, and by the bright
flame they cast upon the objects near to’ them, Cuthbert
saw a strange and weird-looking figure.
This figure was that of a man, who was seated at table,
and had evidently been partaking of some refreshment.
He was dressed in outlandish garb, and in a fashion which
was only affected now by very old men, who had worn
such garments all their lives, and were averse to change.
Cuthbert had occasionally seen such a dress amongst the
aged folks about his home, but this was more fanciful
than any assumed by a mere rustic, and gave to the tall
thin figure a certain air of distinction. A soft felt hat
LONG ROBIN. 297
with a high crown lay upon the table; and the light shone
full upon a face that was seamed by tiny wrinkles, and
upon a thick head of hair that was either flaxen or white,
Cuthbert could scarcely say which. The face was almost
entirely hidden by a tangled growth of beard as white as
snow, which beard descended almost to the man’s waist,
and was of wonderful fineness and bushiness. At the first
glance the impression produced by this strange apparition
was that he was a man immensely old; but a closer ex-
amination might well raise doubts. The air and bearing of
the man were strangely alert for an octogenarian, and the
way in which he tackled the- hard bread and cheese
which still stood before him was scarcely like the fashion
in which the aged generally eat.
Cuthbert held his breath as he gazed. Was this a
dream—the outcome of his talk with the gipsy? No,
he was awake; he became more and more sure of it.
But lying perfectly still, and not betraying his presence
by so much as a deeply-drawn breath, he gazed and gazed
as if fascinated upon the face of this strange being, and in
his heart he said,—
“Long Robin himself!â€
He was certain of it; there could be no manner of mis-
take. Dress, air, everything corresponded with Joanna’s
description. For a moment a sick fear crossed his mind
lest he should have left upon the table the fragment of
parchment with the mystic words upon it, for he had had
no idea that the cave would be invaded that night. But
no; the habit of caution had been strong within him, and
298 LONG ROBIN.
he had put the paper away before retiring to his corner.
Plainly the man before him had no suspicion that any
living soul was near. The deep shadows of the cave hid
Cuthbert completely from view, and the secret entrance to
the inner cave was doubtless known to very few. None
would suspect the presence of a hidden stranger there.
As Cuthbert watched as if fascinated, Robin ceased eat-
ing, and pushed back his stool, rising to his feet quickly,
and showing the grand proportions of his tall figure, which
certainly deserved the epithet of “long.†He stretched
his arms, and swung them backwards and forwards with
a gesture strangely unlike that of age; and throwing back
his broad shoulders, he began pacing to and fro in the
cave with a firm, elastic tread seldom seen after the me-
ridian of life is passed.
“Joanna is right,†thought Cuthbert, crouching closer
against the wall and into the shadows; for he had no wish
to be discovered by this giant, who would probably have
scant mercy upon an observer who might have taken his
measure and discovered his secret now that he was off his
guard. “In all truth this man is not old; he can scarce
be above forty years. It is by some clever artifice that
he whitens his beard to that snow-like hue. He himself
is young and strong. He shows it in every movement.â€
He certainly did, pacing to and fro with rapid strides;
and presently he began to mutter words and phrases to
himself, Cuthbert listening with all his ears.
“A curse upon the women!†he said more than once;
“they are the very plague of my life! Miriam’s besotted
LONG ROBIN. 299
love, Joanna’s suspicions and her accursed watch upon me,
both hinder my plans. If the twain were in league to-
gether, it could not be worse. Miriam implores me with
tears and lamentations to wait till she be laid in the tomb
for the fulfilment of my cherished dream. And if I
thwart her too far, there is no telling what she may not
say or do. Love and hate in jealous natures such as hers -
are terribly near akin, and the love may change to burn-
ing hatred if once I provoke her too far. She knows not
all, but she knows too much. She could spoil my hand
full well if she did but tell all she knows. And that jade
Joanna, how I hate her! She has been well drilled by
that witch Esther, who ought long ere this to have been
hanged or burned. I would I could set the King’s officers
on her now; but if I did I should have the whole tribe at
my throat like bloodhounds, and not even my great age
would serve to save me from their fury. Ha, ha! ha,
ha!†and a sardonic laugh rang through the cave. “Would
that I could wed Joanna to Tyrrel, who would give his
soul to call her his: Once the wife of a member of the
band, and some of her power would go. I misdoubt me
if any would long call her queen; and when she had
babes to fill her mind and her thoughts, she would soon
cease to watch me with these suspicious eyes of hers, and
to make me fear continually for my secret. Would that
they were both dead! Would that I could kill them even
as he killed the other seven who had a share in the golden
secret! I would strangle them with my own hands if I
did but dare. Once those two removed from my path and
300 LONG ROBIN.
my way would be plain. I could remove it all, bit by
bit and piece by piece, away from this accursed forest, of
which I am sick to the death. Then in some far-off
foreign land of perpetual sunshine, I could reign a prince
and a king, and life would be one long dream of ease and
delight ; no more toil, no more privation, no more scorch-
ing summer heat or biting winter cold. I have seen
what the life of the East is like-—the kneeling slaves, the
harem of beauteous dark-eyed women, the dream-like in-
dolence and ease. That is the life for me. That is
whither I and my treasure will go. A plague upon old
Miriam, that she clings to these cold forests and the sordid
life we live here! But for her insane jealousy and love
I would defy Joanna and go. But the pair of them are
too much for me. I must find a way of ridding myself
of one or both. I will not be bound like this for ever!â€
The man raised his right hand and shook it with a
vehement, threatening gesture; and then relapsing into
sudden moody silence, continued his pacing to and fro,
wrapped in gloomy thought.
Cuthbert held his breath as this monologue proceeded,
and a sense of unlooked-for triumph made his heart swell
within him. Here was proof positive that the treasure
lay still in the forest; that it had, not been taken thence
and dissipated ; that it still remained to be found by his
unremitting endeavours. The youth felt almost as though
the victory were already his. What might not a few
weeks of patient perseverance bring? He would dog
Robin’s steps like a bloodhound. He had not been brought
LONG ROBIN. 3o1
up to hardship and forest life for nothing. To sleep
in the open, to live scantily on such fare as might be
picked up at the huts of the woodmen or in the camps
of the gipsies, was nothing to him. He would live on
roots and wild fruits sooner than abandon his quest.
Nothing should come between him and his overmastering
resolve to win back for the house of Trevlyn the long-lost
treasure.
But as he mused and Robin impatiently paced the floor
of the cavern, the torches burned slowly down, till one
flickered and went out and the other showed signs of
speedy extinction. Robin, with a start and an oath,
stopped in his walk and muttered that. he must be gone.
He placed upon his head the slouched hat, that at once
concealed his features, and gave a different expression to
his face. As he donned his hat and took up a heavy
oaken staff that lay upon the table, his whole aspect
changed. He seemed to don likewise a new action, a new
outward appearance altogether. His straight back bent
and assumed a stoop such as one sees in men who have
long grown old. There came a feebleness into his gait, a
slight uncertainty into his movements. And all this was
done so naturally, so cleverly, that Cuthbert, as he gazed
fascinated at the figure before him, could scarcely believe
that his eyes had not played him some strange trick—
could scarcely credit that this could be the same being as
the upright, stalwart man, whose movements he had been
watching during the past half-hour. But all this only
went to show how shrewd Joanna’s surmise had been, and
302 LONG ROBIN.
every corroborating fact increased Cuthbert’s confidence
in all that she had told him.
Leaving the last torch to die into obscurity by itself,
Long Robin made for the opening in the wall which led
to the outer cave, and Cuthbert rose swiftly and silently
and crept after him, gaining the opening in time to see
the tall figure slouching across the moorland track in the
direction of the westering sun.
Afraid of following too closely, and so of being seen,
Cuthbert retreated once more into the cave,‘and had the
forethought to fill his wallet with the remains of the meal
of which both he and Long Robin had partaken. He did
not know exactly what was his best course to pursue, but
it seemed a pity to let Long Robin out of his sight
without tracking him to some one of his lairs or hiding-
places.
Cuthbert now knew that he had slept during the greater
part of the day, and taking a draught of mead, and rapidly
munching some bread and cheese, he fortified himself for
his evening stroll, and then, before the torch actually ex-
pired, found his way to the opening again, and so out
upon the moor.
Far away, but still distinctly visible against the bright
sky, was the tall figure of the gipsy. Cuthbert was not
afraid of being seen at so great a distance, but he still took
the precaution of keeping all the tallest bushes and clumps
of flowering gorse between him and the quarry he was fol-
lowing ; and when at length the trees of the wooded tracts
rose up before his eyes, he quickened his pace slightly, and
LONG ROBIN. 303
gained decidedly upon Robin before he glided into the
dark pine forest.
Before doing this, the gipsy turned back and looked
carefully round; but Cuthbert was already crouching be-
hind a bush, and escaped observation. As soon as Robin
had fairly disappeared, the youth rose and ran quickly
after him, and soon caught glimpses of the tall, stooping
ficure wending its way amongst the ruddy pine stems,
now dyed golden and crimson in the glow of the bright
sunset.
On and on he went in the fading light, and on and on
went Cuthbert in steady pursuit. This part of the forest
was strange to the youth, but it was familiar enough to
the gipsy. From the mechanical way in which he chose
his track, and the direct certainty with which he walked,
it was plain that he knew every inch of the road, and
could have found the path by night as well as by day.
“Sure it must lead to the haunted dell,†thought Cuth-
bert, as the gloom deepened around him and the wood
grew denser and denser. The pines began to be mingled
with other trees. The undergrowth was thicker and more
tangled. It was not always easy for Cuthbert to force his
way along. He paused sometimes in fear lest his steps
and the cracking of the boughs should be heard by the
man in advance of him.
On and on they went, and now the track became more
distinct, and it led downwards. An owl in a tree over-
head hooted as Cuthbert passed by, and something of a
cold shiver ran through the young man’s frame; he
304 LONG ROBIN.
stumbled over the outspread root of a gnarled old oak,
and fell, making more noise than he liked.
The owl flew away, hooting ominously as it seemed to
his strained nerves, and the hooting was answered as from
the very heart of the dell, if dell it was, mingled with
many other strange and fierce sounds. Cuthbert rose to
his feet and crept forward with a beating heart, and as
he did so he heard a shout of demoniacal laughter which
chilled the very blood in his veins, and seemed to raise
the hair upon his head, so unearthly was the sound.
But making the sign of the cross upon his brow, and
striving to keep his presence of mind and his courage un-
impaired by ghostly terrors, Cuthbert still pursued his way
downwards into this dim, strange place. He felt more and
more certain that this was the pixies’ dell of which the
verses spoke—the dell wherein some deed of darkness had
been committed that caused it to be shunned of all; and
it needed all his native stoutness of heart to enable him to
conquer his fears and ‘pursue his way, as he reflected on
the foul murders that had been committed not far off,
and wondered if indeed the restless souls of those to whom
Christian burial had been denied hovered by night about
the ill-omened spot to fright away all travellers who strove
to pass that way. :
For a while the fearful sounds of hooting and laughter
continued, under cover of which he crept nearer and nearer
to the centre of the dell. Presently they ceased, and a
death-like silence ensued. Cuthbert dared not move, and-
scarcely dared to breathe. This was the most trying ex-
LONG ROBIN. 305
perience he had yet had. He had felt far less fear on the
darkly-flowing river and in that strange underground cellar,
against both of which the wise woman had warned him.
But after a long pause of silence he heard another and
a different laugh—a laugh in which he recognized the
sardonic intonation he had recently heard from the lips of
Long Robin.
“I trow that has been enow,†spoke a voice nigh at
hand, though the speaker was invisible owing to the thick
growth of bushes. “If that sound were caused by aught
but a rabbit or wild-cat, I wager the hardy traveller has
taken to his heels and fled. But I misdoubt me that it
was anything human. There be sounds and to spare in
the forest at night. It is long since I have been troubled
by visitors to this lone spot. The pixies and I have the
-dell to ourselves. Ha, ha!â€
“ Robin’s voice again!†whispered Cuthbert to himself,
creeping forward with the cautious, snake-like movement
that he had learned when snaring birds or rabbits to fur-
nish the scanty larder at the Gate-House. He advanced
by slow degrees, and soon gained what he desired—a view
of his quarry and of the heart of the dell.
In the fading light he could see both plainly. Long
Robin was seated upon a low stone wall overgrown with
moss, that seemed to be built around a well; for it was of
circular construction, and to the listener was borne the
faint sound of running water, though the sound seemed to
come from the very heart of the earth. Round this well
was a space of smooth greensward—sward that appeared
(878) . 20 :
306 LONG ROBIN.
to have been untouched for centuries. All around, the
sides of the dell rose up, covered with a thick growth of
wood and copse. It was a lovely spot in all truth, but
lonely to the verge of desolation. Cuthbert dimly re-
membered having heard fragments of legends respecting
a pixies’ dell in the heart of the forest—a dell avoided
by all, for that no man who ventured in came forth alive.
Most likely this was the place; most likely the legend of
fear surrounding it was due to some exaggerated version
of old Robin’s ghastly crime in bygone years. Cuthbert
gazed and gazed with a sense of weird fascination. He
fully believed that in some spot not many yards from
where he stood lay hidden the lost treasure of Trevlyn,
and that the secret of that resting-place remained known
to one man only in the whole world; and that was the
man before him !
A wild impulse seized Cuthbert to spring upon that
bowed figure, and, holding a knife to the man’s throat, to
demand a full revelation of that secret as the price of life.
Perhaps had he not seen but an hour before how upright,
powerful, and stalwart that bending figure could be, he
would have done it then and there. But with that memory
clear in his mind, together with his knowledge of the per-
fectly unscrupulous character of the gipsy, hé felt that
such a step would be the sheerest madness; and after
gazing his fill at the motionless figure, he softly crept away
once more.
He lay hidden in the bushes till he heard Long Robin
leave the dell and go crashing through the underwood with
LONG ROBIN. "307
heavy steps, cursing as he went the two women who stood
between him and his desire. It was plain from his mut-
tered words that he was going back to the camp now.
Plainly he had paid his visit to the hoard and found all
safe and undisturbed. Cuthbert was more and more con-
vinced that the treasure lay here, as Esther had always
believed ; and it would be strange indeed, being so near, if
he could not find it in time.
But he would not search to-night; he had the whole
summer before him. Plainly Long Robin was not going
to take any immediate step for the removal of the treasure;
and during the last hours a great longing had come upon
Cuthbert to see Petronella again. He was within ten
miles of his old home now, and the thoughts of his sister
had been mingling with these other thoughts of the lost
treasure. Surely he could find his way to the Gate-House
from this lonely dell, and once there, by making a signal
at his sister’s window, he could advise her of his presence
and gain a stolen interview.
So taking his bearings from the moon, he struck boldly
across the lonely waste of forest that lay between him and
his former home, and soon found himself tramping over the
ling and moss of the high ridge of common land with
which the woody tracts of the forest were frequently in-
terspersed,
As he thus tramped the words of the verses began sing-
ing in his head: “Three times three—o’er ling and moss.â€
What was that three times three? The question mingled
with his dreams of his sister, and suddenly the thought
308 LONG ROBIN.
came to him, Could the three times three be miles—miles
from the giant oak from beneath which the treasure had
been taken? Three times three—it might well be so.
The distance was surely about nine miles. The spot where
the Trevlyns had hid their treasure lay directly in Cuth-
bert’s way as he marched steadily towards the Gate-House.
He saw the giant oak rise up before him in the moonlight,
and he hastened to the spot and stood beneath the over-
hanging branches. .
Standing beneath it with the oak behind him, he looked
straight along the way he had come across the ling and
moss. Surely there were nine miles, and little more or less,
between the one spot and the other. And again, with
the oak behind there was a beech at his right hand, and
straight before him the road to the pixies’ dell. Well, it
might not be much, yet it seemed like a link in the chain.
Esther had perchance heard Robin mutter these numbers
in his troubled sleep. Surely he had been thinking or
dreaming of that long nine miles’ tramp, and the words he
had used to direct the men whom afterwards he had foully
and treacherously murdered !
“T am on the track! I am on the track!†cried Cuth-
bert exultantly, as he pursued his way. “The secret lies
hid in the pixies’ dell. Surely if I have learned as much
as that, I cannot be long in finding out the whole!â€
And with thoughts of his sister, of Cherry, of Kate, warm
in his heart, Cuthbert sped gaily along in the direction of
his old home. .
Midnight struck from the clock in the turret of Trevlyn
LONG ROBIN. 309
.Chase as the youth approached the gray walls of the old
Gate-House. How grim and hoary it looked in the white
moonlight! Something of a faint shiver of repulsion ran
through Cuthbert’s frame as he looked upon the familiar
outline of the building. Was it possible that all but the
few last months of his life had been spent there? It
seemed to him that the old life was already like a dim and
distant dream, and that the fuller life he had enjoyed since
leaving was the only one that had any reality about it.
But he well knew the habits and the sullen ferocity of
the grim old man his father, and it was with cautious
steps that he approached the walls. No light burned in
any window. The inmates of the building were doubtless
wrapped in sleep. He well knew his sister’s window, and
cutting himself a long hazel bough, he gently swept it to
and fro across the glass. This had always been a signal
between them in their childhood, and many had been their
nocturnal rambles taken together when Cuthbert had con-
trived to escape from the house before it was locked up,
and had then called Petronella and assisted her down by
the tangled ivy that clung to the gray old walls. He knew
she would recognize in a moment who was outside when
she heard the tapping of that hazel wand; and it seemed
indeed as if she did, for in a moment the window was
opened, and a soft tremulous voice asked eagerly,—
“Cuthbert, can it be thou ?â€
“Tt is indeed I, sweet sister. Canst thou come to me?
Hast thou lost thy cunning or thy lightness of foot? I am
here to help thee.†|
310 LONG ROBIN.
“TJ will come to thee anon; but the little postern door
is seldom locked since thou art gone, and I can get out
thus. Linger not beside the house, Cuthbert; speed to
the chantry—I will meet thee there. He might hear or
see thee here. Do not linger; go. I will be with thee
anon ; I will not keep thee but a few short minutes. But
do not tarry; go!â€
There was such earnestness in her soft whispers that
Cuthbert did not attempt to reply save by a brief nod.
He slid away in the darkness and took the familiar but
now tangled path to the chantry, looking round the old
ruin with loving eyes; for it was the one spot connected
with his home not fraught with memories of pain and fear.
“ Poor little timid Petronella!†he mused. “Was T right
to leave her thus alone with our harsh father? Yet I
could do nothing for her; and it seemed as though my
presence in the house stirred him up to continual fury. I
would I had a home to bring her to. I would I might
earry her off with me now. But what could she do in the
forest, away from the haunts of men? Nay, she must
tarry here but a little while. Then will I come and claim
her. Then will she have dowry worthy her name and
state. Oh that lost treasure, that lost treasure! what
happiness will there be in store for very many when that
lost treasure is found !â€
And then he paused and held out his arms, for light
steps were speeding towards him through the dewy grass,
and Petronella, with a little sobbing cry, flung herself upon
him, to be infolded in a strong embrace.
CHAPTER XV.
PETRONELLA.
“¢ *UTHBERT, is it—can it really be thou? â€
“ Petronella—sister! What happiness to see thee
once more!â€
She clung to him almost sobbing in the excitement of
pure happiness. He could feel that she trembled in his
arms, and he infolded the slight frame ever closer and
closer.
“ Sweetest sister, fear not! Dost fear I could not pro-
tect thee from harm? Believe me, thou hast a wondrous
different brother now from the cowed and timorous lad who
went forth from these doors but six short months back.
Fear not, my sister; look up, and let me see thy face. I
would learn how it has fared with thee since we parted
that night on this very spot, though it now seems so
long ago.â€
Petronella heaved a long sigh, and her tremblings gradu-
ally ceased. It seemed as though the brotherly clasp of
those strong arms stilled her fears and brought comfort and
soothing. But as Cuthbert held her closely to him, it seemed
to him almost as though he clasped a phantom form rather
312 PETRONELLA.
than one of solid flesh and blood. There seemed nothing
of the girl but skin and bone; and looking anxiously into
the small oval face, he noted how wistful and hollow the
great dark eyes had grown, and how pinched and worn
every feature. Had it always been so with her? He
scarce knew, for we heed little the aspect of those about
us when we are young and inexperienced. Petronella had
always been somewhat shadowy and wan, had always been
slight and slim and small. But was she always as wan
and slight as she now seemed? or did he observe it the
more from the contrast it presented to Cherry’s blooming
beauty, to which his eyes had grown used? He asked the
question anxiously of himself, but could not answer it.
Then drawing Petronella into the full light of the silver
moon, he made her sit beside him on a fragment of
mouldering wall, and holding her thin hands in a warm
clasp, he scanned her face with glances of earnest scrutiny.
“ My sister, hast thou been ill?â€
She shook her head with a pathetic little smile.
“ Alas, no! Methinks I am a true Trevlyn for that.
Sickness passes me by and seizes upon others who might
so much better be spared.â€
“Why dost thou say ‘alas’ to that, sweet sister ? â€
“Verily because there be times when I would so gladly
lay down my head never to lift it more. For me death
would be sweeter than life. The dead rest in God’s peace- ~
ful keeping —my good aunt at the Chase has told me so,
and I no longer fear the scorching fires of purgatory. I
have a little New Testament now of my own, full of sweet
PETRONELLA. 313
promises and words of love and peace. When I read of
the pearly gates and the streets of gold, and the city into
which nothing unholy may enter, I long sorely to leave
behind this world of sin and sorrow and find a refuge
there. But I would know more of thee, Cuthbert, and
of what thou hast seen and done since thou hast left the
Gate-House. For me I have naught to tell. Life here is
ever the same. But thou must have done and seen so
much. May I not hear thy tale? May I not learn how
it has fared with thee ?â€
Cuthbert was willing enough to outpour his story to
her, sitting beside her in the old chantry, where so many
happy hours of their shadowed childhood had been spent.
He told of his adventures by the way, of his night with the
gipsies, of his timely rescue of Cherry and his admittance
to his uncle’s house. He told of his uncle’s wonderful story
of the gold that was to be all for his sister; told of the life
at the bridge house, and his attachment to his cousin Cherry.
The only matter he named not was that of his meeting
with Master Robert Catesby, and all that had followed in
which he was concerned. Petronella would only be be-
wildered by so many strange things. It was enough to
tell her of his recent adventures in the forest, and his
growing hopes of coming upon traces of the lost treasure.
Petronella listened to the whole of this tale with parted
lips and wide-open eyes, as a child listens to a tale of
fairy romance and wonder. She could scarce believe that
all these strange things had befallen her own brother; but
as she questioned and he answered, she gradually began to
314 PETRONELLA.
understand, to enter into his feelings, and to obtain a
clearer comprehension of the situation of affairs. Her
intercourse with the Trevlyns of the Chase had done some-
thing to widen her knowledge of life, and Cuthbert found
that her mind had matured and expanded in a fashion he
had hardly expected. He wondered where she had picked
up some of the bits of experience that fell from her lips
from time to time, and he looked somewhat searchingly
into her face.
“ Methinks, my sister, that time has not stood still with
thee since I went away. Thou art wondrous wise for thy
years. Who has been thy instructor ? â€
Even in the moonlight he could see the sudden flush
that dyed her cheek and neck at the question.
“T have been to the Chase as much as our father would
permit—indeed, I fear me I have been oftener; but I was
very lonely, and they were all so kind. And Philip, he
has been often here. He has been in very truth a—a—
brother to me in thy place. Methinks but for him I
should almost have died. But, O Cuthbert, it is hard,
it is hard!â€
The last words were spoken with such sudden passion
and vehemence that the youth started and looked once
again at his sister. Of old, Petronella had always been so
gentle, so meek and yielding, that to hear such an out-
burst from her startled him not a little,
“ What is hard, sweet sister ?â€
“To be the daughter of—of—such a father as ours,â€
she answered, lowering her voice and speaking with infinite
PETRONELLA. 315
sadness now. “ Heaven knows I have striven to love him,
‘ have striven to obey him, have striven to be all a daughter
should—â€
“ Ay, verily thou hast!†answered Cuthbert warmly. “I
have chidden thee many a time before this for the meekness
that raised no protest let him be never so harsh. Thou
hast done more than thy share, sweet Petronella. None
.can blame thee for rebellious thoughts or words. If he
will none of our love or service, the fault is his, not ours—
thine least of all, for thou wast ever gentle and meek.â€
“T have tried,†repeated Petronella sadly; “and when
thou hadst gone and the tempest had something subsided,
I tried as never before to be a loving daughter, and make
up to him for the loss of his son. But he would have
none of my love. He drove me from his presence with
bitter words. I had perforce to seck others, if I were to
live at all; and though he hurled taunts and harsh speeches
at me oftentimes, he did not forbid me that house, albeit he
scarce knew perchance how oft I was there, since he shut
himself up more and more, and sometimes saw me not
from one week’s end to the other.â€
“ What a lone life for thee, my sister !â€
“Yes, it was lone, save for the comradeship of our
cousins. But that was better, far better, than what fol-
lowed.â€
Cuthbert looked quickly at her, and his eyes darkened.
“ And what did follow, Petronella ?â€
She bent her head a little, that he might not see the
expression of her face. Her words were falteringly spoken.
316 PETRONELLA.
“Tt was not many weeks since—it was when the days
began to lengthen out, and the forest paths to grow decked
with flowers—that some evil thoughts of suspicion came
into his head, I know not how, and he dogged my steps
as I wandered in the woods; and twice—nay, thrice—he
came suddenly upon us as we walked together in the
woodland dells.â€
“«We’? who was with thee, sister ?â€
“ Philip,†she answered very softly, and there was some-
thing in the tender intonation with which she spoke the.
name that told a tale Cuthbert was not slow to read. He
had guessed as much before, but this made assurance
doubly sure; and with the sympathy of the ardent young
lover, he put his hand on Petronella’s and pressed it
tenderly. She understood the meaning of that clasp, and
looked gratefully at him, going on with more confidence
afterwards.
“Tt was with Philip that he found me; and the sight
filled him with a sullen fury—the fury that thou knowest,
brother, which brooks no opposition, no words. He would
not hear Philip speak. He struck him on the mouth—a
cruel blow that caused the blood to spring forth; and he
dragged me away by main force, and locked me up in the
pillared chamber, vowing to keep me a prisoner all my
life an I would not promise never to speak with Philip
again.â€
“ And thou?â€
“T told him I would promise naught. save to meet him
no more in the forest. I was glad to promise that; for I
PETRONELLA. 317
feared our savage father might kill him in a fit of fury
were he to find us again together. I should have been
terrified to wander forth with him more. I promised
that, but I would promise no more.â€
« And did that satisfy him?†asked Cuthbert breathlessly.
“Tell me all, my sister. He did not dare lay hands on
thee ?â€
Petronella smiled faintly.
“Methinks he would dare anything he wished; but he
let himself be satisfied with that pledge. Only he kept
me many days in that dim place of terror, and gave me
but scant prisoner's fare the while. Cuthbert, as thou art
free and thou art nigh, wilt thou to Trevlyn Chase for me
ere thou goest back into the forest, and tell Philip what
has befallen me, and that I may no more hope to meet
him in our favourite haunts? Tell him all I have told to
thee, and bid him keep himself from this house. It is an
ill place—an ill place! Ah, Cuthbert, were I but a man
like thee, I would fare forth as thou hast done. I would
not stay beneath yon roof to be starved in soul and peony
and spirit. O father, father!â€
The cry was one of exceeding bitterness, and yet in it
spoke a patience that moved Cuthbert strangely.
“Sister, my sister!†he cried, in accents of suppressed
agitation, “I know not how to leave thee here. Petronella,
why not forth with me to the forest? Sure I could pro-
tect thee there and give thee a better home beneath the
greenwood trees than our father does beneath yon grim
walls. And, sister, I could take thee to our uncle, Martin
318 PETRONELLA.
Holt. Sure he would give thee asylum with him, as he gave
to me. Thou wouldst have Cherry for a sister. Thou—â€
But Petronella shrank away a little, and looked scared
at the thought. Hers was one of those timid natures that
find it easier to endure even a terrible wrong than to take
a bold step to escape from it. The life of the forest might
have attracted her, for she loved the freedom of the wood-
lands, and had no fears of loneliness or privation. But °
she had heard from Cuthbert of the bands of outlaws and
gipsies, of Long Robin and his murderous hatred, and of
other perils which she felt she had scarce courage to face.
She feared that if she let Cuthbert carry her off she would
but prove a burden and a care, whilst the thought of
London and the strange relations there filled her with dis-
‘taste and dread.
“Nay, nay, my brother; I have borne much—I will
bear a little more. I love the old Gate-House as thou
hast never loved it; and perchance after this storm there
may be a lull of quiet peace. I should but hamper thee,
and hold thee back from that great purpose ; and—â€
“But Martin Holt, he would welcome thee; and once
beneath his roof—â€
“ Nay, Cuthbert, it might well be that our father would
guess whither I had fled, and would come and drag me
back. I am not of an age to resist him. And I ama
helpless woman, not a man. I have thought many times
of flight, but I fear me it would but lead to worse.â€
“T know not that.’ answered Cuthbert thoughtfully.
“Our uncle Martin is a good man ; and, Petronella, remember
PETRONELLA. 319
that whether or no thy brother finds the lost treasure, he
holds in his keeping a dowry for thee that will make thee
no unworthy mate for Philip Trevlyn when the day comes
for him to claim thee as his bride. Nay, hide not thy
face, sister.â€
“Alas, alas, my brother! that day will never come! My
father—â€
“Nay, courage, sweetheart; our father’s power lasts not
for ever, and we will be happy yet in spite of him. And,
sister mine, we must have kinsfolks somewhere of the
house of Wyvern. Our father never speaks to us of any
such matters; but hast thou heard aught at the Chase ?â€
Petronella looked quickly up at him.
““ Ay, I have heard them speak of kinsfolk of that family,
albeit I heeded not greatly what they said. Are they our
kinsfolk likewise ?â€
“ Ay, verily, inasmuch as our grandam was a Wyvern;
and there have been Wyverns of two generations that have
wed with the Trevlyns, as thou hast heard in the story of
the lost treasure, which I have told to thee. Sister, it
might be that thou mightest find a refuge with them safer
than with mine uncle of the bridge, who might perchance
think I asked too much were I to bring my sister to him,
albeit he is a kind man and a just; but—â€
“But I trust I may not have to flee,†said Petronella,
with the same air of shrinking that she had shown before.
“T have borne so much; surely I can bear the rest, until
thou hast found the treasure, and all is changed for us.
When thou art rich and great, and high in favour with all,
320 PETRONELLA.
then perchance thou canst prevail even with our stern
father, and win his leave to carry hence thy poor little
sister. Till then I will strive to remain.â€
Cuthbert took her hand and held it between his.
“ Petronella, I like it not—I like not to leave thee here;
but it must be as thou desirest. Only, remember one thing,
my sister. I am nigh at hand. I am in the forest, not
many miles away ; and if things should become worse with
thee, thou canst fly to me thither; thou wilt find me,
doubtless, in or about the pixies’ dell, of which thou hast
heard me speak, for it is there that my closest watch will
be held. Thinkest thou that thou canst find the place ?â€
“I trow so; thou hast told me how to doso. Nine
miles across the open forest, starting from the Trevlyn oak,
with the great beech to the right. If I am forced to fly,
I will fly thither by night, and the stars will be my
guide. Brother, it is good to feel that thou art near.â€
“ Ay, Petronella, I am glad indeed; for I fear me some-
times that our father—â€
“What, Cuthbert ?â€
“That he must surely be going mad. It is hard to
believe he could so persecute his children were it not so;
and it is not fitting that thou shouldest dwell beneath the
roof of a madman.â€
The girl shivered slightly, and her dark eyes dilated.
“Thinkest thou so, Cuthbert 2 Sure I had thought it
was his wrath at finding that we loved not the faith in
which he has brought us up; that first thou and then I have
learned to find comfort in the holy Book he has denied to
PETRONELLA. 321
us, and to find that there be other holy things than our
priests have taught us, and purer truths than methinks
they know themselves. I thought that was why his anger
burned so hotly against us. That was his quarrel with
thee, and methinks he must have suspected me, else would _
he scarce have dogged my steps as he did.â€
“Tt may be so,†answered Cuthbert; “but I fear me he
has brooded over his wrongs and his sins until he is well-
nigh beside himself. My sister, let not thy patience lead
thee into peril. Remember what I have said, and whither
I may be found. I will take thy message to Philip. He
shall be bidden not to anger thy father further by seeking
thee. After that it is for thee to decide whether thou canst
still live in such solitude as must then be thine at the Gate-
House, or whether thou wilt fly to me in the forest.â€
“TI will remember,†answered Petronella, rising to her
feet; for even here, and at this hour, and with her brother
for her companion, she dared not linger long. “Tell my
kind aunt that the Testament she gave me is the solace
and happiness of my life. I think of her words every day,
and they are written on my heart. Though I see her not,
my blessing rests upon her. I would that she could
know what peace and joy she has helped to bring into my
lonely lot.â€
“T will tell her,’ answered Cuthbert, as he took the
slight form into his arms. “She will be rejoiced to hear
it, I doubt not. I too, my sister, have shared some of that
peace myself. I have found that the faith in which we
were reared, albeit it holds much of golden truth, has been
(378) 210
322 PETRONELLA.
so overlaid by artifice of man that the gold is sadly tar-
nished. I have some deep love for it yet, but I love better
the purer faith that I have learned from the written Word
of God, and have heard from the lips of godly men of the
_ Established Church of the land. I have seen and heard
much in yon great city, and methinks that all creeds have
much that is true—much that is the same; but it seems
the nature of man to fight and wrangle over the differences,
instead of rejoicing in the unity of a common faith ; where-
fore there be misery and strife and jealousy abounding,
and the adversaries may well blaspheme. But I came not
to talk such matters with thee, sweet sister; they baffle
the wisdom of the wisest. Keep fast hold of the peace
thou hast found, and let no man take it from thee. I
would I lived not in the midst of such weary war of words.
There be times when the heart sickens at it, and one is fain
to lay all aside sooner than have to own allegiance to any
one party, when one sees the bad as well as the good of all.â€
Petronella’s eyes were wide with astonishment and per-
plexity. She felt as though she had a very Solon for a
brother when Cuthbert talked after this serious fashion.
But she too had heard from the Trevlyns of the Chase
somewhat of the burning questions of the day, and she was
not wholly uninstructed in the matter.
“That is one boon granted to us weak women,†she said,
with a shadowy little smile. “We are not called upon to
take part in the world’s battlefield. We may think our
own thoughts, and go our quiet way in the main unheeded
and unmolested. But I am glad that thou dost see as I do,
PETRONELLA. 323
my brother. It is sweet to find accord in those we love.
And now I must be gone; I dare not linger longer.
Heaven bless and keep thee ever! I shall carry my daily
load more lightly for this happy hour spent together.â€
Cuthbert kissed her many times before he let her go,
reminded her again of the place where he himself might be
found, and then walked slowly with her towards the old
Gate-House, only letting her go when she desired it, and
watching her glide towards the little door with a sense of
sinking at heart which he could hardly explain.
As for Petronella, she stole within the door, which she
bolted behind her, as she had found it, and felt her way
up the narrow winding stairs that led to the ground floor
of the house. The postern door was below that level, and
had a little stair of its own leading to the house, from
which it was again shut off by another door at the top.
When Petronella had stolen out to meet Cuthbert, she had
left. this door open, so as to avoid all needless noise ; but
when she reached the head of the stairs, she found it closed,
and her heart gave a sudden throb of dismay as she stood
quite still listening and wondering.
Surely she had left it open? her memory had not de-
ceived her! No; she remembered debating the matter
with herself and deciding to do so. Could it have shut by
itself afterwards? She could scarcely believe it. It was
a heavy oaken door, that moved ponderously on its hinges ;
and the night was calm and breathless. No current of air
could have blown upon it. Had some person from above
come down and shut it after her? and if so, who could
324 PETRONELLA.
that person be? and had he suspected that she had oe
out into the night, and for what purpose ?
With a wildly-beating heart and a frame that felt ready
to sink into the ground with fear, Petronella tried the latch
of the door, and found it yield to her hand. She pressed
it open and then stood suddenly still, a gasp of terror and
dismay escaping her; for there, in the middle of the hall,
the moonlight falling full upon his tall rugged figure, stood
her father, waiting with folded arms for his truant
daughter, a look upon his stern face that she shivered to
behold.
“So, girl!†he exclaimed, making one stride forward
and catching the frail wrist in a vice-like grasp which al-
most extorted a cry of pain—“ so, my daughter, thou hast
come in from this midnight tryst with thy lover! And
what dost thou think is the reward a father bestows upon
a, daughter who leaves his house at this dead hour of the
night to meet the man he has bidden her eschew for ever?â€
Petronella’s agitation was so great that she was well-nigh
swooning. Her nerves had been on the strain for some
time. The excitement of seeing Cuthbert again, of hearing
his story and telling her own, had been considerable. And
now to be confronted by a furious father, and accused of
having broken her solemn pledge, and of having met her
lover at an hour of the night when no virtuous maiden
would dream of such a tryst, was more than she could bear.
Slipping to her knees, she laid her hand upon her father’s
robe, and clutching hold of it, as if for support, she gasped
out the one word,—
PETRONELLA. 325
“Pardon! pardon!â€
“Thou mayest well sue for pardon, false jade; but to
win it is another matter. Say, vile girl, whom I blush to
call my daughter—say how oft hast thou thus gone forth
to meet thy lover?â€
“ Father—father, revile me not thus!†cried the girl,
beside herself with agitation, fearful of betraying Cuth-
bert’s near presence to the Gate-House, lest the angry man
should contrive to do him some injury or gain some hold
upon him, yet terrified at the accusations levelled at her
own head, which seemed to bear some show of reason.
“ Father, have pity ; drive me not to despair, as thou didst
drive my brother. I am so lonely and so miserable. Pity
me! pardon me!â€
“Answer my question, base girl. How oft hast thou
done this deed before to-night ?â€
“Never before, my father, never before! Ah, do not be
too hard upon me! I have done no wrong—I swear it!â€
“Keep thy false oaths for thy false lover !†cried the
angry man; “I will have none of them. Thou hast passed
me thy word once, and I believed thee, and thou hast played
me false. I will never believe thee again—never, never !
Thou hast made thy bed, and thou shalt lie upon it.â€
And with that the angry man flung the kneeling girl
from him with such violence that she fell against the wall,
and striking her head sharply, sank stunned and uncon-
scious at his feet.
“Serve her right well, the false minx, the evil jade!â€
spoke the heartless father, as he strode back to his own
326 PETRONELLA.
room without so much as going across to the girl to know
if she were severely hurt. “She will be safe enow for this
night. She will not seek to go forth again. She shall
smart for this barefaced defiance. I will not be set at
naught by both of my children. I will not—I will not!â€
When Petronella awoke from what seemed to her a long
dream, she found herself in her own bed, tended by the
deaf-and-dumb servant, who was sitting beside her and
watching her with wistful glances. A glad smile lighted
up the woman’s face as Petronella made a sign that showed
she recognized her; but no speech was possible between
them, and the girl was too weary to care to ask questions
by means of the series of signals long since established be-
tween them. She turned her eyes from the light, and
fell asleep again like a tired child.
For several days her life was more like one long sleep
than anything else. It was some while before she remem-
bered any of the events immediately preceding this mys-
terious attack of illness; and when she did remember, the
events of that night seemed to stand out in fearful colours.
' Yet there was one thought of comfort: Cuthbert was
not far away. Since her father had openly accused her
of vileness, deceit, and treachery ; since he had struck her
down so cruelly, and had not even come to see her in her
helplessness and weakness, must not Cuthbert’s surmise
be the true one—must he not surely be mad? She could
see by the old woman’s cowering looks if the door moved
on its hinges, how much she feared the terrible master ;
and when Petronella was sufficiently recovered to be able
PETRONELLA. 399
to enter into the kind of conversation by means of signals
which in some sort resembled the finger-talking of more
modern times, she learned that indeed her father was in a
more black and terrible mood than ever before, and that old
Martha herself went in fear of her life.
Bit by bit the old woman made the girl understand what
had happened. Shortly after the day upon which she had
found her young mistress lying cold and insensible on the,
stone floor of the hall, Philip Trevlyn had come to the Gate-
House, and had demanded an interview with the owner.
Right well did both the women know the nature of that
errand, though none had been present but the young lover
and the enraged father. There could be no manner of doubt
but that, incited to it by Cuthbert’s tale, he had come to
make a definite offer of marriage, and doubtless had tried to
bribe the avaricious old man by some tempting offer of gold
or land. But whatever had been the terms in which the
proposal was couched, anger had proved a stronger passion
with Nicholas than greed. Philip had been driven from
the house with a fury that threatened actual violence, and
for hours afterwards Nicholas had raged up and down the
house like a wild beast in a cage. He had once gone up
to his daughter’s room with a face so full of fury that the
old woman had feared he meant to fall upon her then and
there ; but even he had been calmed by a glance at the
still, unconscious face upon the pillow, so white and blood-
less and death-like——and the man had gone down with a
quieter footfall than he had mounted, but had been brood-
ing in sullen fury ever since, so that the old servant had
328 PETRONELLA.
feared to approach him even to bring him his needful food.
She had spent -almost all her time up with her young
mistress, afraid to leave her by night or day lest some
mischance should befall her.
All this the girl gradually understood as she became
strong enough to take in the silent talk of the old woman.
She knew that she must have lain some days in this state
of unconsciousness, for the trees were greener than they had
been when she had seen them last, and the sunlight was
fast gaining its golden summer-like glow. There was some-
thing exhilarating in the beauty and richness of reviving
_ nature, and even Petronella’s wan cheek kindled into a
flush of pleasure as she looked forth once again upon the
fair world around her dismal home.
Home? no, that was no longer the word for it. Slowly
but surely the knowledge had come to her that Cuthbert
had been right, and that this house could no longer be
a home to her. Right well did she credit now, what
had never entered her mind before, that her father had
brooded and brooded until his very mind had become
unhinged. He was not master of his words when he
spoke to her as he had done upon that terrible night; he
was not master of his actions when he had flung her
away and left her lying unconscious on the stone floor.
There was even some slight comfort in this thought,
though it settled for ever the doubt in her mind. She
must leave the Gate-House so soon as she was strong
enough to walk, and she must find her brother in the
forest, and place herself beneath his care.
PETRONELLA. / 329
The old servant approved the plan. She herself could
find a refuge at Trevlyn Chase; but that house would be
no shelter for her young mistress. Her father’s authority
would be enough to carry her back into captivity; and
what her fate would be, were she to have escaped him once
and be again brought back, was a thought to shudder at.
“T must go back to Cuthbert,†she said to herself, as
she looked over the fair landscape, and thought longingly
of the cool, dim woods, and the free life of the forest.
Her own home was nothing now but a prison - house.
She knew that if she presented herself before her father
sound and whole, she would at once be placed under some
close restraint that would effectually hinder her from
carrying out her plan. He would sooner kill her, as she
verily believed, than permit her such liberty as might
enable her to meet by accident or design any member of
the household from the Chase. If she were to succeed in
her escape, the attempt must be made whilst her father
still believed her too feeble to stir from her bed; after
that she would be too closely watched for it to be possible.
The old woman entered into this scheme with alacrity
and zeal. Petronella kept to her bed; and when Nicholas
Trevlyn demanded by signs how it fared with his daughter,
he was answered by solemn shakings of the head. If he
mounted the stairs to see with his own eyes how she was,
he saw her lying upon the bed with closed eyes and wan
face, and would smile with an evil smile and mutter that
she was safe enough now—safe enough now.
Yet each day hope and the good food the shrewd old
330 PETRONELLA.
woman contrived to provide for her did its work upon
Petronella’s frail body, and she grew better every hour.
Indeed, after some while she felt stronger than she had
done for many weeks before her illness; and in due time
even the fond old woman began to see that there was no
need to postpone longer the scheme of escape.
It was a simple little scheme, yet one which promised
success if carefully carried out. Nicholas Trevlyn was :
accustomed to take night by night a posset of mead,
brewed in some particular way by Martha. She was,
upon the night planned as the one for the escape of
Petronella, to add to this posset some drops of a concoction
prepared by herself from herbs, which would infallibly
produce sound and deep sleep within two hours. The
master of the house asleep, all would be simple. The two
women would sally forth by the postern door, and make for
the forest. With the first light of the dawn, Martha would
seek the shelter of Trevlyn Chase, whilst Petronella sought
her brother in the pixies’ dell. Nicholas Trevlyn would
awake the next morning to find himself alone in the old
Gate-House that he had made intolerable for any other
inmate.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE PIXIES’ DELL.
FTER leaving Petronella close to her home, and
watching the slight figure vanish within the postern
door, Cuthbert turned his own steps towards the Chase,
resolved to see Philip and tell him what had passed be-
tween him and his sister before returning to the forest
dell where he had resolved to keep his watch.
He would not make any disturbance at the house at
this dead hour of the night; but as he was familiar with
the place, he quickly found his way to a small pavilion in
the garden, the door of which was not locked at night,
and stretching himself upon a wooden settle which stood
there, he quickly fell asleep, and slept soundly and well
until awakened by the sound of a startled exclamation.
Springing to his feet, bewildered for a moment, and
unable to remember where he was, he found himself con-
fronted by the eager, startled face and big lustrous eyes
of his cousin Kate.
“Cuthbert! thou here!†she exclaimed in amaze. “Thou
surely hast not brought me ill news of my—of Culver-
house!†and a deep flush overspread her face as she spoke.
Cuthbert hastened to reassure her. He explained that
332 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
he had not seen OCulverhouse since they parted in the
forest, and that his own errand was of a private nature,
and concerned himself and his sister.
“Ah, poor Petronella! methinks a hard lot is hers,
Cuthbert. My brother does what he may; yet that is
but little, and of late he has not been able so much as to
get sight of her. Yet I see not what thou canst do for
her. Thy father is even more incensed against thee than
against us!â€
“T came but to see with mine own eyes how she fared,
and to breathe a word of hope in her ear. Kate, sweet
coz, let me breathe that same word in thine; for thou
wast the one to give me hope and confidence when all
besides looked on me as a wild dreamer. Methinks I am
on the track of the lost treasure! Methinks with patience
and care I shall find it yet.â€
Kate’s eyes kindled and glowed.
“ Nay, now, that is good hearing! Said I not ever that
the old saws spake sooth? And is not the luck to return to
the house of Wyvern through its daughters’ sons? Cuth-
bert, tell me more—tell me all! How is it thou hast
succeeded where all besides have failed ? â€
“T cannot lay claim to success as yet,†answered Cuth-
bert, smiling. “J have not said the treasure is mine, only
that I trow I know where soon I may lay hands upon it.
Sweet Kate, when all that gold is brought back to the
halls of Trevlyn Chase whence it was taken, sure thy
dowry will be fair enough to win Lord Andover’s smiles.
Sure thou wilt not then be-afraid to own—â€
THE PIXIES’: DELL. 333
But Kate laid her soft hand upon his lips and glanced
round with startled eyes. Courageous as she was to carry
out a bold resolution, she was not free from nervous
timidity too.
“ Speak not the words, good Cuthbert, neither here nor
yet within the walls of the Chase. I have not dared to
breathe to them at home the thing I have done. Heaven
pardon me if it were a sin; but I may not wish it undone.
It is so sweet to feel myself his; and if it be as thou sayest,
we may not have long to wait ere he may claim me before
the world. But if thou findest the treasure thyself, will
it not be all thine?†;
“T trow not, and I trust thou hast no such evil thoughts
of me, fair cousin, as to think that I would keep all, when
but a portion was my father’s share, and that will scarce
be mine whilst he lives. I do but hope to restore it, to
those to whom it rightfully belongs. I trow there will be
enough to make all glad and happy, and I doubt not that
something of good hap may come to me thereby. But to
lay claim to all—why, that would be a scurvy thought,
unworthy a man of honour.â€
Kate’s bright face was full of eager sympathy and
approval.
“T like thee, Cuthbert,†she cried; “I like thy honest
thoughts and words. ‘Thou art in sooth a very proper
youth. Thou art worthy of thy Wyvern blood, which I
hold to be purer than that of Trevlyn, which has times
and again been stained by acts of malice, greed, and
violence. But see, the sun is rising in the sky! We must
334 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
back to the house for the morning meal. And, Cuthbert,
good Cuthbert, thou wilt keep my secret? Thou wilt not
tell of our meeting on May-day in the forest ? â€
“Never a word an thou biddest me not,’ answered
Cuthbert, with a smile. “So that is to be a secret, Lady
Culverhouse ? â€
She recoiled with a little start, her eyes dancing, her
cheeks aglow.
“O Cuthbert, I had not thought that my name was
changed. Lady Culverhouse! What a pleasant sound it
has! But oh, not a word at home! I dare not tell them
aught till Culverhouse be by my side. I misdoubt me
that I did right to let him persuade me thus; and yet I
could not say him nay, and I longed to hear the words
spoken that should bind us to each other. But I dare not
tell my father! I trow both he and my mother would
chide full sternly. In truth, I fear me it were scarce a
maidenly act. But, O Cuthbert, love is so strong—so hard
a task-master. Where he drives, it seems that one needs
must go;†and she looked up at him with such arch appeal
that he felt those glances would go far to soften the
sternest parental heart.
“In truth, I believe thee, fair coz, and I will keep thy
secret faithfully. It is safe with me; and I trust that all
will end happily when the lost treasure shall return to the
house of Trevlyn.â€
And talking eagerly upon this theme, which was also
to be kept secret from all the world besides, the cousins
walked towards the house. Cuthbert received a warm and
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 335
hearty greeting from all his kinsfolks there, who were
pleased that he should have kept his promise and have
come to see them with the long days of early summer.
Sir Richard and his wife were both pleased with the
fashion in which the youth had developed; his intelli-
gence and information were now plainly apparent; and
had taken a fresh impetus from the new surroundings in
which he had found himself. He could talk with dis-
crimination and insight on all the leading topics of the
day, had plainly lost much of his old rusticity of thought
and speech, and had become an interesting and _ self-
possessed youth.
But his errand was really to Philip, and to him he
spoke in private of his sister’s story, and how she had
promised to obey her father and to see him no more.
Cuthbert could assure the disappointed lover that this was
no indication of coldness on Petronella’s part, but that it
was done from a sense of filial duty, combined with a fear
of some violence on her father’s part towards her lover
should he be provoked too far. Cuthbert was as certain
as Philip could wish that Petronella’s heart was entirely
his. He had read the girl’s secret in the tones of her
voice and in the shy glances of her soft eyes. He told
Philip, too, of the gold that was awaiting the girl in her
uncle’s keeping, and added that he was certain sure that
Martin Holt would be glad enough to give it over to his
niece if she had a sturdy husband of the Reformed faith
to take care of her and it. -His only fear was of its falling
into the hands of the Papists—which thing would have
336 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
been abhorrent to the grandsire whose legacy the money
was. That fear laid to rest, he would be glad to be rid of
the charge, and to give over the gold to its rightful owner.
Philip’s heart was with Petronella, and he had not
concerned himself as yet with any thoughts as to her
poverty and his own somewhat impecunious position as
his father’s heir, but with three sisters to be provided for
out of the revenues of the impoverished estate. He was
man of the world enough to know that this dowry would
do much to smooth his path when the time should come
for making known his case to his parents, but for the
moment his thoughts were all with the lonely girl shut up
so relentlessly by her father. .
“T will see Nicholas Trevlyn,†he said, with stern
decision. “Things have gone too far not to go further. I
will see him, and make formal application for his daughter’s
hand. He cam but refuse me, and I shall tell him plainly
that I decline to give her up at any word of his. I can
wait with patience till she is of age to judge for herself ;
but she is the woman of my choice, and her alone will I
wed if she will have me.â€
Cuthbert’s face was grave and troubled.
“ And waiting for that, she may well be done to death
within those walls, as I should have been had I not fled.
I am in trouble of heart anent my sister. I pray she
may find her way to me yet in the free forest!â€
Philip started and looked surprised.
“Ts there likelihood of that?â€
“T know not. I bid her come if our father should
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 337
grow more harsh, and told her where I likeliest might be
found. I purpose to dwell for a while myself in the forest,
albeit thou wouldest mock me if thou knewest the where-
fore.â€
“To search for the lost treasure, I doubt not,†said
Philip with a smile, remembering the talk of the autumn
previous. “ Marry thou hast my best wishes for a happy
quest. But what couldst thou do with a tender maid out
in the woods with ‘thee ?â€
“T scarce know that myself; but anything would be
better than life with a madman—as I trow our father is
like to become an he change not his habit of life. Belike
I would take her to mine uncle on the bridge; yet per-
chance he would not thank me for adding to his charges.
If we had other relatives—â€
“Why, and so ye have, even as we have. Hast never
heard of my Lady Humbert and Mistress Dowsabel Wyvern?
They must be kinsfolk of thine as well as of ours, and they
dwell not very far distant from here, albeit I myself have
never visited them.â€
Cuthbert raised his head and looked eagerly at Philip.
“T would know more of that,†he said.
“Tt is not much I can tell thee. This Lady Humbert
is a widow, and is sister to that Gertrude Wyvern who
was my grandam and thy aunt. Mistress Dowsabel is her
younger sister; and albeit they are both now of a good
old age, they dwell together, with only servants for com-
pany, in a house thou wouldest have passed on the road to
London hadst thou not taken the lonelier way across the
(878) 99
338 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
heath. My father and mother go each year to see after
their welfare, and a letter comes now and again from them
with greetings or questions. We of the younger genera-
tion have never been to visit them, since they are too old
to wish for the presence of the young, and love not to see
the changeless current of their lives interrupted. I re-
member that of old, when we were in disgrace for some
prank, our grandam would shake her head at us and vow
we should be sent to her sister Dowsabel for chastisement,
and stay with her till we learned better manners. So we
have grown up in the fancy that these kinswomen be
something stern and redoubtable ladies. Nevertheless, if
thou wast to put thy sister beneath their care, I trow they
would receive her with kindness and treat her well, and
she would scarce regret the Gate-House were the captivity
never so hard. Nor would Nicholas Trevlyn be like to
seek her there, though at the Chase he would find her
at once, were we to strive to aid her flight as we aided
thine.†,
Cuthbert saw this plainly, and asked a few more eager
questions about these ladies and where they might be
found. He hardly knew whether or not he expected
Petronella to flee away to him, but at least it would do
no harm to be prepared in case she did so.
Philip told him all he knew, which was not much. The
house would be easily found, as it stood upon the high-
road just a mile from a large village, its gates opening
straight upon the road, although at the back were gardens
and pleasaunces and a clear trout stream. It seerned to
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 339
Cuthbert as he listened that such a place as this might
prove a safe haven of refuge for his sister should one be
needed, and he resolved that if she once came to him he
would persuade her to place herself beneath the protection
of these ladies.
He would well have liked to see her again, to have
whispered something of this new plan into her ears. But
though he lingered much about the house during the two
short weeks he spent at the Chase, he saw no glimpse of
his sister, and he did not dare to summon her out to meet
him at night, lest haply the suspicions of the grim old
tyrant should be aroused.
Leaving Philip fully determined to see Nicholas Trevlyn
ere long, to lay before him his formal proposal for Petro-
nella’s hand, and confident. that all at the Chase would
befriend her as far as it was possible, Cuthbert, afraid to
linger longer in the immediate vicinity of the Gate-House,
took his departure for the forest, resolved to give himself
over heart and soul to the search after the missing treasure,
and not to give it up until every nook and corner of the
pixies’ dell had been subjeced to the closest scrutiny.
Tt was easy to obtain from Philip all such tools as would
be needful for the task of excavation. Although the young
man himself had small hopes of Cuthbert’s success, he was
interested in spite of himself in the proposed plan, and
would have been more so had he known how much had
been already discovered. But Cuthbert kept much of that
to himself, not willing that tattling tongues should spread
the rumour. Only to real believers in the hidden treasure
340 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
did he care to speak of the gipsy’s strange words and the
visit to the wise woman of Budge Row. Philip, he thought,
would smile, and perhaps he would speak of the matter to
his father, who in turn might name it to some one else,
‘and so it might come round, through the gipsy spies and
watchers, to the ears of Long Robin himself. That, as
Cuthbert well knew, would be well-nigh destruction to all
his cherished hopes ; yet one who believed not would smile
at his fears, and could scarce be expected to observe the
needful caution. As Cuthbert started for his nine miles’
tramp in the cool of the evening, with his tools slung across
his shoulders, he was glad to think that he had resisted
the temptation to speak openly of this matter to any but
Petronella and Kate. With them he well knew the secret
was safe, for they entertained for Long Robin just the same
suspicious fear as he did himself, and their lips were sealed
even as his own.
The walk was nothing for his strong young limbs; but
as he approached the lonely dell, he instinctively slackened .
his speed, and proceeded with greater caution. The thick
growth of the trees made the place dark in spite of the
moon, which hung low in the sky and shone between the
trees in long silvery beams; and the tangled path which
once had led to the forest well had been long overgrown
with a mass of bramble and underwood, through which it
was hard to force a way.
But Cuthbert cautiously proceeded, listening intently for
any sounds of life to indicate the presence of Long Robin,
the only being likely to be near at such an hour; but all
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 341
appeared to be intensely still, and presently he commenced
his cautious descent into the dell itself, and at last stood
beside the old stone wall that guarded the mouth of the
well.
Cuthbert had heard something of that well since he had
been at his uncle’s house. Some of the old servants at the
Chase knew the forest well, and he had been told the story
of the pixies’ dell: how it had once been a noted spot in the
forest, and how travellers turned aside to drink the waters,
which were not only fresh and clear and cold, even on the
most sultry summer’s day, but were reported to possess
healing properties, especially if taken at certain hours of
the night and in certain phases of the moon. Long ago
there had been a monastery near the well, and the monks
had dispensed the waters to the applicants who came. But .
the monastery had fallen into ruins and had disappeared,
and after that the pixies were given the credit of the heal-
ing waters. People came to drink them, though less
frequently than before; and as the place grew more lonely
and deserted, rumours began to float about that the pixies
Were inimical to man, and that the waters no longer
possessed their old power. Later on still, a more terrible
thing was discovered: it was said that it was death to ap-
proach that dell and drink the waters. Men’s bones had
been found in great numbers close about that spot, and it
_ was plain that they must belong to the unhappy wights
who, disregarding cautions, had ventured to the place, and
had died before they could get away from thence.
After that, as may well be guessed, no sick folks had
342 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
cared to trouble the dell again. Travellers made a wide
circuit to avoid it, and it was held to be the place of most
evil repute in the forest.
All this story was well understood by Cuthbert, who felt
no fear of the spot, only a little natural awe as he recol-
lected the deed that had once been done there. The moon
was going down as he looked about him; the dark hour
before morning was about to fall upon the world. He
looked about for a resting-place in which to conceal him-
self till he could commence his search, and found the place
he desired in a hollow tree, just beyond the circle of smooth
sward that surrounded the well itself.
Plainly this tree had been used before for a like purpose.
The leaves had been carefully raked together within, and
were covered by a warm rug, in which Cuthbert was not
sorry to wrap himself, for the night air was sharp and chilly
though the days were hot.
“Long Robin’s rug, or I greatly mistake me,†he said
with a smile. “I trow he would be sore amazed were he
to come and find me here. Howbeit he would but take
me for a passing wayfarer, since he knows not my face,
and I misdoubt me if he come to-night. He fears too much
Joanna’s watchful eyes and Miriam’s jealous ones. I will
sleep in peace till daylight dawns, and then I will begin
my search.â€
Sleep came quickly to the lad’s eyes, but it was only
light, for with the first blush of dawn he awoke and _pre-
pared to commence his work.
His tools he had hidden away beneath the heap of leaves
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 343
which had formed his bed, and he did not disturb them
for the time being, but walked forth and examined the dell
for himself before making any excavation.
First his attention was given to the patch of greensward
around the well; but this was so smooth and even that it
seemed as if it had not been disturbed for ages. Such
soft emerald turf, as Cuthbert well knew, was the growth
of centuries, and there was no sort of trace or seam to
indicate the handiwork of man.
Round and round the open space he paced, his eyes fixed
upon the ground beneath his feet, his quick glance shifting
from spot to spot, as he strove for some indication, however
faint, of the existence of some hidden hoard. |
“Yet it is certain to be well hid. It were strange if I
did light upon it in the first hour,†he said to himself at
length, covering his disappointment with a smile. “I will
break my fast with the good fare given me by my fair
cousin Kate, and will taste the waters of the magic well.
I trow I shall take no harm from them. Long Robin will
scarce have poisoned the spring from which he himself must
ofttimes drink.â€
Whilst he partook of his simple meal, he looked about
him with keen and eager glances, wondering where he
should next search, and striving to see traces of footsteps
in the sandy sides of the dell, or breaks in the tangled
growth of underwood that would indicate some track used
by Robin. Cuthbert shrewdly suspected that he would not
be able to resist the temptation of going frequently to the
spot where the buried treasure lay, to see if the ground
344 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
remained undisturbed, and he thought that the surest way
of discovering this spot was to seek for traces likely to
be left by him; or, failing these, to watch patiently from
some obscure spot till the gipsy came again to the dell,
when it was probable he might betray the secret by his
own movements.
“Tf I dig and delve before the clue is mine, I may chance
to put him on his guard, and find nothing. No; I will be
patient—I will be very cautious. Success comes to him
that can wait. Long Robin is a foe not to be despised or
trifled with; I can tell that from his own words and
Joanna’s. He would take a hundred lives to save his
golden secret. He is cautious and cunning and wary. I
must try to be the same.â€
All that long summer’s day Cuthbert prowled up and
down the dell, searching for some trace, however slight,
which should give him the clue, and searching in vain.
The only path where the undergrowth was in any way
trodden was the one by which he and Robin alike ap-
proached the well, the old, half-obliterated track that once
had been so freely used. All around the sides of the dell,
fern and bramble, hazel and undergrowth of all kinds, grew
in wild confusion. Search as he would, Cuthbert could find
nothing like a path of any kind. Did Robin indeed trust
to that tangled undergrowth to keep his secret hid? And
if so, what chance was there of its being found unless the’
whole dell was dug up ?
A short while back it seemed so much to have found
out this dell. When he had been resolved to search the
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 345
whole forest through, no wonder the task had been prac-
tically impossible ; but when he had had indications of a
confined locality, he had looked upon his work as well-nigh
accomplished, and had come here with a heart full of high
hopes. And now he was confronted by difficulties that
appeared almost as insurmountable as before; for he
plainly saw the hopelessness of attempting single-handed
to delve the whole dell over.. Robin would return before
the task was more than begun. He would guess the im-
port, would set a close watch, and would slay the bold
invader of his haunted dell without pity or remorse.
Whilst the only other plan, that of bringing a gang of men
to work strong enough to be a guard to themselves, was
simply out of the question for Cuthbert. He had no money
himself. His uncle Martin would certainly not give him
the gold in the box for any such hare-brained scheme ;
whilst to appeal to Sir Richard, with nothing to back his
statements but what would be looked upon as old wives’
fables and gipsy delusions, would only be to provoke
ridicule and scorn. The Trevlyns had long given up the
treasure as lost beyond recall. They had no sort of hope
of recovering it, and the present owner of the Chase and
his lady were in particular very greatly averse to any sort
of dealings with occult magic and gipsy lore, Cuthbert
had a shrewd notion that there was little enough of magic
in any of the words and dark sayings he had heard. He
had been let just a very little behind the scenes, and had
his own opinions on the subject. His faith in spirits and
familiars had been greatly shaken; but he knew that his
346 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
story would sound wild and improbable, and he was by no
means sure that even Joanna would consent to appear be-
fore Sir Richard and repeat it all to him. She was anxious
to do her part towards making restitution; but, having
put the clue in Cuthbert’s hands, would very likely con-
sider that part done, and decline to be questioned further
by any one.
“What I do I must do alone,†said Cuthbert to himself,
with a sigh, at the close of that day of toil and discourage-
ment. “Well, I should have been mightily surprised had
I lighted on the treasure at the close of the first day. I
ought not to be thus discouraged, and yet I am. Still
there is one more thing to do. If I can but watch Long
Robin, surely I shall learn somewhat from him. I vow
that that is better far than prowling aimlessly about the
dell. Let me spend my time and strength in building for
myself some nook high up in one of yon trees, from which
vantage-ground I may spy upon his doings. If I can but
get me up high enough, I can watch him from spot to spot.
Sure I should be stupider than a daylight owl an I could
not learn somewhat from his looks and actions on his next
visit. And it will be safer for me to have mine own perch.
I will venture to sleep’one more night in the tree ; but after
that I will sleep by day and watch by night, for it is
plain that he is a night-bird in his visits here.â€
The next day Cuthbert set to work with a better heart.
It was not difficult to find the sort of nook he wanted high
up in the branches of a great sycamore. The oaks were
hardly thick enough yet to conceal him, and the foliage of
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 347
the elm was somewhat scanty still, for all that the season
was forward. But by good hap there chanced to be,
amongst the tall trees that fringed the round of sward, a
noble sycamore in full leaf and very thick; and by skil-
ful contrivance, and with the help of his tools, Cuthbert
quickly built himself up there a small but secure and
commodious platform, upon which he could perch himself
at ease and watch the whole of the dell. Even if he fell
asleep, he was in no danger of falling; and if he could ob-
tain the needful supplies of food, he could keep watch there
unseen for an indefinite time. He had plenty of provision
so far, for he had been supplied with dry and salted provi-
sions enough to last a week. These he took up to his nest,
and also his tools, which he resolved to keep beside him
for safety ; and having spent the best part of the day in
this labour of ingenuity and patience, and having then
quenched his thirst by long draughts of clear cold water,
he ascended to his perch with an armful of dried bracken—
the eighth. such load he had carried up—and as he ar-
ranged his riding-cloak upon the soft and fragrant cushion
thus prepared, he said to himself with a smile that he
could afford to be patient now, for he had a commodi-
ous castle all his own, and could await with patience the
advance of the foe.
His patience was not, however, destined to be very sorely
taxed. He had fallen into a light sleep, and was dreaming
of a hand-to-hand struggle with Long Robin, when some
unwonted sound smote upon his ears, and he started up all
alert on the instant.
348 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
He knew that sound; he had heard it before. It was
the wild, unearthly noise made by Robin to increase the
fear of this dell in the hearts of any chance wayfarers who
might haply be within hearing. In a few more seconds
Cuthbert, peering down from his leafy canopy, saw the
tall form thrusting itself through the underwood ; and Robin,
with a loud laugh, threw himself upon the low wall of the
pixies’ well.
He was talking and muttering to himself, but Cuthbert
could not catch the words. He seemed in a merry mood,
for he laughed aloud once or twice, and drank of the well
and laughed again. Once Cuthbert thought he caught the
words “treasure†and “safe,†but of that he could not be
certain; and it was not easy to see how Robin could
know this, seeing he had not stirred three paces from the
well.
And then a sudden flash came into Cuthbert’s soul like
one of inspiration. Suppose the treasure was in the well
itself? What more likely? Would not that be the safest
place of all? For the precious metals would not hurt
through contact with the water; and had he not heard
that the waters of this well possessed peculiar properties
for preserving anything thrown into them ?
Cuthbert’s heart beat so fast that he almost feared
Robin would hear his deep breathing; but the man was
looking down into the well, laughing to himself in the
peculiarly malevolent fashion that Cuthbert had heard
before. He never moved from the side of the well for
the long hour he remained; and Cuthbert, waiting in
THE PIXIES DELL. 349
feverish impatience till he should be gone, felt as though
he had never known an hour so long.
But it ended at last. The tall figure reared itself up-
right, and he heard the voice distinctly now.
“T must be going—I must be going. Miriam will be
asking questions. That hag is the plague of my life.
All safe—all safe. And now I will depart.â€
The tall figure put on its stooping gait, which appeared
to be second nature, and went slouching away through
the underwood along the narrow track. Cuthbert waited
till there had been a long spell of perfect silence, and then
he glided with cat-like caution to the ground.
“T may not be able to see anything by this light, not
even the glint of gold beneath the clear waters. But he
seemed to see. He looked down and muttered, ‘Safe—
safe!’ Beshrew me but I trow I have the secret now!
The pixies’ well—the hidden secret it guards so well. All
is true! all is true! Why did I not think of it before ?â€
Creeping to the side of the well, Cuthbert peered over
the edge and gazed fixedly into the dark water. What
was it he saw? Was that moonlight shining and glinting
there; or was it—could it be— Hold, what is this ?
With a stifled cry Cuthbert strove to spring to his feet ;
but the attempt was vain. He was encircled in the bear-
like grip of a pair of arms that were strong as bands of
iron around him. . He felt as though all the breath were
being pressed out of him, and in his ear there rang a
hideous laugh, the sound of which he knew but too well.
“Fool!†cried a hoarse voice, hissing the words in his
350 THE PIXIES’ DELL.
ears—*fool of a mad boy to trust a treacherous gipsy
tale! So thou thoughtest to outwit Long Robin! Thou
thoughtest to win back the lost treasure to the house
of Trevlyn! Mad boy—fool of a hardy knave! But
yet thou shalt have thy wish—thou shalt have thy
will. Thou shalt see with thine own eyes that long-lost
treasure.â€
There was a cruel sneer in the man’s eyes, a mocking
inflection in his voice, that sent a thrill of cold horror
through Cuthbert’s veins. He was absolutely powerless
in that merciless clasp. He felt the strength leaving his
limbs and his head turning giddy. He only just knew it
when he was laid upon the grass, his captor’s knee firmly
planted on his chest; and then he felt his hands and feet
being tightly and securely bound, whilst the stars in the
sky seemed to reel and dance before his eyes, and he said
to himself, without realizing the import of his own
words,—
“He is going to kill me; he is going to kill me.â€
“Yes, I am going to kill thee, mad boy,†said Long
Robin coolly, as though he had heard the spoken word.
“Tam going to kill thee, as I kill all those who dare to
thwart my will or cross my path. I shall kill thee ; but
thou shalt first have the desire of thine eyes and of thine
heart. Thou shalt see and thou shalt touch the long-lost
treasure! Thou shalt learn the secret ere thou diest,
and thy ghost can impart it to thy friends.â€
With a brutal and almost diabolical laugh, Long Robin
rose to his feet and leaned over the well. He seemed to
THE PIXIES’ DELL. 351
be raising from it some heavy weight, and Cuthbert heard
a heavy thud fall upon the grass.
“Now, thou shalt go to join the lost treasure. The
Trevlyns when they find it will find their lost kinsman
too! Ha, ha! they are welcome to that find; they are
welcome to it!†and the man stooped to lift the bound
and helpless Cuthbert in his strong arms.
Cuthbert closed his eyes. He knew well what was
coming. A fall, a sullen splash, one brief ineffectual
struggle, and then black darkness. He tried to breathe
a prayer, but could form no words. He thought of Cherry,
of Petronella, and sharp stabs of pain seemed to run
through him. One minute more and all would be over.
But what an endless minute that was, whilst he felt the
grip upon his body growing firmer as the giant prepared
to lift him.
What was that ?
“Crack !â€â€”a sudden flash from the dark underwood,
and with a loud ery his captor dropped him, and staggered
backwards, to fall a few paces farther on, where he lay
rigid and motionless. Then from the thicket there came
the sound of a quick sharp cry, and a slim figure rushed
forward with the gasping question, —
“Ts he dead? Oh, have I killed him ?â€
And Cuthbert, raising his head, and scarce believing
aught of this could be anything but a fevered dream,
uttered the one word,—
“ Petronella !â€
CHAPTER XVII.
BROTHER AND SISTER.
. ETRONELLA! thou here!â€
“ Brother—brother mine—art thou hurt ?â€
“Never a whit, though I looked to be a dead man ere
this. Sister, take my knife and cut my bonds; yon
man may rise again, and I must be free to defend myself
and. thee.â€
Petronella cast a scared and fearful glance at the long
dark figure lying face downwards upon the sward, show-
ing signs of life only by a spasmodic twitching of the
limbs; and then drawing Cuthbert’s long hunting-knife
from his belt, she cut the cords that bound his hands and
feet, and in another moment he sprang up and shook him-
self, keeping a wary eye all the while upon the prostrate
foe. But he did not go to his side at once; he was too
keenly aroused and interested by this sudden appearance
of his sister.
“ Petronella! I can scarce credit my senses. How com-
est thou here, and at such an hour?â€
“T am doing as thou biddest me,†she answered in a
low voice: “I am flying from our home, even as thou wast
BROTHER AND SISTER. 353
forced to fly. I verily believe that thou art right, and
that our father is well-nigh mad. I dared not remain.
Even old Martha feared to linger longer under that roof.
She has found safe refuge, I trust, at Trevlyn Chase.
Thou didst go there, my brother, after parting from me ?â€
“ Ay, verily I did, and stayed there a matter of some
two weeks, ever hoping to see thy face again, and to hear
how it fared with thee. But thou camest not.â€
“T could not,†answered the girl, in the same low tone;
“JT was in my bed, unable to move hand or foot, unable to
know night from day. Cuthbert, the night I went forth
to thee in the chantry our father missed me from the
house. He thought I had gone to meet Philip in the
wood at night. He reviled me cruelly, and I feared to
tell him it was thou I had gone to see. Then I know not
how, but I fear he struck me. A great blackness came
before mine eyes; and when I opened them again a week
or more had passed, and I knew, as I began to understand
what had chanced, that I could no longer remain beneath
the roof of the Gate-House.â€
Cuthbert ground his teeth in sudden fury.
“Struck thee, my gentle sister! Nay, I can scarce
credit it; and were he any other than my father—â€
“ But he is our father,†answered the girl gently. “And
truly methinks, Cuthbert, that his lonely brooding has
something unhinged his mind. Let us think of him only
with pity.â€
Cuthbert put his arm about her tenderly.
“Tell me the rest of thy story, sister. How camest
(378) - 23
354 BROTHER AND SISTER.
thou here so opportunely, to play the part of Amazon and
save thy brother's life?â€
She shivered a little, as if afraid even to think what she
had done, but her words were quietly and clearly spoken. .
“That is soon told. Old Martha nursed me back to
health again, and our stern father hindered her not in her
tendance of me. And this very night we made our plans,
and she put a concoction of herbs into his nightly potion,
which caused him to sleep too sound to awake for any
sound within or without the house. Then we softly stole
away without let or hindrance—she to go to the Chase,
I to walk across the moorland and forest as thou hadst
bidden me, to find thee here.â€
“ And thou didst arm thyself ere thou wentest forth 2?â€
She looked up with strange earnestness into his face.
“TI know not if the thought were sin, Cuthbert,†she
said, “but as I slipped through the dark house ere our
flight, my eyes fell upon that pair of heavy pistols always
loaded that our father keeps ever on the mantle-shelf of
the hall. I thought of the lessons thou hadst given me
in old days, and knew I could pull the trigger were I so
minded, and send the bullet whizzing through the air. I
had no thought ,of harming any man as I put forth my
hand and took one of the weapons. I was thinking
rather of myself. I had heard men speak of perils worse
than death that may beset weak and helpless women alone
in the world. I knew not if I might find thee as I hoped.
I could not but fear that some mischance might keep us
sundered. I thought of my father’s cruel wrath should he
BROTHER AND SISTER. 355
discover my flight, and pursue and overtake. It seemed
to me, standing in the darkness of the old Gate-House,
that it would be better to perish than to be dragged thither
again to die of misery and harsh captivity. I said within
myself, ‘Sure, if it be sin, it is one that God would pardon.
It is not well for me to go forth without some weapon
which might end all, were it to be the less peril to die
than to live’ And so I took the pistol and carried it in
my girdle.â€
“ And then ?â€
“Then we went forth together, and Martha walked with
me awhile. But as I felt the clear fresh air of the night
fanning my cheek, and the dewy sweetness of the grass
beneath my feet, I grew strong and full of courage. I
felt certain by what thou hadst told me that I was on the
right track. The moon and the stars shone in the sky
and guided my steps. I sent Martha away, and journeyed
on alone. It was sweet to find myself free, to see the
heavens above my head, and to hear the soft night breezes.
In the clear brightness of the night I could see far about
me, and I knew that I was alone and had naught to fear.
Thanks to Martha’s good nursing and the food she had
contrived for me, I was stronger than I had been for
many long days and weeks. It was happiness to use
my limbs, and I was not wearied by my journey. I
entered the forest track at last, and quickly found the —
path that thou hadst spoken to me of. I knew then that
I was near my journey’s end, and my heart was light
within me.â€
356 BROTHER AND SISTER.
“Didst thou not fear the dark wood and the many
strange sounds of the night ?â€
“JT feared somewhat, but chided myself for that fear.
But it was well I felt it, else might I not have crept along
as I did with such mouse-like stillness; and but for that,
yon man â€â€”with a shuddering glance at Long Robin on
the ground—“ would surely have found me.â€
Cuthbert started and asked her how that was.
“J will tell thee, brother. I was drawing very nigh
this dell, and I felt as by some instinct that it was
close at hand, when I heard the sound of footsteps coming
thence, and I well-nigh ran forth calling thee by name, for
I felt assured it must be thou. But then some impulse of
fear possessed me, and I trembled in every limb, and in-
stead of running forth to meet him who was coming, I hid
myself within the shadows. of a deep hollow tree, scarce
daring to breathe lest I should be discovered. And scarce
had I done this before a tall figure crept out along the
path, and halted so close beside me that I well-nigh
screamed aloud in my terror, for I thought for sure I was
discovered. But no: he had not paused for that, and as
he stood scarce three ells from my hiding-place I heard
him mutter to himself; and I knew by what thou hadst
told me, and by his tall form and long white beard, that it
was Long Robin who was so near.â€
“ And couldst thou hear what he said ?â€
“T could hear many words, and fierce ones too—words
that made my flesh creep, and turned me sick with fear
for thee, my brother. He muttered that he was watched
BROTHER AND SISTER. 357
and spied upon. He spoke of other footfalls than his own
in the dell, and cursed Joanna for striving to outwit him,
vowing he would slay her if once he found that she had
dared to set others to watch him. He spoke the name of
Trevlyn once or twice. It was as if he had heard some-
what of thee and of thine errand to the Gipsy Queen—
something he must surely have heard, else could he not
have spoken of the ‘Trevlyn spawn, and what he would
do if one of that ‘brood’ dared to come betwixt him and
his design. And then he leaned against a tree and waited,
listening with an intentness that showed a deep suspicion ;
and he must have heard sounds that I could not—for my
heart beat so wildly I feared he would hear it where he
stood—and he smote his hands softly together and laughed
a low laugh like that of a demon.â€
“T have heard that laugh; I know it well,†whispered
Cuthbert. “It is indeed what thou callest it. Doubtless
he heard my cautious descent from the tree. What did he
then ?â€
“TI heard his next words plainly, and they sent a thrill
of cold horror through me, for too well I divined their im-
port. ‘He is there!’ he hissed between his teeth—he is
there! I shall catch him red-handed in the act. Good!
He shall not leave the dell alive; he shall join the seven
who strove before to know too much. Long Robin’s hand
has not lost its cunning, and it will strike the more heartily
when aimed against one of the false, hateful brood.’ And
then, Cuthbert, I saw it all in a moment. I knew that
thou wert in the glen, and that’ he was going forward to
358 BROTHER AND SISTER.
kill thee. And for a moment my head swam, and I well-
nigh swooned with terror, and could not even lift my voice
to shout to thee and warn thee to fly for thy life.â€
“Tt was well thou didst not,†answered Cuthbert; “ for
I should scarce have heard or understood, and he would
but have turned his destroying hand against thee ere he
went forward to slay me. Thou didst do better than cry
aloud, my sister.â€
She shivered slightly and pressed close up to him.
“When the mist passed from my eyes and I could see,
Long Robin was no more there, and in awful fear what
might even then be happening, I stole down as fast as my
trembling limbs would carry me towards the centre of the
dell. Ere I could see aught I heard thy voice raised in a
sharp cry, Cuthbert, and then I heard fierce, cruel words
spoken, mingled with that laugh that makes the blood run
chill in the veins. I crept as fast as I could through the
tangled underwood, and then I saw before me a terrible
sight. Yon man was binding thee hand and foot with
bonds that thou couldst not break, and I knew that he
would kill thee without mercy, even as he had threatened.
It was then that I remembered for the first time the
weapon I carried at my side, and as I took it in my hands I
felt a strange coldness come upon me. I trembled no longer.
I felt calm and resolute and fearless. I crept cautiously
out of the brushwood, though I kept still in the shadow
of the trees, and I drew nearer and nearer, expecting
every instant to be seen. I dared not fire till I was
very close. It was long since I had discharged such a
BROTHER AND SISTER. 359
weapon, and I knew well that thy life and mine both hung
upon that one charge. Robin rose suddenly to his feet
after binding thee, and I thought for certain I was seen.
But no; he turned and leaned over the well, and drew
forth from it yon huge round slab of stone, which he flung
there on the grass as thou seest it. When his back was
thus turned I crept nearer yet. I would have fired then,
but still feared to miss. Then he bent over thee and lifted
thee in his arms. He could not see me then, he was too
much engrossed in his task. I saw well what he meant
to do—to fling thee bound and helpless into the well, where
the lost treasure, methinks from his words, must lie. The
rest thou knowest. Coming up close behind, I fired my
pistol. He dropped thee and fell himself, and I feared that
he was dead. Brother, it is something fearful to have
killed a man, though it was to save life. Wilt thou not
go to him and see if he yet lives? We ought to show
charity even to our foes.â€
Cuthbert was willing enough to do this since he had
heard his sister’s story, which had not taken many minutes
in the telling. He went across to the spot where Long
Robin lay, and turned him gently over.
Although the sight of death was by no means familiar
to Cuthbert, it took only one glance to show him that this
man was dying or dead. His face was ghastly and drawn,
and his limbs were already growing rigid and motionless.
The heavy charge of the pistol had done its work surely
and fully: the bullet had passed through the spine, and
had entered the vital organs. There was little effusion of
360 BROTHER AND SISTER.
blood, but death was delayed only a few minutes. Even
as Cuthbert looked at him, the man gave a deep groan.
His eyelids flickered a few moments, and then his jaw
dropped, a quiver passed through his frame, which then
became absolutely still. Cuthbert shook his head.
“ He is dead!†cried Petronella, in a voice of compunction
and awe—“ he is dead; and I have killed him!â€
She put her hands before her eyes and shivered. It
was something of a terror to her that she should have done
this thing. She shook in every limb.
“T did not mean to kill him—I never thought of killing
him; I only thought of how to save thee, Cuthbert. O
brother, brother, what shall I do? Will they hang me
for it?â€
“ Never,†cried Cuthbert, throwing his strong arm about
her and smiling at her words. “Sweet Petronella, thou
hast naught to fear. This man has long been an outlaw
and a robber. He has many lives to answer for himself,
as well as innumerable.acts of violence with robbery. Even
were it not so, thou couldest not be held in any wise guilty
by law either of God or man. May Heaven forgive me if
I sin, but I am right glad thy bullet did its work so well.
Our enemy thus removed from our path, the secret of the
lost treasure lies with thee and me. Petronella, I doubt it
not for a moment now, that treasure lies at the bottom of
the pixies’ well. My only wonder is that none have thought
of this before.â€
Petronella pointed to the circular slab lying wet and
sparkling in the moonlight upon the sward beside the well.
BROTHER AND SISTER. 361
“Look there!†she said: “it is that that has helped to
hide the secret so long. Robin is cunning. He is deep, he
is full of artifice. He has given to the well a false bottom,
of which perchance none knows but himself. He knows
how to raise it from the well, as I saw him do; but all the
world beside would hold it in truth to be the well’s bottom.
Beneath yon slab the treasure lies. Cuthbert, thou hast
found the secret. Thou wilt be the one to restore the for-
tunes of our house.â€
“Methinks it will be more thou than I, sweet sister,â€
answered Cuthbert, gladly and proudly, as he leaned over
the low stone wall and gazed eagerly into the deep, dark
water. “And right glad am I that we should be together
when we find the treasure-trove. Canst see aught in yon
deep hole, Petronella ?â€
She shook her head.
“Nor I neither. We must wait for daylight for that,
and then perchance it will not reveal itself to our eyes.
Yet it is there. I am certain sure of it; and although it
may be something difficult to rescue even now, I doubt not
that with patience and time we may succeed. Petronella,
I will to-morrow to the village nighest at hand, whilst thou
dost rest up in yon tree out of the way of all harm, where
I have prepared a place of comfort. I will purchase there
a suit of boy’s clothes for thee to wear whilst thou dost
share my forest life; it will be safer for thee, and more
commodious likewise. I will also buy us victuals and a
coil of rope. Then we twain can set to work over our
task, and it will be strange indeed if we be balked in it,
362 BROTHER AND SISTER.
seeing that the hardest part is already accomplished. The
secret is ours!â€
Petronella’s eyes sparkled beneath their heavy fringes.
There was a spice of adventure and romance about this that
could not but be delightful to any young spirit.
“Thou wilt not then tell our kinsfolk at the Chase, and
ask their aid in this?â€
Cuthbert shook his head.
“T will tell no man aught. I will ask for nothing till
the treasure is in mine own hands!†he cried, with a gesture
of triumph and pride. “They would believe naught when
I spoke of the treasure before. They might even yet laugh
us to scorn were we to tell our tale and point to the well
as the place. No: we have done all alone thus far ; let
us do all alone even to the end. Time presses not. We have
the summer before us. We have possession of this dell,
where no foot but that of yon dead man ever dared to
tread. He thus removed from our path, none else will spy
upon us nor hinder us. We are safer here than in any
other spot in the forest. Say, sister, wilt thou be my helper
in this labour, be it small or great ?â€
She laid her hand trustingly in his; her dark eyes glowed.
“Gladly, gladly will I share the labour and the toil, my
brother. O Cuthbert, it seems a happy and a fitting thing
that the luck of the house should return to the Trevlyns
of the Chase through the two poor cousins whom they
befriended in their hour of need. They were kind to us
when our life was darkest; it will be sweet to think that
they will win happiness through us.â€
BROTHER AND SISTER. 363
“Ay, and Philip’s bride will be no longer a portionless
damsel, but will have gold enough and to spare. Sweet
sister, Philip hath spoken to me openly of his love. He
hath been ere this to ask thee at thy father’s hand.â€
“ Ay, and was driven forth with blows and curses.â€
“Thou hast heard it? But thinkest thou he will take
that for an answer? Nay, Petronella, thou wilt one day
be his bride; and I will give thee to him with a joyful
heart, for he loved thee in the days of our poverty and
distress; so that one knows his love is for thee and thee
alone, not for the fair dowry thou wilt presently bring.â€
Petronella hid her happy, blushing face on her brother's
shoulder, and thus they stood awhile, till the girl drew
back with a light shiver and said,—
“ Cuthbert, can it be right for us thus to stand thinking
of our own happiness, whilst he lies there so still and cold 2â€
“ T was just about to bid thee give me leave to bury him,
whilst thou dost rest thyself awhile. We will not grudge
him that last service; and it will be safer and better to do
it here than to give notice of his death to the gipsies and
outlaws, and so bring them down upon us in this place,
provoking perchance their vengeance upon ourselves. I
have here a spade, brought to dig after the treasure. I
little thought it would first be used to dig Long Robin’s
grave. But the task had better be done, and that quickly.
The man is dead as a stone. We will bury him away out
of our sight ere we do aught beside.â€
Petronella assented with a slight shudder. She could
not regret the death of the giant gipsy, who himself made
364 BROTHER AND SISTER.
so light of human life, and would have slain her brother
before her eyes .without a qualm. But she shivered each
time she looked at the motionless form, and was glad when,
after some hours of hard work beneath the trees, Cuthbert
succeeded in dragging the corpse away and in covering it
up from sight. Kneeling beside the rude grave, the girl
breathed a prayer for the soul of the departed man, and
repeated many an ave and paternoster, in the hope of
smoothing for him his passage into eternity (being still con-
siderably imbued with the teachings of her early life, which
the newer and clearer faith had by no means eradicated),
and then she rose comforted and relieved, feeling as though
a dark weight had passed from her spirit.
Daylight had now come, and the girl was very weary.
She looked so wan and white that Cuthbert was alarmed,
and fed her tenderly with the best his wallet could supply ;
after which he took her up to his nest in the sycamore,
first bringing the rug that was lying in the hollow tree to
wrap around her. There he succeeded in making her so
comfortable and secure that she fell asleep almost at once,
and he was hopeful she would sleep the whole time of his
absence, for she was worn out with fatigue, and only
just recovering from an illness. How she had borne the
fatigues of that night he scarce knew; but she possessed
her share of the Trevlyn tenacity of purpose, and her
strong will had conquered the feebleness of her frame.
It was a satisfaction to see her sink into a tranquil sleep,
and secure in the certainty that she could not be seen by
any person entering the dell. Certain that none but a
BROTHER AND SISTER 365
chance traveller ever did come nigh this haunted spot, he
was not afraid to leave her; and after studying the simple
contrivance by which the round slab was raised and lowered
in the well, he dropped it to its former position, and went
on his way to the village with a light heart.
The secret of the lost treasure, he was fully certain,
was now his; and though the work of rescue might require
time and patience and labour, he was convinced it could be
accomplished, and that he, with the help of his sister, should
find himself competent for the task.
It was evening before he returned, but he found
Petronella where he had left her. She had slept almost
unbrokenly throughout the day, and was’ now greatly
refreshed and invigorated. The air of the forest and the
sweet breath of the pines were enough, as she said, to give
her new life; and she descended eagerly to meet and greet
her brother, and to examine the purchases he had made.
The first excitement was the ass who bore the heavy
load. Cuthbert had had some trouble in making a way
for the creature to pass down into the dell; but once here,
he would never stray away of his own accord. Indeed,
he appeared to have no disposition that way, for he began
at once to crop the emerald sward around the well with an
air of great contentment, whilst Cuthbert unloaded him
and displayed his purchases to his sister.
“There is thy suit, young Peter,’ he said with a smile.
“T trow thou wilt make a pretty boy, and wilt find thyself
more fitted for our new life thus habited, and canst rove
in the forest thus clad, an thou hast a mind that way,
366 BROTHER AND SISTER.
more safely than thou couldest in a maid’s dress. And here
is wine to put some colour into thy pale cheeks, and food
to last us many a day, and blankets to wrap about us by
night when the wind blows chill, and this heavy cloak to
keep the rain from thee when the skies weep. And see,
here is a rope which I trow will let me to the very bottom
of the well, an we can once turn the water some other
way; and the ass can drag me forth again—and the
treasure likewise—when once this matter has been ac-
complished. The hot, dry weather is coming apace. Men
say already that the springs be something low. All this
- favours our plans; and if I can find the spring that feeds
this well, as like enough I may, then will I make shift
to turn its waters another way, and the pixies’ well shall
be dry!â€
Petronella gazed at him in surprise.
“ Brother, whence comes all this knowledge to thee? I
should never have dreamed such a thing might be!â€
“ But I have read of such things being done ere now,â€
answered Cuthbert eagerly. “I have spent many an hour
at Master Cole’s shop upon the bridge reading of such
matters—how men mine and countermine, and dig and
delve, and sink wells and drain them, and do many strange
things of which we never dreamed in past days. In times
of war it is wondrous how many shifts of that or like kind
they think of and perform. I little thought how soon T
myself should want some such thing accomplished ; but I
read all eagerly, and Master Anthony Cole explained much
that perplexed me; and I trow I might e’en do some such
BROTHER AND SISTER. 367
thing myself, with thee and this patient beast to help me
in my toil!â€
It was with undisguised admiration that Petronella
regarded her brother, and very happy and merry was the
meal taken together beside the well under the green-wood
trees. It was hard to realize that this smiling girl, with
the faint pink bloom in her cheek, and the bright eager
eyes, was the cowed and sorrowful Petronella of a few
days back. Cuthbert looked at her with glad pride as
she talked to him and petted the docile ass, who came
and stood beside them and got a full share of such things
as were pleasant to his palate. Petronella had never had
the care of a live thing before, and was delighted with the
affection shown towards her at once by the gentle creature.
Her sleep that night in the tree was sound and refresh-
ing; and when she joined Cuthbert, dressed in her suit of
boys’ garments, laughing, blushing, and delighted with the
freedom of motion that they gave her, he found it hard to
believe it was really Petronella, and vowed it would not be
hard to call her Peter, for that there was little enough of
the Petronella of old days to be found in her.
And from that day forward a happy life began for the
brother and sister thus strangely located in the pixies’
dell. Each day saw the girl growing stronger, brighter,
and happier, till she could scarcely believe it was so short
a time since she had fled from her father’s house; whilst
Cuthbert, intent upon his plans and his engineering opera-
tions, grew brown and muscular and self-reliant, watching
carefully and tenderly over his sister, but spending his
368 BROTHER AND SISTER.
time in healthful toil, and in working out self-imposed
problems, confident ‘that these would in the end succeed in
enabling him to carry out the purpose of his heart.
The pixies’ well proved very deep. Soundings taken
by the rope showed that only too clearly. The water
flowed three feet over the false bottom Robin had con-
trived the better to conceal his hiding-place, whilst below
that there was fully ten feet of water; and Petronella’s
face grew long as she saw the result of the sounding, for
she could not imagine how any treasure could be got at
that lay thirteen feet below the surface of the water.
“Never mind that, sister mine,†said Cuthbert. “Belike
it is to that very fact that it owes its long safety. Even
Robin must have known that to bring it forth again must
be a matter of time and patience. He could not visit it
in a moment of haste or fright, and filch a piece away as
he would. Doubtless the place was chosen by the old
Long Robin of past days for the very difficulty there must
be in bringing forth the prize. I have often thought
that no buried treasure could so long have escaped prying
hands and covetous spirits. Bit by bit some would have
gone. It is the water that has been the best protection.â€
Petronella saw the force of that argument; but as she
leaned over the wall,.trying to peer into the dark depths
whilst Cuthbert talked of his scheme for draining it dry,
she heaved a little sigh, and said,—
“And what if, after all that long labour, there be no
treasure there in spite of all we believe?â€
He looked a little taken aback, but was struck by the
BROTHER AND SISTER. 369
practical nature of the suggestion. He pondered awhile,
and then he spoke.
“That is a thought worthy of consideration,†he said.
“It were a foolish thing to waste the whole summer only
to be deceived in the end. Peter,†he added suddenly, as
if struck by a new idea, “I am no fearer of water. I can
dive and swim, and I have long wind, and can hold my
breath a great while. Thinkest thou that if I were to
leap into the well and dive to the bottom, thou couldst
give me the rope when I reappeared, and with the aid of
the ass pull me forth again? I can dive through the
water, I trow, albeit the well is none too wide. But I could
not climb the steep stone sides; thou and the ass must
help me there.â€
Petronella was a little timid of the experiment lest
harm should befall her brother, and persuaded him at last
to tie the rope about him ere he dived, so that in the event
of his striking his head, or in any other way hurting.
himself, she would have power to pull him up and out,
even if he should have lost consciousness. After making
her promise not to use this power unless she were fully
persuaded he was in some difficulty and unable to help
himself, Cuthbert consented to this amendment; and when
all preparations were complete he balanced himself for a
moment on the edge of the well, and then launched himself
downwards in a line as straight as an arrow.
Eagerly and breathlessly Petronella watched for his re-
appearance, holding her own breath the while, as though
in some way that would help the diver. He was long
(378) 24
370 BROTHER AND SISTER.
gone, as it seemed to her. She had been forced to take
one deep respiration, and was almost tempted to pull at
the rope in her hand, when the water suddenly became
again disturbed and full of bubbles, and a head appeared
above it again. ,
“ Cuthbert !†she exclaimed, in a tone of glad relief, “ O
Cuthbert, what hast thou found ?â€
He was clinging to the rope with one hand; the other
was beneath the water out of sight. He raised his eyes,
and said between his gasping breaths,—
“ Draw me up; the water is chill as ice!â€
From the sound of his voice she could not tell whether
success had crowned the attempt or not. She turned with-
out another word, and led the donkey onwards, gently
drawing Cuthbert from the depths of the well. As she
did so he gave a sudden shout of triumph, and springing
over the side of the wall, flung at her feet a solid golden
flagon richly chased, with the arms of the Trevlyns en-
graved upon it.
“T scarce dared to look at what I had got as I came
up!†he cried, as he sprang high into the air in the
exuberance of his spirit; “but that will lay all doubt at
rest. The lost treasure of Trevlyn is lost no longer, and
Cuthbert and Petronella have found it!â€
CHAPTER XVIII.
“SAUCY KATE.â€
“ \ X YIFE, what ails the child ?â€
Lady Frances Trevlyn raised her calm eyes
from her embroidery, and gave one swift glance around
the room, as if to make sure that she and her husband
were alone.
“Dost thou speak of Kate?†she asked then in a low
voice.
“Ay, marry I do,†answered Sir Richard, as he took
the seat beside the glowing hearth, near to his wife’s chair,
which was his regular place when he was within doors.
“T scarce know the child again in some of her moods.
She was always wayward and capricious, but as gay and
happy as the day was long—as full of sunshine as a
May morning. Whence come, then, all these vapours and
reveries and bursts of causeless weeping? I have found
her in tears more oft these last three months than in all
the years of her life before; and though she strives to
efface the impression by wild outbreaks of mirth, such as
we used of old to know, there is something hollow and
forced about these mérry moods, and the laugh will die
372 SAUCY KATE.
away the moment she is alone, and a look will creep upon
her face that I like not to see.â€
“Thou hast watched her something closely, Richard.â€
“ Ay, truly I have. I would have watched any child of
mine upon whom was passing so strange a change; but thou
knowest that Kate has ever been dear to me—I have liked
to watch her in her tricksy moods. She has been more
full of affection for me than her graver sisters, and even
her little whims and faults that we have had to check
have but endeared her to me the more. The whimsies of
the child have often brought solace to my graver cares. I
love Kate right well, and like not to see this change in
her. What dost thou think of it, good-wife ?â€
Lady Frances shook her head gravely.
“Methinks the child has something on her mind, and
her sisters think so likewise, but what it is we none of us
can guess, She keeps her secret well.â€
“Tt is not like Kate to have a secret; it is still less
like her to hide it.â€
“That is what I feel. I have looked day by day and
hour by hour for her to come to me or to thee to tell what
is in her mind. But the weeks have sped by and her lips
are still sealed, and, as thou sayest, she is losing her gay
spirits, or else her gaiety is over-wild, but doth not ring
true; and there is a look in her eyes that never used to
be there, and which I like not.â€
“I know the look well—one of wistful, unsatisfied
longing. It goes to my heart to see it there. And hast
thou noted that the bloom is paling in her cheeks, and
SAUCY KATE. 373
that she will sit at home long hours, dreaming in the
window-seat or beside the hearth, when of old she was for
ever scouring the woods, and coming home laden with
flowers or ferns or berries? I like it not, nor do I under-
stand it. And thou sayest her sisters know not the cause?
I thought that young ae always talked together of
their secrets.â€
“Kate doth not. I have talked with Cecilia anent the
matter, and she knows not the cause. Bess has opined
that this change first appeared when it was decided that
we went not to London this year, as we had talked of
doing earlier in the summer. Bess says she noted then
how disappointed Kate appeared; and she is of opinion
that she has never been the same since.â€
Sir Richard stroked his beard with meditative gravity,
and looked into the fire.
“Tt is true that the change has come upon her since
that decision was made; and yet I find it something diffi-
cult to think that such was the cause. Kate never loved
the life of the city, and was wild with delight when she
first tasted the sweets of freedom in these woods and gar-
dens. She loves her liberty right well, and has said a
thousand times how glorious a thing it is to range at will
as she does here. Capricious as the. child has often shown
herself, it is hard to believe that she is pining already for
what she left with so glad a heart. It passes my under-
standing ; I know not what to think.â€
Lady Frances raised her eyes for a moment to her hus-
band’s face, and then asked quietly,—
374 SAUCY KATE.
“ Hast thou ever thought whether some secret love may
be the cause of all?â€
The knight started and looked full at his wife.
“T have indeed thought some such thing, but I can
scarce believe that such is the case with our Kate.â€
“ Yet it is often so when maidens change and grow pale
and dreamy, and sit brooding and thinking when erst they
laughed and played. Kate is double the woman she was
six months gone by. She will sit patiently at her needle
now, when once she would throw it aside after one short
hour; and she will seek to learn all manner of things in
the still-room and pantry that she made light of a short
while back, as matters of no interest or concern to her.
She would make an excellent housewife if she had the
mind, as I have always seen; and now she does appear to
have the mind, save when her fits of gloom and sadness
be upon her, and everything becomes a burden.â€
Sir Richard looked aroused and interested. A smile
stole over his face.
“Our saucy Kate in love, and that secretly! Marry,
that is something strange; and yet I am not sorry at the
thought, for I feared her fancy was something too much
taken by her cousin Culverhouse ; and since his father must
look for a large dower for his son’s bride, our Kate could
never have been acceptable to him. Nor do I like the mar-
riage of cousins so close akin, albeit in these times men
are saying. that there be no ill in such unions.â€
Lady Frances shook her head gravely.
“TI would sooner see daughter of mine wedded in a
SAUCY KATE, 375
lowlier sphere. My heart shrinks from the thought of
seeing any child of ours in the high places of this world.
There be snares and pitfalls abounding there. We have
seen enough to know so much. There be bitter strivings
and envyings and hatreds amongst those of lofty degree.
I would have my children wed with godly and proper
men; but I would sooner give them to simple gentlemen
of no high-sounding title, than to those whose duties in
life will call them to places round about the throne, and
will throw them amidst the turmoil of Court life.â€
Sir Richard smiled at this unworldly way of looking at
things; but the Trevlyns had suffered from being somewhat
too well known at Court, and he understood the feeling.
“Truly we live in perilous times,†he said thoughtfully,
“and obscurity is often the best security for happiness and
well-being. But to return to Kate. If she is truly for-
getting her girlish fancy for her cousin, as I would gladly
believe
and she has not set eyes on him this year and
more—towards whom can her fancy be straying ?â€
“Thou dost not think she can be pining after her cousin?â€
“Nay, surely not,†was the quick and decided answer.
“Had she pined it would have been at the first, when they
were separated from each other, and thou knowest how
gay and happy she was then. It is but these past few
months that we have seen the change. Depend upon it,
there is some one else. Would that it might be good Sir
Robert Fortescue, who has been here so much of late, and
has paid much attention to our saucy Kate! Wife, what
thinkest thou of that? He is an excellent good man, and
376 SAUCY KATE.
would make a stanch and true husband. He is something
old for the child, for sure; but there is no knowing how
the errant fancy of maidenhood will stray.â€
“JT would it might be so,†answered Lady Frances. “Sir
Robert is a good and a godly man, and I would gladly
give our restless, capricious Kate to one who could be
father and husband in one. But I confess the thought
had not come to me, nor had I thought that he came
hither to seek him a wife.â€
Sir Richard smiled meaningly.
“Nor had I until of late; but I begin to think that is
his object. He pays more heed to the girls than he did
when first he came to visit us, and he has dropped a word
here and a hint there, all pointing in one direction. And
dost thou not note that our Kate is often brightest and
best when he is by? I had never thought before that her
girlish fancy might have been caught by his gray hair and
soldier-like air; yet many stranger things have happened.
Wife, dost thou think it can be?â€
“T would it were; it would be well for all. I will
watch and see, and do thou likewise. I had not thought
the child’s fancy thus taken; but if it were so, I should
rejoice. He would be a good husband and a kind one,
and our headstrong second daughter will need control as
well as love in the battle of life.â€
So the parents watched with anxious eyes, eager to see
some indication which should encourage them in this
newly-formulated hope. When once the idea had been
started, it seemed to both as if nothing could be better
SAUCY KATE. 377
than a marriage between their high-spirited but affectionate
and warm-hearted daughter and this knight of forty sum-
mers, who had won for himself wealth and fame, and a sol-
dier’s reputation for unblemished honour and courage in
many foreign lands. If not exactly the man to produce an
immediate impression on the heart of a young girl, he might
well win his way to favour in time; and certainly it did
seem as though Kate took pleasure in listening to his
stories of flood and field, whilst her bright eyes and merry
saucy ways (for she was still her old bright self at times,
and never more frequently so than in the company of Sir
Robert) appeared very attractive to him.
When we are increasingly wishful for a certain turn in
affairs, and begin sedulously to watch for it, unconsciously
setting ourselves to work to aid and abet, and push mat-
ters on to the desired consummation, it is wonderful how
easy it is to believe all is going as we wish, and to see in
a thousand little trifling circumstances corroboration of
our wishes. Before another fortnight had sped by, Kate’s
parents had almost fully persuaded themselves of the
truth of their suspicion. They were convinced that the
attachment between their child and their guest was
advancing rapidly, and a day came when Sir Richard
sought his wife with a very happy expression of coun-
tenance.
“Well, wife, the doubt will shortly be at an end. Sir
Robert has spoken openly at last.â€
“Spoken of his love for our Kate?â€
“Not in these words, but the meaning is the same,
378 SAUCY KATE,
He has asked me if I am willing to intrust one of my
daughters to his keeping.â€
“One of our daughters?†repeated Lady Frances. “And
did he not name Kate? He cannot love them all.â€
“He spoke of Cecilia and Kate both,†answered Sir
Richard. “Sir Robert is not a hot-headed youth, full of
the fire of a first passion. He wishes an alliance with our
house, and he sees that Cecilia, with her four years’ senior-
ity, would perchance in the eyes of the world be the more
suitable wife; and he admires her beauty, and thinks well
of her dutifulness, her steadiness, and her many virtues.
Yet it is Kate that takes his fancy most, and if he could
hope to win the wayward fancy and the warm heart of
our second child, she is the one whom he would fain choose
as his own. He has spoken freely and frankly to me, and it
comes to this: he would willingly marry Cecilia, and doubt-
less make her an excellent husband, and value the connec-
tion with the house of Trevlyn; but if he could succeed in
winning the love of our saucy Kate, he would sooner have
her than the more staid sister, only he fears his gray
hairs and his wrinkles will unfit him as a suitor for the
child. But we, who suspect her heart of turning towards
him, have little fear of this. Kate's sharp eyes have
looked beneath the surface. She has shown that she has
a wise head upon her shoulders, So I told Sir Robert—â€
“Not that the child had loved him unbidden, I trust, my
husband? I would not have him think that!â€
“Verily no, good-wife ; but I told him there was no
man living to whom I would more gladly give a daughter
SAUCY KATE. 379
of mine; and that I would sound both of the maidens, and
see how their hearts were set towards him. But I trow he
went away happy, thinking he might win Kate after all.
T could not but whisper a word of hope, and tell him how
wondrous tame the wild bird had latterly become, and how
that her mother had wondered whether thoughts of love
had entered into her head.â€
Lady Frances smiled, half shaking her head the while,
yet not entirely displeased even with such an admission as
that. She had been watching her daughter closely of late,
and she had tried to think as she wished to think; the
consequence being that she had reached a very decided
conclusion in accordance with her desires, and had small
doubts as to the state of her daughter's heart.
_ “T verily believe the child’s sadness has come from the
fear that her youth will stand as a bar to her happiness.
She knows Sir Robert is old enough to be her father, and
fears that his attentions are paid as to a child. Thus has
she striven to grow more wise, more womanly, more fit to
be the mistress of his house. Methinks I see it all. And
what is the next thing to be done? Must we speak with |
the child 2â€
“Ay, verily; for I have promised an answer to Sir
Robert before many days have passed. He is to come
again at the week’s end, and his bride is to be presented to
him. Thinkest thou that Cecilia will be grieved to find
her younger sister preferred before her? Does she, too,
think aught of Sir Robert ?â€
“T trow she likes him well, though whether she has
380 SAUCY KATE.
thought of him as husband or lover I know not. She is
more discreet than Kate, and can better hide her feelings.
I doubt not were her hand asked she would give it gladly ;
but more than that I cannot say.â€
“Then let us hope her heart has not been deeply touched,
for I should be sorry to give her pain. But let us incon-
tinently send for Kate hither at once to us. I shall rejoice
to see the light of untroubled happiness shining once again
in those bright eyes. I would fain see my saucy Kate her
own self again ere she leaves us as a wedded wife.â€
So Kate was summoned, and came before her parents
with something of timidity in her aspect, looking furtively
from one to the other, as if a question trembled on her lips
that she did not dare to utter.
She had changed in many ways from the gay, laughing
girl of a few months back. There were the same resolution
and individuality in the expression of the face, and the
delicate features had by no means lost all their old anima-
tion and bloom ; but there was greater depth in the dark
eyes, and more earnestness and gravity in the expression of
both eyes and mouth. There was added sweetness as well
as added thoughtfulness; and mingling strangely with
these newer expressions was one still stranger on the face
of Kate—a look of shrinking, almost of fear, as though she
were treading some dangerous path, where lurked hidden
perils that might at any moment overwhelm her.
The swift look of wistful questioning, the nervous move-
ments of the slim hands, the parted lips and quickly-
coming breath, were not lost upon the parents, who were
SAUCY KATE. 381
watching the advance of their daughter with no small in-
terest and curiosity. But the smile upon both faces seemed
to reassure the girl; and as her father held out his hand,
she came and stood beside him willingly, looking from one
to the other with fluttering breath and changing colour.
“You sent for me, my father ?â€
“Yes, Kate; we have somewhat to say to thee, thy
mother and I. Canst guess what that something is?â€
A vivid blush for a moment dyed her cheek and as
quickly faded ; but she did not speak, only shook her head.
Sir Richard gave his wife a quick smile, and took Kate’s
hand in his.
“My child,†he said, with unwonted tenderness, “why
hast thou been keeping a secret from thy mother and me ?â€
Kate started and drew her hand away, moving a pace
farther off, and regarding her father with wide-open,
dilated eyes.
“A secret!†she faltered, and grew very pale.
Sir Richard smiled, and would have taken her hand
once more, but that she glided from his reach, still watch-
ing him with an expression he found it hard to read.
Her mother laid down her embroidery, and studied her
face with a look of aroused uneasiness; but the father
was utterly without suspicion of approaching. any hidden
peril, and continued in the same kindly tones.
“Nay, now, my girl, thou needest not fear!†he said.
“ All young maidens give their hearts away in time; and
so as thou givest thine worthily, neither thy father nor
thy mother will chide.â€
382 SAUCY KATE.
Kate gave one or two gasps, and then spoke with im-
passioned earnestness.
“O father, I could not help it! I strove against it as
long as I might. I feared it was a thing that must not
be. But love was too strong. I could not. fight for ever.â€
“Tut-tut, child! why shouldest thou fight? Why didst
thou not speak to thy mother? Girls may breathe a secret
into a mother’s ear that is not to be spoke elsewhere. Thou
shouldest have told her, child, and have spared thyself
much weary misery.â€
Kate’s head was hung very low; neither parent could
see her face.
“T did not dare,†she answered softly ; “I knew that I
was wrong. I feared to speak.â€
“Thou art a strange mixture of courage and fear, my
saucy Kate. I would once have vowed that-thou wouldst
fear not to speak aloud every thought of thy heart. But
love changes all, I ween, and makes sad cowards of the
boldest of us. And so thou didst wait till he declared
his love, and fretted out thy heart in silence the while ?â€
Kate lifted her head and looked at her father, a faint
perplexity in her eyes.
“Nay, I ever knew he loved me. It was that I feared
thy displeasure, my father. I had heard thee say—â€
“Nothing against Sir Robert, I warrant me,†cried Sir
Richard heartily ; whilst Kate took one backward step and
exclaimed,—
“ Methought Sir Robert was Cecilia’s lover! Why speak
you to me of him, my father ?â€
SAUCY KATE. 383
Sir Richard rose to his feet in great perplexity, looking
at his wife, who was pale and agitated.
“ Cecilia’s lover! what meanest thou, child?†he asked
quickly. “I was speaking to thee of thine own lover.
Sir Robert would fain wed with thee, and methought
thou hadst already given him thy heart.â€
“No—no—no!†cried Kate, shrinking yet further away.
“I had no thoughts of him. O father, how couldst thou
think it? He is a kind friend; but I have thought him
Cecilia’s knight, and I trow she thinks of him thus herself.â€
Lady Frances now spoke to her daughter for the first time,
fixing her eyes upon her, and addressing her with compo-
sure, although visibly struggling against inward agitation.
“Listen to me, daughter Kate. Thou hast spoken words
which, if they refer not to Sir Robert, as thy father and I
believed, have need to be explained. Thou hast spoken of
loving and of being beloved; what dost thou mean by
that? Who.is he that has dared—â€
“O mother, thou knowest that; thou hast heard it a
hundred times. It is Culverhouse, my cousin, who—â€
But Sir Richard’s face had clouded suddenly over. He
had set his heart on marrying Kate to his friend Sir Robert,
who would, he believed, make her an excellent husband ;
and he had long ago given a half-pledge to Lord Andover
to thwart and oppose the youthful attachment which was,
showing itself between Kate and Culverhouse. The Earl
wished a grand match for his son, and the Trevlyn pride
was strong in Sir Richard, who would never have had a
daughter of his wed where she was not welcome. He also
384 SAUCY KATE.
disliked marriages between first cousins, and made of that
a pretext for setting his face against the match, whilst re-
maining on perfectly friendly terms with the Viscount and
all his family. He had hoped and quite made up his mind
that that boy-and-girl fancy had been laid at rest for ever,
and was not a little annoyed at hearing the name of her
cousin fall so glibly from Kate’s lips.
“Silence, foolish girl!†he said sternly. “Hast thou not
been told a hundred times to think no more of him? How
dost thou dare to answer thy mother thus? Culverhouse!
thou knewest well that he is no match for thee. It is
wanton folly to let thy wayward fancy dwell still on him.
Methought thou hadst been cured of that childish liking
long since. But if it has not been so, thou shalt soon be
cured now !â€
Kate shrank back, for her father had seldom looked so
stern, and there was an inflexibility about his aspect that
was decidedly formidable. No one knew better than his
favourite daughter that when once the limit of his for-
bearance was reached, there was no hope of any further
yielding, and that he could be hard as flint or adamant;
so it was with a look of terror in her eyes that she
shrank yet further away as she asked,—
“What dost thou mean, my father? what dost thou
mean ?â€
“T mean, Kate,†answered Sir Richard, not unkindly,
but so resolutely that his words fell upon her ear like a
knell, “that the best and safest plan of curing thee of thy
fond and foolish fancy, which can never come to good, is
SAUCY KATE. 385
to wed thee with a man who will make thee a kind and
loving husband, and will maintain thee in the state to
which thou hast been born. Wherefore, prepare to wed
with Sir Robert Fortescue without delay, for to him I will
give thy hand in wedlock so soon as we can have thee
ready to be his bride.â€
Kate stood for a moment as if transfixed and turned to
stone, and then she suddenly sank upon her knees at her
father’s feet. .
“Father,†she said, in a strange, choked voice, that
indicated an intense emotion and agitation, “thou canst
not make me the wife of another; for methinks I am well-
nigh, if not altogether, the wife of my cousin Culverhouse.â€
“What?†almost shouted Sir Richard, making one
step forward and seizing his daughter by the arm.
“ Wretched girl, what is this that thou sayest? The wife
of thy cousin Culverhouse! Shame upon thee for so base
a falsehood! How dost thou dare to frame thy lips to it?â€
“Tt is no falsehood!†answered Kate, with flashing eyes,
springing to her feet and confronting her parents with all
her old courage, and with a touch of defiance. “I would
have kneeled to ask your pardon for my rashness, for my
disobedience, for the long concealment; but I am no liar,
I speak but the truth. Listen, and I will tell all. It
was on May-day, and I rode forth into the forest and
distanced pursuit, and joined my cousin Culverhouse,'as we
had vowed to do. We thought then of naught but the joy
of a day together in the forest, and had not dreamed of
such a matter as wedlock. But then to the church porch
(878) 25
386 SAUCY KATE.
came one calling himself a priest. They say he comes
every year, and weds all who will come to him. And many
did. And Culverhouse and I stood before him, and he
joined our hands, and we made our vows, and he pro-
nounced us man and wife before all assembled there. And
whether it be binding wedlock or no, it is to us a solemn
betrothal made before God and man; and not all the com-
mands thou couldst lay upon me, my father, could make
me stand up and vow myself to another as I have vowed
myself to Culverhouse. I should hold myself forsworn ;
I should be guilty of the vilest crime in the world. Thou
wilt not ask it of me. Thou canst not know, even as I do
not know, whether that wedlock is not valid before man,
as it is before God.†:
A thunderbolt falling between them could scarcely have
produced more astonishment and dismay. Lady Frances
sank back in her seat white with horror and bewilderment,
whilst Sir Richard stood as if turned to stone; and when at
last he was able to speak, it was to order Kate to her room
in accents of the sternest anger, bidding her not to dare to
‘leave it until he brought her forth himself.
Kate fled away gladly enough, her mind rent in twain
betwixt remorse at her own disobedience and deceit, tri-
umph in having stopped Sir Robert’s suit by so immovable
am obstacle, and relief that the truth was out at last, even
though her own dire disgrace was the result. The secret
had preyed terribly on her mind of late, and had been under-
mining her health and spirits. Terrible as the anger of
her parents might be, anything to her open nature seemed
SAUCY KATE. 387
better than concealment; and she dashed up to her own
room in a whirl of conflicting emotions, sinking down upon
the floor when she reached it to try to get into order her
chaotic thoughts.
Meantime husband and wife, left alone to their astonish-
ment, stood gazing at each other in blank amaze.
“ Husband,†said Lady Frances at last, “surely such
wedlock is not lawful ?â€
“T cannot tell,†he answered gloomily; “ belike it is not.
Yet a troth-plight made in so solemn a fashion, and before
so many witnesses, is no light thing; and the child may
not be wedded to another whilst the smallest shadow of
doubt remains. Doubtless Culverhouse foresaw this, the °
bold knave, and persuaded the child into it. Well it has
served his purpose. Sir Robert must be content with
Cecilia. But the artfulness of the little jade! I never
thought Kate would so deceive us!â€
“Tt is that that breaks my heart!†cried the mother—
“that, and the thought that she should be willing to go
before some Popish priest and take her vows to him. Oh,
it cannot be binding on the child—it cannot be binding!
And Sir Robert is stanch in the Reformed faith; he is
just the husband that wild girl needs. Husband, can .
nothing be done ?â€
Sir Richard looked very grave.
“That would be hard to tell without strict inquiries. I
doubt me if we could learn all before next May-day, when
we might get hold of the man himself and find out who
and what he is. Such wedlock as his cannot be without
388 SAUCY KATE.
flaw, and might be made invalid by law; but, wife, there
is no getting over this, that the child took her vows in the
name of God, and I dare not act as though such vows °
were unspoken. Her youth and ignorance may plead in
part for her. She scarce knew the solemnity of the step
she was taking. Culverhouse won upon her and over-
persuaded her, I do not doubt. I do not seek to excuse
her. I am grievously displeased and disappointed. But I
cannot and I will not give her to Sir Robert; Cecilia must
be his wife.â€
“Then Kate must be sent away,†said Lady Frances,
gravely and severely; “I cannot and will not have her
here, mixing as before with her sisters with this cloud —
hanging upon her, with this secret still shadowing her
life. She has proved unworthy of our confidence. I am
more pained and displeased than I can say. She must
go. She must not be able to tell Cecilia that she might
have been Lady Fortescue but for her marriage with
Culverhouse. She is no longer to be trusted. She must go
forth from home as a punishment for her wrong-doing. I
feel that I cannot bear to see her about the house, knowing
how she has deceived us. She shall go forth this very day.â€
"Sir Richard stood considering. He too was deeply dis-
pleased with his daughter, though he had some sympathy
with the ardent and impulsive lovers; who had got them-
selves into a queer plight, and had thrown much per-
plexity upon others. But he decidedly agreed with his
wife that it would be better for Kate to go—and to go in
disgrace, that she might feel herself punished by being
SAUCY KATE. 389
severed from her sisters when the first wedding of the
family was taking place (save her own woodland nuptials).
And it would doubtless save some natural embarrassment
to Sir Robert himself to have one of the sisters out of the
way before he formally espoused the other; though, to be
sure, such a proposition as his had been was a common
enough thing in those days.
“Tt would be good to send her away; but whither can
she go?â€
“Where better than to Lady Humbert and Mistress
Dowsabel, who have ofttimes asked us to send a daughter
to enliven their dull solitude? We have ever excused them
on account of their youth and high spirits, fearing they
would be moped to death in that dismal place; but it
will be the very house for our wayward Kate to go to
repent of her ill deeds. If you will write a letter to them,
we will send it forthwith by a mounted messenger, and
the answer will be back before dark. If she is to go, she
can start with the first light of to-morrow morning, and
we can get her mails packed ready to-night; for she must
not disgrace her state, but must be furnished with all
things fitting to her condition.â€
Sir Richard thought that no other plan better than this
could be devised for his erring daughter; and though he
could not but feel some compassion for the girl, condemned
to be the companion of a pair of aged and feeble gentle-
women such as his aunts had long been, was nevertheless
of opinion that the captivity and dulness would be salutary,
and despatched his letter without delay.
390 SAUCY KATE.
That same night, Kate, who had passed the long hours
in weeping and rejoicing, and in all those conflicting
phases of feeling common to the young, heard with a
mixture of pleasure and dismay that she was to be sent in
disgrace to the keeping of her great-aunts, and that with-
out delay; also that she was not even to say good-bye to
her sisters, or to see them again until something had been
decided as to her future and the validity of her wilful
espousals. She was made to feel that she had committed a
terrible sin, and one that her parents would find it hard to
forgive; yet she could not help exulting slightly in the
thought that they had been obliged to take the matter so
seriously ; and she had a dim hope that her aged relatives,
when she did come to them, might not prove altogether so
crabbed and cross as she had always been led to suppose.
Perhaps she might find a warm corner even in their old
hearts.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
ITH the first light of day the start was to be made.
Kate, who had slept little, was ready betimes,
had dressed herself in her riding-suit long before she was
sent for, and was employing herself in wondering if she
would after all be permitted to say farewell to her sisters,
and whether she should have an opportunity of asking
her mother’s pardon for her wrong-doing in this matter of
her secret espousals,
The girl had suffered a good deal during these past
months, She had not realized when yielding to Culver-
house’s persuasions how hard it would be to live beneath
her parents’ roof with this secret preying on her mind.
She had not realized what a weight it would become in
time, and she had looked for a speedy meeting with her
cousin and betrothed in London, whither Sir Richard had ,
intended taking his family for a while before the autumn
set in. Kate had looked forward then to making her
confession to her parents and his, and winning pardon for
them both, as she felt sure of doing when she had his
support in the telling of the tale. But the change of her
392 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
father’s plans, and the absence from England of Lord
Culverhouse, who had been sent on a mission to France by
his father, put an end to all these hopes, and she had felt
the burden of her secret heavy indeed. Moreover, she was
fearful lest Culverhouse should in some sort repent him of —
the step he had taken and wish it undone. Kate had but
a small share of vanity, and only a very modest apprecia-
tion of her own attractions, and it seemed to her as
though her cousin, moving as he did in the gay world of
fashion, must surely see many other maidens tenfold more
beautiful and graceful. Suppose he were to repent of his
secret betrothal; suppose his troth-plight weighed heavy
on his spirit? what misery that would be for both!
And during these long months of silence such thoughts and
fears had preyed upon the girl’s spirit, and had produced
in her the change that both her parents had observed.
Wherefore now that the confession had been made, and
the burdensome secret was a secret no longer, a reaction
set in that was almost like relief. She felt certain,
since all was known, that Culverhouse would come for-
ward and stand boldly beside her and lay claim to her
hand before the world as he had talked of doing when
he had led her to the troth-plight on that May-day that
seemed so long ago now.
Even the thought of the journey and the visit to her
father’s great-aunts was not altogether distasteful. She was
more afraid of meeting her mother’s sorrowful glances than
stern ones from strangers. Kate had no lack of courage,
and the love of variety and change was implanted in her
THE CROSS-WAV HOUSE. 393
as strongly as it is in most young things; so that when
Philip knocked at her door as the first rays of the October
sun were gilding the trees and fields, it was with a smiling
face that she opened to him, whilst he looked at her with
something of smiling surprise in his glance.
“Art ready, my sister? the horses will be at the door
‘in a few short minutes. I am glad to see thee so bright
and happy. I had feared to discover thee bathed in tears
of woe.â€
“Perchance I ought to be heavier-hearted than I am,â€
answered Kate, with a swift glance at Philip through her
long lashes. “I do repent me that I have angered our
father and mother. I know that I have been wrong to
keep the secret ; perchance I was wrong to let Culverhouse
persuade me. But that the thing is done I cannot truly
repent ; the only thing which would make me wish that
vow unsaid would be if Culverhouse were to wish to be
free of his troth-plight.â€
“Which I trow he never will be,†answered Philip
warmly, as he laid his hand on Kate’s shoulder. Those
two were very near akin in spirit and in sympathy. Kate
knew all his love for Petronella, and his anxiety for her
since her flight (though he fully believed her to be in
hiding with Cuthbert in the forest, albeit he had not been
able to discover them), and he had strong fellow-feeling
with the impulsive lovers. “He has never loved any
but thee, my sister, since the days we played together as
children. Save that concealment ever leads to trouble,
and that wedlock vows are too sacred to be made play-
394 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
things of, I could find it in my heart to wish that Petro-
nella and I were wed in like fashion. But our mother is
sorely grieved at what thou hast done—going before a
tonsured priest, with none'of thine own kindred by, to
take vows which should have had the sanction of thy
parents before they passed thy lips, and should have been
made in different fashion and in a different place. How-
beit no doubt time will soften her anger, and she will
grow reconciled to the thought. When we have made all
inquiries anent this priest and his ways, my father and I
will to London to speak with Lord Andover of this business.
I trust all will end well for thee, sister. But thou must
learn in thy captivity to be a patient and discreet maiden,
that they do not fear to give thee to Culverhouse at last,
since it must needs be so.â€
Kate looked up gratefully, comforted by the kind tone
of her brother’s words.
“In very sooth I will try, Philip, I thank thee for
thy good counsel. I will be patient and discreet towards
my great-aunts. I will strive to show them all due
reverence, that they may satisfy my mother when she
makes inquiry of them.â€
Kate long remembered the ride with her father and
brother through the forest and across the heath that day.
Her father was stern and grave, and scarcely addressed a
single word to her. Philip and she talked a little, but
were affected by this silence of displeasure, and observed a
befitting decorum and quietness. Sir Richard made his
daughter take him to the spot of her troth-plight, and
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE. 395
show him exactly how and where it had taken place. As
they stopped to bait the horses at the little hostelry, he
made various inquiries concerning the priest and his annual
visitation to the wake on May-day, and his face looked
none the less severe as he heard the replies,
“Methinks the knot hath been something tightly tied—
too tight for it to be easily unloosed,†whispered Philip to
his sister as he lifted her to the saddle after the noon-tide
halt; and she could not but answer by a bright smile,
which she saw reflected in his face.
The day, which had been bright and fine, turned dull
and lowering as the riders neared the Cross-Way House,
as the residence of Lady Humbert was called; and Kate
looked curiously at the house as they approached it, won-
dering what sort of a life its inmates led.
To her eyes, accustomed to the seclusion of park and
grounds, the most striking feature of this house was that
it stood actually upon the road itself. It occupied an
angle of the cross formed by the junction of four roads,
and its north and east windows looked out straight upon
these two highways, with nothing intervening between
them but some twenty feet of paved walk enclosed behind
walls ten feet high, and guarded by strong gates of wrought
iron.
Doubtless to the south and west there were gardens and
grounds. The walls seemed to run a long way along the
road, and Kate felt certain that she should find seclusion
and privacy there. She could see tall trees rearing their
heads above the wall, and was certain from the aspect of
396 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
the house, which was sufficiently imposing, that she should
find within the ease and luxury to which she was accus-
tomed. On the whole, she rather liked the prospect of
looking out upon the roads. If Culverhouse were to ride
by, she could signal to him from the windows. She could
watch the fine folk passing to and fro on their way to
London. Possibly a belated traveller might ask shelter at
the house, and amuse them with tales of adventure and
peril. Kate had time to think of many things as their
horses stood at the gates awaiting admittance; and when
these were thrown back at last, and they rode through an
archway and into a centre court-yard round which the
house was built, the girl was delighted with everything ;
for the quadrangular structure was a novelty to her, and
a novelty which took her fancy not a little. There were
servants to look after the horses; and it was plain the
travellers were expected, for they were quickly ushered into
the house by one of the great doors which opened on a wide
flight of steps leading down into the court, and were there
met by an aged major-domo, who greeted them with cere-
monious solemnity.
“ My lady is looking for you, sir,†he said to Sir Richard ;
and turning to Kate, he added, in the same mechanical
fashion, “ Your maid will show you to your room, madam.
My lady will see you after you have recovered from the
fatigues of the journey.â€
Kate was not in the least fatigued, but she was too well
brought up to remonstrate in any way. The maid was
hovering in the background—an elderly woman with a
LHE CROSS-WAY HOUSE. 397
capable face and slightly repellent manner. It was plain
to Kate that her relatives would not receive her till they
had learned more of the details of her banishment from
home from her father, and had made up their minds how
to treat her. She felt that even the serving-woman re-
garded her somewhat in the light of a culprit, and it was
with a mind divided betwixt amusement and girlish shame
that she followed the attendant into the bedchamber that
had been prepared for her.
This was a more sumptuous apartment than her room
at home, and looked comfortable enough in the glow of
the great fire of logs. The hangings of the bed were
dark and heavy, and the carved oak furniture was also
sombre in its polished blackness; but there was a thick
Square carpet on the floor, which was a luxury Kate had
never possessed in her bedchamber before, and the mirrors
and silver sconces for the candles all bespoke an ease and
luxury that reminded Kate of what life would be like when
she lived as a Countess or Viscountess in her own house,
with Lord Culverhouse as lord and master.
“This is your room,†said the woman. “Your mails
arrived earlier in the day, and your things have been put
away in the cupboard there and in the bureau yonder.
My lady gave orders you were to be served with some-
thing to eat and drink in your own room, and that she
would visit you later. There is another young lady visit-
ing in the house; she will come and see you if you will
permit her.â€
“Very willingly,†answered Kate, who was always ready
398 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
for company, and very curious to know something about
these great-aunts of hers, whom she had never seen as
yet. “TI shall be glad of food, as I liked not what they
served us with at the inn in the forest. As for the young
lady, albeit I know not who she can be, I should gladly
welcome her. I have no love for too much of my own
company ; wherefore the sooner she comes the better shall
I be pleased.†,
The woman withdrew, and Kate removed her hat and
gloves, and looked about her with quick, searching glances.
“ A good room in sooth, and no bad prison, if prisoner I
am to be. And since I may have company, I can scarce be
in such dire disgrace as that. I wonder who this visitor
may be? Some Wyvern, belike; but doubtless we shall
learn to take pleasure in each other. Soft! are those
steps without? Yes; and some one knocks at the door.
—Enter, enter, I pray. I am right glad— What! do
my eyes deceive me? Sure I am in some strange dream !
Petronella! Surely it cannot be Petronella! The features
are the same; but the Petronella I once knew was wan and
frail'as a fair wood lily, and thou—nay, but it cannot be!â€
“ But it is—it is!†cried the girl, making a bound for-
ward and flinging her arms round Kate’s neck in an ecstasy
of happiness; “and, O Kate, I have seen him again! I
saw him ride to the door by thy side! Perchance I shall
even have words with him ere he journey forth again!
Ah, how rejoiced was I when I heard that thou wert
coming! O Kate, I have such news for thee—such news,
such news !â€
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE. 399
The two girls were folded in each other’s arms. Be-
tween every few words they paused to kiss and laugh in
the very exuberance of their happiness. It seemed like a
dream to Kate; she could scarce believe her eyes.
“ Petronella—but how camest thou here ?â€
“I came when the weather grew so inclement that
Cuthbert would no longer let me share his forest life.
He brought me to this house, and our aunts, when they
heard our story, opened their doors to me; and I have been
here three whole weeks—ever since the summer’s heats
broke in storms of rain. But here I go by the name of
Ellen Wyvern, lest haply it should come to my father’s
ears that I am here, and he should fetch me away. But
I have almost ceased to quake at that thought; I have
had my freedom so long.â€
“TI scarce know thee, thou art so changed—so full of
sunshine and courage,†cried Kate. “Erstwhile thou wert
like a creature of moonlight and vapour; a breath seemed
as though it would blow thee away. What has befallen
to change thee so? What hast thou been doing all this
while? And where is Cuthbert ?â€
“Cuthbert is yet in the forest,’ answered Petronella,
sinking her voice to the merest whisper, as if afraid that
even the walls would have ears. “His task is not yet
finished. It is one that takes great skill and patience
and watchfulness. But it is being accomplished by slow
and sure degrees. Ah, Kate! what news thinkest thou
that I have for thee? The time has not yet come when
the world may know all; but I trow that thou mayest
400 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
know, for thou hast ever been with us in the secret of
the quest.â€
Kate’s face flushed and paled; her heart beat fast with
hope and wonder. She well knew what difference to her
future would be made by the restoration to the house of
Trevlyn of that lost treasure. She could scarce frame the
words she longed to speak, but her eyes asked the ques-
tion for her; and Petronella, putting her lips close to her
cousin’s ear, whispered the wondrous news that the lost
treasure was found.
“Found—really found!†and Kate gave a great gasp.
“Nay, but, Petronella, tell me how.â€
Petronella laid a warning hand upon Kate’s lips.
“ Nay, cousin, but thou must call me Ellen here. And
we must wait till the household be at rest, and we share
the same bed, ere I dare to pour into thine ears all the
tale. And thou must promise to breathe no word of it,
bad nor good, till the moment has come for the world to
know. It will not be- long now, I trow; but we are
pledged, and were it not that I know well thou art stanch
and true, I dared not have shared the joyful secret with
thee.â€
“Tt is safe with me,†cried Kate; “I will never betray
it. O Ellen, how I long to hear the whole! But since
that may not be now, tell me more of these great-aunts of
ours. What treatment am I to look for beneath their roof?
Am I to be received as kinswoman or as prisoner? for
marry I know not myself.â€
Petronella’s face kindled into smiles, those bright happy
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE. 401
smiles that gave it a charm never seen in past days. She
bent an arch glance upon her cousin, and then made
reply.
“The Lady Humbert is a fine stately dame, before whom
my heart quailed mightily when first I stood before her.
Her voice is sharp; her eyes look you through and
through; her frown sets you quaking, and makes you
wish the earth would swallow you up. But for all that,
when once you get to know her, you find that a warm
heart beats beneath her stiff bodice, and. that though she
will speak sharply to you before your face, she will do you
many a kind act of which you know little or nothing.
Mistress Dowsabel is younger, smaller, less fearsome to the
eye; indeed she is timorous and often full of fears herself.
She too is kind, though I truly think that Lady Humbert
has the larger heart. They love each other well, and are
willing to befriend all who have claims of kindred. For
the rest, they live much secluded from the world, and
think that the times are sadly changed for the worse since
the days when they were young.â€
“And what think they of me?†asked Kate, with
natural girlish self-consciousness.
Petronella repeated her arch glance.
“To me they say that thou art a wilful maid who
needest watching and stern guarding. They shake their
heads at such loose marriage, and tell me to take warning
and not fall into like folly and sin through overmuch love
of my own way. But I heard them talking together of
thee when they forgot that I was by; and then there was
(878) 26
402 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
something different in their words, and I could scarce for-
bear to smile.â€
“What said they then?†asked Kate eagerly.
“My Lady Humbert, she said that Lord Andover was a
good man and stanch, and that all spoke well of his son.
They added that if thou wouldest one day be Countess
of Andover, they would gladly think that thou wouldest
worthily fill that place. Aunt Dowsabel asked if thou
hadst made a good beginning in this hasty marriage or
troth-plight of thine ; whereat Lady Humbert gave a laugh,
and said she was glad that thou hadst had the spirit of thy
ancestors in thee, and that for her part, if you were both
true and stanch in your love, she saw small harm in
letting love have the mastery over prudence. And then it
turned out, as I learned from their talk, that she herself
had run away to be married when she was a girl, and that
she had never for one hour repented the act. So she
plainly felt that thou wast her own kinswoman in all
faith; and although she may speak to thee with stern
rebuke, thou mayest know in thy heart that she thinks
kindly of thee, and that she will stand thy friend with
thy father, and make the peace with thy mother if she may.â€
Kate’s face flushed happily.
“Nay, now, that is good hearing! Why did we not
know these good aunts before? I can go before them
with a light heart now. I repent me of nothing save that
I displeased my parents, and hid the matter from them
all this while. I trow I shall never repent that I let
Culverhouse persuade me to plight my troth to him.â€
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE. 403
Kate was glad of the assurance Petronella’s words had
given her when she was presently summoned before her
relatives, and stood in the dim panelled room before their
straight-backed chairs, feeling the stern eyes of Lady
Humbert fixed full upon her, whilst she heard that her
father and brother had already left, since it was only pain
and. grief to them to be beneath the same roof as their
obdurate and disobedient daughter and sister.
Kate received the lecture addressed her by the mistress
of the house with all becoming humility, and without that
sinking of heart. that she might otherwise have felt at the
cold stern tone; and she gladly passed her word, when
desired to do so, not to go beyond the precincts of the
great walled garden without special permission. In her
walks and rides abroad she was always to be attended, and
was to promise never to slip away from her escort. If she
would faithfully promise this, she might be allowed the
companionship of Ellen Wyvern, now a guest beneath the
roof of Cross-Way House; and to give this promise cost
Kate no pang, for she had no feverish desire after un-
fettered liberty, but was content to await the time she
knew must shortly come now, when Culverhouse would
come to claim her for his own, and would find her no
longer the portionless maiden she once had been, but dow-
ered with some of the rich spoil from that long-lost hoard.
Supper was served in solemn state in the dining-parlour,
and the two girls sat with their aged relatives to partake
of it. Petronella was a little sad that Philip had gone
without even knowing of her. presence beneath that roof ;
404 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
but she was certain their meeting would not be much
longer delayed, and was content to wait. The Wyvern
sisters did not keep a great establishment, as their means
were not large, though they clung to the old house which
had come down to them, and would have sacrificed much
rather than sell it. But Kate soon discovered that the
largest rooms were shut up and partially dismantled in
order that comfort should reign in those parts of the house
that were habitually used; that the staff of servants was
but small; and that of these nearly all were old men and
women who had grown gray and enfeebled in the service
of the family, and were kept on by the present mistresses,
who themselves disliked any changes in their establishment,
and who could hardly see their way to finding the wages
that able-bodied servants would look to receive. So they
lived in this very quiet fashion, surrounded by retainers
almost as aged as themselves, and led on the whole a happy
and a placid life. Petronella was proving of so much use
that the burden of her maintenance was not felt, and Sir
Richard Trevlyn made generous arrangements for the cost
of his daughter. But there was something altogether
quaint and curious in the life of the house, and Kate
thought it exceedingly interesting even before the first
evening had passed. :
Yet all the while she was longing to hear Petronella’s
tale, and was glad when the tapestry work was put away,
and formal good-nights had been exchanged. The girls ran
up to the guest-chamber prepared for Kate, which they had
agreed to share together from that time forth. It did not
THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE. 405
take them long to slip into bed ; and old Dyson, the waiting-
woman, who also acted as housekeeper, came quickly in to
see that the lights were safely extinguished, after which
only the glow of the fire illuminated the darkness of the
big room; and Kate in an eager whisper begged Petronella
to lose no time in telling her tale.
With breathless eagerness she heard of the girl’s flight
from home, and of her rescue of Cuthbert from the very
jaws of death. She could not understand Petronella’s
shuddering horror at the thought of having killed a man.
“T would have killed fifty, and been glad to rid the
earth of them were they such wretches as Long Robin!â€
she cried.
Then in deep silence she heard of Cuthbert’s dive into
the well, and of the golden flagon he had brought up as an
earnest of what was to come. Petronella went on to say
that, having made absolutely sure of the presence of the
treasure in the well, Cuthbert had then directed all his
energies to detecting the sources of the hidden springs that
fed it, and after long search and patience had satisfied
himself that it was filled by two, both rising in the high
ground not far distant.
He had then set to work to see how these waters could
be diverted so as to leave the well dry at his will; and
though it had taken months to perform this feat, and had
only been done at the cost of immense labour and trouble,
still it had been done, and one day in early September
the brother and sister had stood together to see the water
ebbing slowly and more slowly away, until at last their
406 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
eyes beheld a vast quantity of silver and gold lying ex-
posed at the bottom of the well, and knew that the lost
treasure of Trevlyn was theirs indeed.
But their labours were not yet ended. It was plain to
both that they must quickly find some safe spot whither
they could transport it all, else some passing traveller
might even now see and report what he had seen, and so
rob them of the fruit of their toil.
Afraid to go to Trevlyn Chase for help, lest the news
should in some way leak out to Nicholas at the Gate-
House, and also because the brother and sister had set their
hearts on accomplishing the task entirely alone, it suddenly
entered Cuthbert’s head to take his sister to the Cross-Way
House, and ask of its owners protection for her through
the approaching inclement season; and then, if satisfied
that these Wyvern kinswomen were to be trusted, and
were friendly of disposition towards them, to whisper the
secret of the treasure-trove in their ears, and ask leave to
deposit it all within the great strong-room underground,
that the Wyvern house had always boasted, and of which
the secret was known to very few.
This was the plan that had been carried out. His re-
ception by Lady Humbert, and her kindness to the lonely
Petronella when her pitiful story was told, quite decided
Cuthbert to confide the golden secret to her. She listened
in amaze, but was highly pleased at being the first person
to know it. She laid her hand on Cuthbert’s head, and
spoke to him of the old saw which predicted that fortune
should return to the Wyverns through the daughters’ sons,
THE CROSS-WAV HOUSE. 407
and declared that he was fulfilling the prophecy she had
longed to live to see come true. Cuthbert trusted that
such indeed would be the case, but did not know whether
the Wyverns had any lot or share in the treasure-trove.
Whereat the old lady smiled, and said that she laid no
claim to the gold—it was none of theirs, and never would
be; but still, with her hand on Cuthbert’s head, she de-
clared that after herself and her sister he should reign
at the Cross-Way House, and that his share of the treasure,
which in all sooth should be a large one, since but for
him it might never have been found, would go to restore
the fallen fortunes of the house, and to fulfil in very truth
the fondly-cherished prediction.
Cuthbert’s amazement had naturally been great; but
this fair prospect held out to him had but given greater
zest to his enterprise. Not to a single soul in the house
would Lady Humbert confide the secret, lest amongst
themselves the faithful old servants should gossip, and
rumour get abroad that the lonely house was worth attack-
ing. In the dead of night, upon appointed dates, Cuthbert
brought to a certain iron-barred window the laden ass
bearing his costly burden, and Petronella and Lady Hum-
bert themselves received the treasure and bore it piece by
piece to the secret room. Not a creature slept on that side
of the house—not a living being knew what was passing
in the dead hours of the night; and in this fashion the
treasure was being brought, Cuthbert descending the well,
into which a little water had now filtered—enough to con-
ceal the treasure from a passing observer if such there
408 THE CROSS-WAY HOUSE.
should chance to be—and with the assistance of their four-
footed friend, drawing up as much as the patient beast
could carry, and transporting it by night to this very house.
“When all is done,†concluded Petronella—‘and every
load we think must surely be the last, there is so much of
it—then he will forth to seek the gipsy in the forest, and
tell her that the task is done. After that he will to Lon-
don, to see how it fares with his cousins there, and to tell
my uncle something of his tale, demanding, as I right well
believe, the hand of our cousin Cherry in wedlock, since
he may now support a wife in all comfort and ease. When
that is done he will hither again, and Lady Humbert will
ask to her house a gathering of kinsfolk for the Yule-tide
festival. And then the great secret will be told. The
treasure will be divided between the Trevlyns assembled
beneath this roof; and I trow, sweet Kate, that my Lord
Culverhouse will contrive to be here, and that when the
good news has been told to all, he will have small work
in getting the parental blessing for those nuptials that
will be celebrated anew with pomp and rejoicing, and will
Ss:
make thee in very truth, and without shadow of a doubt,
the Viscountess Culverhouse.â€
Kate, laughing and quivering, clasped Petronella in her
arms, as she cried between laughter and tears,—
“And when that good hap befalls me, sweet Petronella,
I will warrant that Philip will be in no wise behind in
claiming his bride, and that thou as well as I shalt find
that the recovered treasure of Trevlyn has smoothed our
path to wedded happiness !â€
CHAPTER XX.
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
‘ RAMERCY! what next,I wonder! Here’s a pretty
kettle of fish! I always did say that no good
came of letters. I wish folks had more sense than to
spend their time writing! I never get a letter but what
it brings a peck of bother with it.â€
Mistress Susan Holt was the speaker. She held in her
hand a piece of paper which she was eying with many a
scornful sniff’ It had been left at the bridge house by
a courier riding through to Westminster from the south
country, and Martin Holt had called. his sister down to
his business parlour to open and read the missive.
He now looked up from his books with a pardonable
curiosity to say,—
“Well, sister Susan, letters do not trouble thee oft.
And what may be the news in this one? and from whom
comes it?â€
“From Prudence Dyson.â€
“Prudence at the Cross-Way House? And what says
she? it is long since we had news of her.â€
“So long that I had almost forgot where she was; and
410 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
I marvel she should trouble us thus. Thy daughters are
not serving-wenches, Martin. What can Prudence: be
thinking of ?â€
Martin smiled slightly. It seemed to him that beneath
his sister’s iron rule his daughters did little but toil after
the fashion of serving-wenches from morning to night.
As for Susan herself, she worked harder than any servant
she had ever had beneath her sway.
“What says the letter?†he asked briefly; “what is
the matter that angers thee ?â€
“Tam not angry,†answered Susan sharply. “I trust
I know my duty better as a Christian than to be angered
over trifles. I am but surprised at such a request.
Prudence Dyson asks if I can spare one of my nieces and
thy daughters to dwell for a while at Cross-Way House,
to help her with her duties there.â€
Martin Holt did not appear to see anything very un-
reasonable or extraordinary in that request.
“What has caused her to wish it?†he asked quietly.
“Ts she in any way ill or disabled ?â€
“It is not that; it is that there be two young ladies
of gentle birth dwelling now beneath Lady Humbert’s care.
Prudence desires to give them all due tendance and
service ; but as thou knowest, Martin, the household purse
there is not deep, and Prudence strives might and main to
do all she can to save her kind mistress from needless cost.
She is striving now to attend herself upon all four ladies ;
and she says that the young maidens are very kindly and
gentle and helpful. But she likes not to see them wait
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 411
upon themselves, and she knows that my Lady Humbert
would wish them to have all needful service. Wherefore
she asks if thou couldst spare a daughter to go thither
for a while to help her by waiting on the young damsels.
And J—â€
“Well, and wherefore not?†said Martin, stroking his
chin thoughtfully. “Prudence is a good woman, and my
dead wife loved her best of all her family. T know that
Lady Humbert is a woman into whose house any father
might trust his daughter without a fear. As for the
question of serving-wenches, I trow the wench who goes
will have an easier time than the sisters who abide at
home. Susan, I think it only right to help Prudence in
this matter ; I can see no reason against so doing.â€
Susan seldom opposed the master of the house, but she
looked a little sour and displeased.
“We shall have Christmas upon us right soon; we can
ill spare any hands then,†she said.
“O-ho! So it is the thought of thine own pies and
stuffed meats that weighs with thee!†said Martin with a
laugh. “Then I will tell thee what I will do. I will send
Cherry, whom thou art ever chiding for being useless to
thee. She shall go to wait upon the two young madams
and help good Prudence at the Cross-Way House, and
thou shalt keep thy two useful nieces at home with thee.â€
Susan’s brow cleared somewhat, but she made a move-
ment of her bony shoulders indicative of scorn.
“Cherry may go with all my heart, for she is idler and
more useless than ever, and does naught from morning to
412 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
night but sit at the window, watching the folks in the
street, and turning from red to pale and pale to red as
though she were a bride looking for the arrival of her
bridegroom. I have no patience with such ways. I knew
no good would come of always spoiling the child. I can
do naught with her now; she heeds not a word I say.
Ofttimes she does not even know that I am speaking to
her. She may go, and welcome! but I misdoubt me that
Prudence will thank thee for the loan. Much good and
much service she will get out of Keren-happuch !â€
Martin Holt looked thoughtfully at his sister.
“That is partly why I am glad the child should go.
I too have seen a change in her. Methinks she is feeling
the long hot summer in the city. There be many that
have told me that she is not looking as she should do.
This idleness shows something of indisposition, I take it.
Doubtless she will receive benefit from a change of air and
occupation. She loves to be in the open air, and at the
Cross-Way House there will be gardens and pleasaunces
and orchards where she may perchance be suffered to
wander at will. Prudence will be kind to her, and I shall
send her gladly.â€
Susan again made her peculiar gesture, as much as to
say that she washed her hands of responsibility in the
matter.
“She is thy daughter—do as thou wilt, Martin; but I
warn thee that no good will come of it. Going amongst
ladies will make her think herself a finer lady than ever:
and now as it is she will scarce deign to soil her dainty
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 413
hands with anything coarser than the making of light
pastry. Thou wilt spoil her for a city man’s wife; and I
know not how Abraham Dyson will take it. Prudence is
his sister, to be sure, and it is to do her a kindness; but
Jacob wants a useful wife—and, as I understood, they were
resolved not to delay the marriage beyond Christmas.
Rachel has been six months wed, and the house wants a
mistress who can move about and look to things.â€
Martin was looking very thoughtful. He did not reply
for a while, and then he said slowly,—
“Send the child to me, Susan; I will speak to her of
this myself.â€
“ Ay, thou hadst best do so, for I might as well speak
to the walls as to Keren-happuch,†said Mistress Susan as
she went on her way up the stairs, by no means pleased at
the easy fashion in which her brother took this matter.
Susan loved a grand fuss and talk and discussion over
every trifle in the day’s round, and this was more than a
trifle. Her tongue was as active as her hands, and she
would talk by the hour as she worked, until those about
her grew weary of the very sound of her voice.
Martin Holt, who was fully alive to his sister’s many
virtues and valuable qualities, did find her something of a
trial also, and it never struck him as at all inexplicable
that the self-willed and impetuous little Cherry should
often be at loggerheads with her aunt.
As she stole down the staircase and stood before him
with a wondering, questioning look in her big eyes, he eyed
her keenly, and could not but see that some of the bloom
414 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
had faded from her cheeks, and that she had in some way
changed during the past months.
“Cherry,†he said, taking her small hand in his and
speaking in an unwontedly gentle way, “has thy aunt told
thee wherefore I want thee ?â€
“No, father; she said that thou wouldst tell me.â€
“And so I will; but tell me first if there is aught
amiss with thee. I have missed thy laugh of late, and
thou hast lost some of thy roses. Does aught ail thee,
child ?â€
Sudden tears welled up in Cherry’s eyes; her lip began
to tremble.
“JT know not, I know not,’ she answered, with a little
sob, “It only seems sometimes as though I could not
bear the life any longer; it is all so drear, so dull, so
dead! one day like another—always the same. Some-
times I think the narrow house will stifle me! O father,
chide me not; I have struggled against the feeling, but
the life is killing me!. I know not how to bear it—
alone.â€
The last word was almost a whisper, and escaped Martin’s
ears. He was regarding his child with a thoughtful and
perplexed countenance. He fancied that he was somewhat
in the position of a mother hen who sees its foster-brood
of ducklings take to the water for the first time. He did
not understand this outburst in the least. Cherry’s restless
discontent was an enigma to him. But he saw that it was
real, and that it was a source of trouble and suffering to
herself; and he wisely resolved neither to rebuke nor
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 415
condemn her, but simply to treat it as the symptom of a
malady of the body which might be cured by a few
months’ change and relaxation.
The child was half frightened at her own boldness, and
stood trembling before him. Her aunt would have boxed
her ears and sent her to bed for such a confession ; but her
father only looked at her as though he were trying to
read her very soul, and Cherry instinctively dropped her
eyes, as if fearful that another secret would be read there—
a secret which she kept locked up closely in her breast,
and would not for the world that any other should know.
“Cherry,†said Martin Holt, speaking slowly and quietly,
“T know not what to think of thy words, save that thy
disordered fancies come from a disordered health. Thou
hast been looking less robust than I like to see thee;
wherefore I think it well that thou shouldest have some
change in thy life, and see if that will cure. thee. Thy
good aunt Prudence Dyson, a younger sister of thy mother,
has sent to ask me if I will spare her one of my daughters
to help wait upon some young madams staying with my
Lady Humbert. Thou hast not been brought up to such
duties, but thou hast quick hands and eyes, and, I trust,
a willing heart, and I have resolved to send thee. Thou
wilt be in the country, and the change will doubtless be
good for thee. I shall look to receive thee back restored
to thine old self again. The Cross-Way House stands
south from this by some seventeen miles, and is not very
far away from the forest of which Cuthbert used to talk,
and Trevlyn Chase where his kinsfolk live. Thou mayest
416 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
hear somewhat of him there, for methinks the ladies
Wyvern are in some sort his kinsfolk too. I marvel that
all these months have gone by without a word or a sign
from him. Thou canst ask if aught has been heard of
him. I trust no mishap has befallen the lad. He promised
us news of himself ere now.â€
Had the room been less dim and dark, Martin might
have seen the sudden alternations of red and white in
Cherry’s cheek as these last words were spoken; but the
twilight was drawing in apace, and she kept her face
downbent. But her heart was beating fast with throbs of
gladness as well as astonishment. The idea of being sent
away from home to the house of strangers was something
fearful, but the last clause had given her food for eager
anticipation. Where would she not go for news of
Cuthbert, for whom she was now pining, and pining all the
more sadly because she might speak to none of her anxiety
and trouble ?
Cuthbert had said he should be some months away;
but she had looked for him at Michaelmas, and now
October was speeding along, and yet there was no sign.
Cherry had all a London gifl’s terror of the forests and
their perils. She remembered how he had spoken of
danger when last he had ridden through, and how nearly
the terrible old gipsy had fulfilled her vow of vengeance
by wreaking it upon his head. Might she not have found
him and have slain him when he lived hidden away in the
forest? Might not his search for the lost treasure have
led him into many deadly perils? If living and free,
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 417
why had he not written or appeared to her by this time ?
Could it be—oh, could it be—that he had forgotten her,
and was keeping purposely away? Almost sooner would
she believe him dead; but either fear filled her with dread
and dismay.
And now a new throb of hope was in her heart. Once
near the forest and what might she not hear or see?
Might she not even find him herself? In her ignorance
and inexperience anything seemed possible if only she
might escape from the trammels of city life, and from the
argus eye of her aunt Susan.
“ And am I to go and help my aunt Prudence, father ?â€
“Yes; I think it is but right and kind that thou
shouldst do so. Thou art willing thyself ?—and wilt thou
be docile and teachable ?â€
“T will strive in all things to please her.â€
“That is well. I shall trust thee to do credit to thy
name.â€
“ And when am I to go, father ?â€
“So soon as I can find escort for thee; and that me-
thinks will not be long, since the house stands directly on
the road betwixt London and Southampton. Thou hadst
best look to thy clothes and such things as thou mayest
need there; for I would not lose a chance of sending thee
safely guarded. I shall to Abraham Dyson this very
evening, to ask what business is doing by road with South-
ampton just now.â€
“ And how long shall I be away, father ?â€
“Nay, child, that I know not. Prudence makes no
(378) 27
418 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
mention of that. Haply, I take it, a matter of three
months or so, since had the ladies been leaving shortly
she would scarce have sent so urgently for thee. Thou
wilt not be home for thy Christmas, I fear; but thou
wilt be in a good and a godly house, with thine own aunt
to watch over thee; and I trow that thou wilt so act and
comport thyself as to bring credit and not disgrace upon
the name thou bearest.â€
“T will try, good father,’ answered Cherry with great
meekness ; and her father kissed her and bid her begone,
for that he was about to go forth and talk to Abraham
Dyson on this matter.
Cherry went up to her room feeling bewildered, half
frightened, and yet elated and pleased.. Something had
come to break at last the long monotony of the life which
she felt was crushing the spirit out of her. She was going
to a place where it seemed that she must surely have news
of Cuthbert, and where, if she did not pass him on the
road, she would certainly be nearer to him.
Her sisters, greatly astonished, could searcely believe
their ears when told that Cherry was really going away ;
and Keziah hung over her with wistful eyes, assisting her
to get her clothes ready, and wondering what the house
would seem like without its rebellious and most attractive
member.
“ Methinks it will be duller than ever,†she said. “Jacob
will scarce care to come if thou art gone.â€
“Jacob! why, I trow he will but come the more,†an-
swered Cherry, with a saucy gleam in her eye as she looked
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 419
in Kezzie’s grave face. “He will come to thee for com-
fort, my sister, and I trow that thou wilt give it him in
full measure.â€
Keziah’s grave face lighted up somewhat.
“Thinkest thou that? Indeed I would gladly try.
Jacob is a good lad and a kind one. I marvel thou dost
not treat him better, Cherry.â€
“T like Jacob; he is very good. We are great friends,â€
answered Cherry hastily, “but—†There she broke off
and busied herself over her trunk, saying as she leaned so
far into it that her face could not be seen, “Kezzie, if
Cuthbert should come back, thou wilt tell him where I
have gone. Tell him I am with his kinsfolk, and ask him
if he goes that way to pay a visit to them.â€
“T will,†answered Keziah, who had her own ideas about
Cuthbert’s sudden and entire disappearance; “but I fear
me we shall see Cuthbert no more. He—â€
“Why sayest thou so? What dost thou know? What
dost thou mean, Keziah? Hast thou heard aught of him?â€
“Bless the child—no!†answered Keziah hastily.
“How should I know aught of him? But, Cherry, my
sweet sister, be not angry with me if I say it. Cuthbert
is a Trevlyn, for all that our aunt was his mother. He is
of rank above ours. He may have made friends in his
own walk in lifé. He may repent him of the friendships
he made at the bridge house. Be not wroth with me for
saying it, but men before him have gone forth and re-
turned not to those who looked for them. But if he comes
I will tell him—I will tell him all. Only do not too
420 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
greatly count upon it. I grieve so lest thou shouldest be
disappointed.â€
Cherry said nothing. She would not even by a word
seem to doubt Cuthbert’s fidelity. Keziah, if she did not
know how matters stood betwixt them, knew enough to
have a very shrewd suspicion of it. She had been in
some sort Cherry’s confidante. Both the sisters had some
knowledge of each other’s secret.
The next evening, just before it grew dark, as Cherry
was sitting alone in the upper parlour, exempt from house-
hold toil that she might get her own wardrobe ready, and
now having laid her needle aside because she could no
longer see, the door opened, and the tall, loose figure of
Jacob Dyson appeared framed against the dark background
of the staircase behind, and the girl sprang to her feet
with a little exclamation of pleasure and welcome.
“T thought that thou wouldst come to see me, Jacob.
Thou hast heard that I am going away ?â€
“Ay, I have heard it. Art thou glad to be going,
Cherry ?â€
“Yes, verily Iam. I am sick at heart for news of him,
and perchance I may get it where I be going. I shall be
near his home and his kinsfolk.â€
Jacob had sat down, and was turning his cap round and
round in those large red hands that were ‘such an offence
to the girl. After a few moments of silence he looked up
and said,—
“Cherry, hast thou ever thought of the things thou hast
said to me—of the promise thou hast given ?â€
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 421
She bent her head low, and the whispered “ Yes†was
barely audible.
“Thou wilt not go back from thy word ?â€
She raised her head suddenly and said—
“No, Jacob, I will not go back from my word. Thou
hast been very good and kind and patient; and if in time
to come it should be proved that Cuthbert is dead, or has
wed another and been false to me, then I will say naught
against thee, but will do as my father saith, and strive to
make thee a good wife. But I have never promised to
love thee as a wife should love her husband. Thou must
not expect that of me, Jacob.â€
She lifted her eyes to his with a look that sent a quick
thrill through him. He put out one of his hands and took
hers, saying in very gentle tone, though his gestures were
slightly uncouth,—
“T will only strive might and main to win thy love,
sweetheart. Methinks if thy heart were once free again
thou mightest learn the lesson.â€
She shook her head and answered very low,—
“Thou couldst learn to love again, good Jacob; but I—
never. I would that thou couldst look around thee, and
find a good and useful wife whom thy mother would wel-
come; who would love thee well, and whom thou couldst
love without let. There be such—I am well assured of
it. As for me, even though some day thou shouldst gain
my hand, my heart can never be thine.â€
Jacob looked at her with a wistful, dog-like devotion,
and heaved a heavy sigh. That unselfish and faithful
422 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
youth was going through a rather hard probation, such as
so often falls upon the best and warmest-hearted of earth’s
sons, who have been denied those outward graces that
charm the fancy and take the eye. He had long since
divined the secret of the attachment betwixt Cuthbert and
Cherry; and when urged by his father to press his own
suit, had been backward in so doing. On Cuthbert’s dis-
appearance he had one day spoken openly to Cherry of
his suspicions, and she had frankly told him all, begging
him to keep their secret, and to hold off his own suit until
Cuthbert’s quest should be over, and he could come to
claim her as his own.
Truth to tell, Jacob had little belief in the finding of
the lost treasure; but he did believe in Cuthbert, whom
he loved only second to Cherry, and whom he would any
day have set before himself. He made Cherry a promise
that it should be as she desired; that he would give her
time to test Cuthbert’s sincerity before he spoke another
word of marriage with her. But he also timidly asked in
return for the sacrifice he was making, and as a reward
for his championship, that if Cuthbert should never return,
if harm should befall him in the forest, or if some other
maiden should win his heart and hand, that then Cherry
should become his wife, and let him try to comfort her by
his own devoted and life-long love.
Cherry had given the promise without overmuch per-
suasion. What good would life. be to her without Cuth-
bert ? she had argued. If she could make any one else
happy, she might as well do it as not. Jacob was very
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 423
good. He would be kind to her and patient with her,
whilst her aunt Susan would be just the reverse. Life
under such conditions, beneath that unsympathetic rule,
would be well-nigh unendurable. It would be better for
her own sake to wed Jacob and escape from it all. And
when the promise had been given, it seemed so little likely
that she would be called upon to fulfil it! Even now she
scarcely contemplated it seriously, for her heart was filled
with hope. Was she herself not going towards the forest
and Cuthbert? Surely she would hear somewhat of him
there ! ,
“T shall ask none other woman to be my wife until I
know that thou canst never be mine, Cherry,†answered
Jacob, with gentle obstinacy. “I shall never wish aught
of ill to Cuthbert. Thou knowest that I would stand
betwixt him and peril an I might. But till he stands at
thy side and claims thee as his own, I will not give thee
up. I can bide my time—TI can wait and watch.â€
She looked at him with suddenly dilating eyes, as though
a qualm of fear had smitten her.
“ But, Jacob, if he were to come hither when I be gone,
thou wouldest not hinder him from finding me; thou
wouldest not do him any ill turn that we might be kept
apart? That would not be fair; it would be an ill thing.
It would be—â€
She stopped suddenly short, for Jacob had risen, and
seemed to stand towering above her, with something
majestic in his air that she had certainly never observed
there before.
424 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
“Cherry! for what dost thou take me?†he asked, his
voice quivering with an emotion that showed him to be
deeply moved. “Hast thou so vile an opinion of the man
thou mayest some day call thy husband, the man who
bears the name of thy dead mother, that thou canst think
such evil thoughts of him? No, Cherry, I will not hinder
him from finding thee. I will in no wise stand between
you. I will aid him with all that is in my power to find
thee. If peril should menace him and I could stand be-
twixt him and it, I would do so gladly. I would lay down
my life for him, if by so doing thou and he might one day
be happy. Dost think that I prize my life so high, since
I may not win the crown that would make its happiness ?
If I may not live for thee, Cherry, methinks I would
sooner die for thee, if by so doing I might win thee happi-
ness and love. I love thee and I love Cuthbert. I ask
nothing better than that I may in some sort serve and
save you twain.â€
And with a gesture of rugged dignity of which Cherry
was keenly aware, and which raised Jacob to an altogether
different level in her mind, he held out his hand as if
to seal the compact, and without waiting for her broken
words of explanation and apology, turned and walked out
of the room.
Two days later Cherry started forth upon her travels.
Her father went part of the way with her, and left her
but seven miles from the end of her journey. She was
escorted by a body of merchants and their servants, who
were transporting some merchandise to Southampton, and
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 425
were a goodly company in themselves for fear of assault
from the robbers of the road. As they had quantities of
valuables with them, they intended to travel only during
the daylight hours, and after leaving Cherry at the Cross-
Way House, would put up for the night at the nearest
town on the southern side of the forest.
How Cherry’s heart beat as her fellow-travellers pointed
out the wall and chimneys of her destination, and the
whole party reined up at the door! The Cross-Way
House was well known to travellers as being one of the
regular landmarks along the road. It was a hospitable
mansion for any wayfarers in distress, and its mistress
was held in high repute, and had never yet been molested
or threatened by the highway bands, who might have been
troublesome to the members of any household whose walls
abutted so close upon the road. Lady Humbert was reap-
ing the reward for the renowned kindness of heart of the
whole Wyvern family towards all the lowly, the unfor-
tunate, and the oppressed; and though many a fugitive
fleeing from the robbers had found shelter within her
walls, these had proved as safe shelter as the walls of any
ancient sanctuary; for once within Lady Humbert’s gates
and not even the most hated and hunted foe need fear
further molestation.
Cherry had heard some such words as these as the party
had jogged onwards together; and now she found herself
standing timidly at the back entrance of the house, her
box beside her, and one of her uncle’s friends at her side.
When the door was opened and her guardian spoke her
426 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
name and errand, she was quickly made welcome to enter,
and after saying a hasty good-bye to the kindly mer-
chant, found herself traversing several long stone passages,
till she was finally ushered into a low parlour, where an
elderly woman sat brewing over the fire some concoction
“which looked like one of Mistress Susan’s compounds of
berries and spice.
“Sure it is my good aunt, Prudence Dyson,†said
Cherry, as the woman looked quickly round. “Methinks
I should have guessed that anywhere, thou art so like
to my uncle.†,
The woman came forward and saluted her niece gravely
and kindly.
“Thou art Martin Holt’s daughter? What is thy name,
child? I could scarce make it out from Susan’s letter, for
she is no scholar, as she ofttimes says. I am right glad
to welcome thee, and I trust thou comest to us with a
willing heart ?â€
“A right willing heart,†answered the girl, smiling
bravely, despite the strangeness of her surroundings; for
there was something home-like and comforting in the aspect
of her aunt and in the sound of her voice. “I was glad
my father’s choice lighted on me, and I will strive to please
in all I do. My name is Cherry—at least that is how I
am always called. And who are the ladies upon whom I
am to wait?â€
“The one whom thou wilt chiefly serve is Mistress Kate
Trevlyn, a daughter of Sir Richard Trevlyn of the Chase.
I know not if thou knowest aught of the family, but most
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. (427
like thou art aware that thy aunt Bridget made a luckless
marriage with one Nicholas Trevlyn, whereby she cast
herself adrift from all her family. Why, child, what a
colour thou hast! What dost thou know of this matter 2â€
“T know my cousin Cuthbert Trevlyn,†answered Cherry,.
trying to speak naturally, though her heart beat wildly all
the while. “He came to us a year ago, and remained be-
neath my father’s roof till the summer had well-nigh come.
From him we learned much of the family; and right glad
am I to think that I may serve Mistress Kate, who was a
kind friend to him in times past. My cousin Cuthbert
was much beloved by all our house whilst he remained -be-
neath our roof. We have not heard of him this many a
day. Dost thou know aught of him, my aunt?â€
Prudence Dyson gave her niece a quick, sharp glance,
and then answered a little evasively,—
“Thou must ask that question of Mistress Kate, my dear,
if she will please to talk with thee. She may have had
news of him belike. As for us of this household, we hear
but little of what happens in the world beyond. We are
all growing old together.â€
Had it not been for the earnestness with which they
were talking, the aunt and niece might have heard a light
footfall down the passage. The door was softly pushed
open, and a clear voice asked,—
“Ts Mistress Dowsabel’s hot posset ready, Dyson? she
has asked for it more than once.â€
Both women started and turned round, and Cherry ut-
tered a little involuntary cry, whilst the name “ Cuthbert â€
428 HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY.
sprang to her lips so fast that she was not sure that she
had not uttered it aloud. Her eyes were fixed upon
the face of the dark-eyed girl who had brought the
message.
“JT will take it at once,†said Dyson, hastily lifting it
from the fire. “I crave my lady’s pardon for being late
with it; but my niece from London has but just arrived,
and I was hindered for the moment.—Cherry, wait here
till I return, and then I will speak more with thee.â€
Dyson hurried away with the posset, and the two girls
stood gazing at each other, a light of welcome and amaze
in both their eyes.
“Cherry! did she call thee Cherry? and from London
too? And Kate hath ofttimes said that— Oh, why waste
words?†cried the girl, breaking off quickly. “Tell me,
art thou Martin Holt’s daughter? art thou my brother
Cuthbert’s Cherry ?â€
“Thy brother ? then thou art Petronella!†cried Cherry,
in a maze of bewilderment; and even as she spoke the
name she felt Petronella’s arms about her, and they were
laughing and kissing, questioning and exclaiming, all in the
most incoherent fashion, yet contriving to make each other
understand some fragments of their respective stories, till
at last Petronella drew herself away and laid her hand
on Cherry’s arm, saying as she did so,—
“But remember that here J am Ellen Wyvern, and not
even good Dyson knows more than that. Be on thy guard,
good coz, and only speak familiarly to me in secret. O
Cherry, how I have longed to see thee—Cuthbert’s Cherry,
HOW IT FARED WITH CHERRY. 429
of whom I have heard so much! And how comest thou
hither? Has he sent thee ?â€
“He? I have not seen him these six months past.
Petronella, sweet cousin, give me good news of him.â€
“Why, so I can—the very best. He has found the
treasure. It is safely lodged here. And he has gone forth
into the forest again, first to tell the tale to the gipsy
queen, who has been his friend through all, and then to
return to London to thy father’s house to seek his Cherry
once again, and claim her hand before all the world.â€
CHAPTER - XXI.
THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
“ HY task is done, and it is well done. But now get
thee from the forest with all speed, for there is
peril to thee here.â€
So said Joanna, standing before Cuthbert in the pixies’
dell, her hand upon the low stone wall, her tall figure
drawn up to its full height. She had been looking thought-
fully down into the sparkling water, which was now filling
the well as of old, whilst Cuthbert told his tale with
graphic power. An expression of calm triumph was on
her face as she heard how the long-lost hoard was lying
safely stored within the house of the Wyverns—a house
sacred to the gipsies and safe from any raids of robbers,
such was the esteem in which that name was held. She
looked like one whose task is done, who feels a heavy
load lifted from the mind; but the glance fixed upon
Cuthbert’s eager face was also one of gravity and meaning.
“The forest is no place for thee now,†she said ;. “get
thee hence as fast as thou canst.â€
“ And wherefore so?†asked Cuthbert, surprised. “ Me-
thought the peril ceased with the death of —â€
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 431
“ Hush!†said the gipsy, almost sternly ; “ bethink thee
that there may be listeners even now about us in these
thick bushes, and guard thy words with caution. Remem-
ber the strange links that bind together those of the wild
gipsy blood; and remember that Long Robin lies in his
bloody grave not far from here.â€
She lowered her voice as she spoke, and Cuthbert. in-
stinctively followed her example.
“ But no man knows that.â€
“ How canst thou tell ?â€
“None saw the deed. It was done in the dead of night.
Ere morning came he was laid below the earth. Thou
thyself knew not what had befallen him till I spoke
the word.â€
He looked at her as if in momentary distrust; but the
calm gaze and the noble countenance of the gipsy seemed
to reassure him. Joanna, who had read his thought, smiled
slightly.
“Nay, boy, thou needst not fear treachery from Joanna,
and the gipsy queen will give thee all protection in her
power. Have I not told thee that upon me, when I received
that title, was laid the charge of seeing the stolen treasure
restored to the house of Trevlyn? To thy courage and re-
solve and perseverance and skill belongs it that this charge
is now fulfilled. Thou needst not fear that any ill-will
or lack of caution on Joanna’s part will cause evil to light
upon thy head. But there are others with whom thou
mayest have to reckon. There is Miriam, to whom Long
Robin was as the apple of the eye.â€
432 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
“Yet he was not her husband (he is no aged man), and
he can scarce have been her son.â€
“No matter. As I have told thee ere this, there be strange
bonds betwixt us of the gipsy blood, binding closer and
firmer than ever ties of kinship do. Miriam loved yon man
with a love passing all others. She has missed him these
many weeks. She is frantic with anxious grief. She is
convinced that some ill has befallen him. She is rousing
to anger and vengeance the whole tribe. They have vowed
that they will find Robin, whether he be dead or alive, and
that if dead they will avenge them on his murderer.
Already suspicion has fallen upon thee. Dost think thy
many journeys through the forest have passed unnoted
by us?â€
“JT have never seen a soul; I had not known myself
watched.â€
“Luckily for thee thou hast not been watched, else
would little of the treasure have been placed in safe-keeping.
Thou hast reaped the benefit Robin hoped to reap himself
alone when he surrounded this dell as with a barrier that
no man might pass. Even the most daring spirits of our
tribe dare not come here; and Miriam, who bids them
scour the forest in all other directions, fears to tell them to
come hither, albeit I well know she will shortly search the
spot herself if Robin come not soon. Then she will find
the grave; it will not escape her eyes. First she will
think the lost treasure lies there, for I am convinced that
Robin never told her the full secret. Then when she looks
farther, she will find what that grave really contains; and
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. “433
thou hadst best be far away ere that day comes. Thou
hast been seen. Thy journeyings in the forest have pro-
voked wonder and curiosity. Let Miriam once learn that
Robin lies there, and the whole truth will flash upon her;
and then look thou to thyself !â€
These words were spoken with such significance that
Cuthbert experienced an involuntary qualm of fear.
“T thank thee for the warning,†he said; “I will avail
myself of thy kind counsel. I had thought of journeying
to London ere this. There, it may be, I shall be hidden
from their malice.â€
“Thou wilt be safer there than here,†answered the gipsy
quietly ; “I will not say thou wilt be truly safe in any
spot if Miriam’s ire be once roused against thee. She has
a wondrous fierce spirit, and she has influence with our
people second only to mine. And then there hung about
Long*Robin a mysterious charm. Men loved him not—
they feared and distrusted him; and yet, were it to be
known that he had met his death by violence, Miriam
would have but small trouble in stirring up the hearts of .
a score of stout fellows vowed to vengeance. In the forest
thou wilt have small chance of thy life.â€
“Perchance they will follow me to London,†said
Cuthbert ; “if so, it will be small use to fly.â€
“In London our folks have fears for themselves,†an-
swered the gipsy queen. “Half of them are outlawed;
the other half lie beneath the suspicion of sorcery, which
in these days is almost worse. They may hover about the
dens of the city, but they will fear to molest thee else-
(878) 28
434 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
where. Thou must take heed how thou venturest beyond
the city walls, for Tyrrel and his men may be lurking be-
yond on the watch.â€
“Methought Tyrrel and Miriam were no such friends,â€
said Cuthbert, recollecting the night when he had been
brought to the mill. “Will he take up her quarrel ?â€
“Tf she can make him believe that Robin had the secret
of the lost treasure, and that thou didst force the secret
from him ere thou laidest him in his grave, he will take up
the quarrel in right good earnest, and rest not till he has
learned where the treasure has been hid. We of the gipsy
tribe have as little believed in that hid treasure as the
house of Trevlyn, hence its safety all these years. But let
Miriam once tell what she knows—which is something, I
warrant—and there may be many who will then believe
that the secret was in Robin’s keeping. They will be
certain sure that thou wouldst not have killed thé man
until thou hadst made sure of the treasure. It would be
acting like the fabled: yokel who killed the goose that laid
the golden eggs. Wherefore be gone. Hide thyself in
London town. In a few weeks or months the chase may
be over; but for the time being beware of the forest!â€
“T will,†answered Cuthbert. “I thank thee for thy good
counsel. I will be speedily gone.â€
Joanna stood looking reflectively at him.
“Thou wouldest be safest within the walls that shelter
the treasure—with thy kinsfolk of the house of Wyvern.â€
“Nay, but I must first go to London,†answered Cuth-
bert quickly; “I have been’ long absent. My kinsfolk
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 435
there will be looking for news of me. And perchance my
presence in the house of my kinswomen might imperil them.
I would not be a cause of danger to them.â€
“Thou art a bold and true-hearted lad,†answered
Joanna; “and it may be well that for the nonce thou
shouldest keep away from the Cross-Way House. Thy
presence there might awaken suspicion; though I scarce
believe that any lust of gold would drive our people to
attack that house. Go then to London, and lose thyself
there awhile. Presently thou mayest return and see how
thy sister fareth ; but not too soon—not too soon!â€
Cuthbert started.
“My sister!†he said; “how knowest thou that ?â€
Joanna smiled her lofty smile.
“ Ask a gipsy how she knoweth what takes place within
the limits of her domain! Tush, boy! thinkest thou that
I do not know all that passes in the forest? Thy sister
has done well to find a shelter there. She is safer at the
Cross-Way House than in this dell with thee.â€
“Tf she is safe I can well look to myself,’ answered
Cuthbert, with the confidence of youth and strength.
“To be warned where the peril lies is half the battle.
I will be cautious—I will be wary; and having naught
to keep me in the forest, I will start for London town this
very day.â€
“ Ay, do so, and without an hour’s delay. Old Miriam
is raging like a fury. Tyrrel may at any moment return,
and I trow she will rouse him to bitter enmity towards
thee. Fly, before any strive to stay thee. And when thou
436 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
hast reached the city, go once again to Esther. Tell her
that the deed is done, the treasure found, that it lies in the
house of the Wyverns, and that the luck has come back
to the house, as was always said, through the daughters’
sons.â€
“T will,†answered Cuthbert; and bidding a farewell to
the gipsy, to whose protection and good-will he owed so
much, he left the dell and made his way rapidly through
the forest, till he struck the road which would lead him to
London.
He would not turn out of the direct way to go to the
Cross-Way House, though he would gladly have seen his
sister and Kate and his aged kinswomen again. He did
not wish them to know of the peril which might threaten
his own path, nor did he desire to draw attention to that
house by directing his steps thither in broad daylight.
Plainly his presence in the forest had already excited
remark, He had been seen far oftener than he had
known. If he did not linger, but pursued his way to
London without delay, he might reach it by nightfall, and
that was no small inducement to him. Petronella knew
that he was bound thither; she would not reckon on
seeing him again. And there was Cherry at the other
end. The thought of seeing her again that very day
drew him onwards like a magnet. During these long
weeks of search and hard toil, the thought of Cherry had
been the best sweetener of his labour. He had talked of
her with his sister, he had dreamed of her when he lay
down to sleep at night, and now he was on his way to see
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 437
her, to tell her all the tale, and ask her at her father’s
hand. The thought was sweet to intoxication, and his
eager anticipation seemed to put wings to his feet.
How different were his feelings as he drew near to the
great city this second time! It was just about a year since
he had entered it for the first time, a stranger, homeless,
well-nigh penniless, and very uncertain of the reception he
should receive from his kinsfolk on the bridge. Now he
stepped towards the region of shining lights with all con-
fidence and joy. He was rich past his wildest hopes, for
the treasure had proved to be far greater than even his
fondest dreams had credited; and he knew that when
division was made, it would be no niggard portion that
would fall to the share of the finder. He had won for
himself such good-will from his kinsfolk as would stand
him in good stead in days to come. He had enlarged his
scholarship, made for himself a number of friends of all
degrees, and, above all, had won the love of his cousin
Cherry, and a position which would enable him speedily to
ask her at her father’s hands. He would fulfil his boyish
promise made last Yule-tide, when he vowed her that
the day should come when she should no longer pine for
the innocent gaieties and luxuries of wealth, but should
herself be a lady of some degree, and should have her
house and her horses and servants, and a bright and
happy future with the husband of her choice.
Now he had set foot upon the bridge, and was eagerly
traversing the familiar roadway, as the short daylight
faded and the lights from the houses shone out brighter
438 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
and brighter in the gloom. His uncle’s house was almost
in sight. His heart was beating high with anticipation
and delight, when a hand was laid suddenly upon his
shoulder, and he turned to find himself face to face with
Anthony Cole.
He was about to exclaim in words of pleasure and wel-
come, when his attention was arrested by the strange ex-
pression upon the thin, eager face—an expression so strange
that it checked the commonplace words of greeting that
sprang naturally to Cuthbert’s lips, and he waited in silence
for what Anthony should say.
“Thou hast come! it is well,†said the latter, in tones
that were little above a whisper. “Methought that thou
wouldst not be absent at such a time. Well doth it be-
hove every true son of the Church to rally round her at
such a moment. I felt assured that thou wouldst be here.
Others beside me have been watching for thee. It is well.
Keep thine own counsel; be wary, be discreet. And now
go. It boots not that we be seen talking together thus.
When thou hast fitting opportunity, come secretly to my
house; thou wilt be welcome there.â€
And half pushing Cuthbert from him before the be-
wildered youth had ‘time to speak a single word, the printer
disappeared within his own door, and Cuthbert was left to
make his way to his uncle’s house.
“Beshrew me if I know what Master Anthony means!â€
said Cuthbert to himself. “I trow there be matters
stirring in London town of which we in the country know
nothing. How strange it is that one can hardly set foot
THE GIPSY'’S WARNING. 439 |
in this great seething city without hearing words of mys-
tery——without feeling oneself enwrapped in its strange
atmosphere of doubt and perplexity. Something is doubt-
less astir of which I know naught; but at my uncle’s
house I shall hear all.â€
The shutters were just being put up at Martin Holt’s
as Cuthbert stepped across the threshold. The servant
uttered a cry of astonishment as he saw his master’s
nephew, and Martin himself came forward from the little
room behind.
“Bless me, is it thou, Cuthbert?†he exclaimed in
surprise. “Well, boy, thou art welcome since thou art
come, though we had almost begun to think thou hadst
forgot us and thy promise to return. Come upstairs and
greet thy aunt and cousins. Hast thou seen aught of
Cherry, as thou comest from the south ?â€
Cuthbert stepped back a pace, and some of the light
went out of his face.
“Cherry!†he stammered, taken aback. “How should
I have seen her? Is she not here?â€
“Not for a matter of four days. She is helping her
aunt, Prudence Dyson at the Cross-Way House, to wait upon
some guests the ladies are entertaining. Methought if you
had come that way you might have chanced upon her.â€
A keen thrill of disappointment ran through Cuthbert’s
frame. To think how near he had been to Cherry and
had never guessed it! If only he had called at the Cross-
Way House that day!
“T have not been there for the matter of a week. I
440 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
was last at Trevlyn Chase; but mine uncle and his son
have gone to London, as I heard. I had hoped to find
Cherry here.â€
“Well, thou wilt find all: but her. Go up, go up!
Thou wilt need refreshment after thy journey, and thou
shalt hear the news as we sup. Thine old room shall be
made ready for thee. I am glad to see thy face again,
boy ; and would hear thy story anon.â€
Cuthbert received a warmer welcome than he had looked
for from the aunt and cousins upstairs. Perhaps they were
all missing the brightness that had left them when Cherry
went. Perhaps the vacant place at the board day by day
was an offence to the conservative eye of Mistress Susan.
But whatever was the cause, there was no denying the
cordiality of the reception accorded to him; and after the
lonely life of the forest, and all his wanderings there, his
strange resting-places, and many hours of watching, toil,
and anxious fear, it seemed pleasant indeed to be sitting
at this hospitable board, warmed by the friendly glow of
the fire, and discussing the savoury viands that always
adorned a table of Mistress Susan’s spreading, and which
did indeed taste well after the hardy and sometimes scanty
fare he had known in the forest.
But his open-air life had done him good in many ways.
His uncle smiled, and told him he had grown to be a very
son of Anak, and that he was as brown as a gipsy; whilst
his cousins looked at him with furtive admiration, and
Keziah could almost have wept that Cherry was not there
to welcome him.
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 441
Cuthbert, however, quickly got over his disappointment
on this score, and after swallowing a few sighs, was con-
tent to think that it might indeed be best so. Cherry
would learn where he was from Petronella, and would hear
from her that his heart was still her own, and that success
had crowned his search after the lost treasure. He could
go to seek her shortly, when the gipsy tribe should have
drawn away from that part of the forest into the quarters
they preferred during the winter months. Were she to
be here, he must surely betray himself, and should have
to speak immediately to Martin Holt of his desire to make
Cherry his wife. Somehow, when face to face with his
uncle, he felt less confident of winning his sanction for this
step than he had done when away from him in the forest.
There it had seemed perfectly simple so long as he could
show the father that he had the means to keep a wife in
comfort. Now he began to wonder if this would be
enough. Hints were dropped by both the Holts regarding
Cherry’s approaching marriage with Jacob Dyson. Mistress
Susan openly regretted her absence from home as hinder-
ing that ceremony; and although Martin Holt spoke with
more reticence, it was plain he was still cherishing the
hope of the match when his wilful youngest should be
a little older.
It might be that Cherry’s absence at this time was
fortunate rather than the reverse. Cuthbert, at any rate,
was relieved from the necessity for immediate action ; and
when he had spoken a little of himself, his kinsfolk, and
the visits he had paid during his wanderings in the forest
442 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
(keeping the real object of those wanderings quite out of
the talk), he turned his conversation to other matters, and
asked what was passing in London, and what was chiefly
stirring men’s minds.
“Marry it is the opening of Parliament that is the
chiefest thing,†said Martin Holt. “It is said in the city
that his Majesty loves not his good Parliament; and truly
it looks like it, since he has put off its opening so many
a time. First it was to have been last February, then
not till the third of this present month. Now it is again
prorogued till the fifth of November next; but I trow his
Majesty will scarce dare to postpone again. His people
like not those rulers who fear to meet those who are
chosen by them to debate on matters of the state. It
looks not well for the sovereign to fear to meet his people.â€
Cuthbert, who knew little about such matters, asked
many questions about Parliament and its assemblies. His
uncle answered him freely and fully, and explained to him
exactly the site of the building where the great body
assembled.
“ ‘Thou canst take the wherry thou used to love so well,
and row thyself to Westminster one of these days, and
look well at the Parliament Houses,†said Martin Holt.
“Tt is a grand spectacle to see the King come in state
to open the assembly. Thou mayest see that sight too an
thou purposest to stay with us so long.â€
“T would gladly do so,†answered Cuthbert, who re-
membered that he was bidden not to return to the forest
too quickly. He knew that, now he was safely away,
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 443
Joanna would allow all search to be made after him there,
and that it would soon be ascertained that he had fled.
But whilst that search was going on, he was safest in
London, and was glad enough of the opportunity of seeing
any gay pageant.
As he lay in his narrow bed that night, enjoying the
comfort of it after his chilly nook in the tree, which had
been his best shelter of late, and somewhat disturbed by
the noises that from time to time arose from the street
below, he recalled to mind the strange greeting he had
received from Anthony Cole, and wondered anew at his
mysterious words. And then his fancy somehow strayed
to the great Parliament Houses of which his uncle had
spoken. He remembered that strange dark journey across
the river from’ Lambeth and the lonely house there to
Westminster and its lofty palaces. He recalled the locality
of the house he had entered, where Catesby and his friends
were assembled at some strange toil, and the terrified
aspect these men all wore when some unexpected sound
had smitten upon their ears. He recalled the sudden fierce
grip of Catesby’s hand upon his arm before he recognized
the face of the stranger within their midst. He recollected
the threats he had striven to speak binding him to the
silence he was so willing to promise.
What did it all mean? what could it mean? Lying
in the dark, and turning the matter over and over in his
mind, Cuthbert began to feel some fearful and sinister
suspicions.
The month when all this had happened had been early:
444 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
in the year; was it January, or early February? He
could scarce remember, but he knew it was one or the
other. And had not his uncle said that Parliament was to
have met in February? Now that it was about to meet
soon again, had not Anthony spoken words implying that
some muster of friends was looked for in London; and had
not Anthony and his son always regarded him in the light
of a friend and ally ?
Cuthbert was by this time aware that he had but
little love left for the creed in which he had been
reared. It seemed to him that all, or at any rate far the
greater part, of what was precious in that creed was
equally open to him in the Church established in the land,
together with the liberty to read the Scriptures for himself,
and to exercise his own freedom of conscience as no priest
of the Romish Church would ever let him exercise it.
With him there had been no wild revulsion of feeling,
no sense of tearing and rending away from one faith to
join himself to another. His own convictions had been of
gradual growth, and he still felt and would always feel a
certain loving loyalty towards the Church of his childhood.
Still, he was increasingly convinced of the fact that it was
not within that fold that he himself could ever find true
peace and conviction of soul; and though no ardent theo-
logian, and by no means given over to controversy and
dogmatism, he had reached a steady conclusion as to his
own faith, and one that was little likely to be shaken.
At the same time he was kindly disposed to those of
his countrymen who were still beneath the Papal yoke,
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 445
and were suffering for their old allegiance. He honoured
their constancy, and felt even a boyish sense of shame in
having, as it were, deserted the weaker side when it was
in trouble and undergoing persecution. He felt a qualm
of uneasiness when he thought of this, and would gladly
have shared the perils if he could have shared the convic-
tions of those who had striven to make him their friend.
Cuthbert was a little in advance of his times in the facility
with which he set aside matters of opinion in the choosing
of his friends. Those were days in which men were seldom
able to do this. They still divided themselves into oppos-
ing camps, and hated not only the opinions embraced by
their rivals, but the rivals themselves, without any dis-
crimination at all. To be intimate and friendly with those
of hostile opinions was far more rare then than it has since
become; and Cuthbert, who possessed that faculty, was
liable to be greatly misunderstood, and to run into perils
of which he little dreamed.
Thinking of those things he had seen that strange night
led him to wonder more and more what it could all mean ;
and, accordingly, upon the morrow the first visit he paid
was to Anthony Cole on the bridge, hoping that through
him this curiosity might be in some way satisfied.
Cuthbert took the privilege accorded him in old times,
and walked through the house and up the narrow staircase
without pausing in the shop below. It was still early, and
business had not yet begun. The house was very silent ;
but he heard low-toned voices above, and pursued his way
towards them. As he did so, a door the existence of which
446 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
had never been discovered by him before, though he
thought the house was well known by him from attic to
basement, suddenly opened from the staircase, and a head
appeared for a single instant, and was as suddenly with-
drawn. The door closed sharply, and he heard the click
as of a spring falling back to its place. He passed his
hand across his eyes as he exclaimed beneath his breath,—
“Sure that was Father Urban ! â€
But he began to feel doubtful as to his right to come
and go in this house at will, and was about to descend the
stairs quietly again, when a door opened from above, and
some one came hastily down the stairs. Cuthbert fancied
he saw the gleam of some weapon in the hand of the
advancing figure, and felt that he had better be upon his
guard.
“ Cuthbert Trevlyn!†exclaimed a familiar voice, and a
hand was slipped beneath the doublet, and there was no
further gleam of cold steel. “Iam right glad to welcome
thee. It is well for friends to muster at such a time.
Comest thou with news?â€
Walter Cole was the speaker. His face too wore some-
thing of the look which Cuthbert had observed on the
father’s the previous evening—an expression of strained
expectancy, as if with long waiting mind and spirit had
alike grown worn and over-anxious. The bright eyes
scanned his face eagerly. Cuthbert felt half ashamed of
his ignorance of and indifference to the burning questions
of the day.
“I have heard naught, I know naught. I have been
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 447
living the life of the forests these past months,†he an-
swered, following Walter into a small room where they
had often worked together. “I have heard no word of
what was passing in the world; I come to learn that
here.â€
The eagerness faded from Walter’s face. He spoke
much more quietly.
“Belike thou wert right to hide and live thus obscure;
many of our leaders have done the like. It is ofttimes
the best and the safest plan. But the time is at hand, and
we must rally around them now. When the hour has
struck and when the deed is done, then will it be for us
to work—then will our hour of toil come. East and west,
north and south, must we spur forth with the tidings.
The whole nation must hear it and be roused. The blow
must be struck whilst the iron is hot. Thus and only thus
can we be secure of the promised victory.â€
Walter spoke quietly, yet with an undercurrent of deep
enthusiasm that struck an answering chord in Cuthbert’s
heart. All true and deep feeling moved him to sympathy.
His friend was talking in riddles to him; but he felt the
earnestness and devotion of the man, and his sympathy
was at once aroused.
“What hour? what blow? what deed?†he asked
wonderingly. “I know not of what thou speakest.â€
Walter drew his brows together and regarded him with
an expression of intense and wondering scrutiny. When
he spoke it was in a different tone, as though he were
carefully weighing his every word, as though he were a
448 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
little uncertain of the ground on which he stood. There
was something of evasive vagueness in his tone, whilst
his eyes were fixed on Cuthbert’s face as though he would
read his very soul.
“Methought thou knewest how cruelly we suffered, and
that we trust some stroke of kind fortune’s wheel may ere
long make life something better for us. The King meets
his Parliament soon. Then is the time when men’s
grievances may be discussed, and when there is hope for
all that wiser and more merciful laws may be -passed.
We have gathered together at this time to see what may
be done. We are resolved, as thou must surely know, not
to suffer like this for ever. Half the people of the realm
be with us. It were strange if nothing could be accom-
plished. Cuthbert Trevlyn, answer me this: thou dost
wish us well; thou art not a false friend—-one who
would deceive and betray ?â€
“Never, never, never!†answered Cuthbert, with all the
heat of youth and generous feeling. “I would never
betray those who have trusted me, not though they were
my foes. And I too hate and abominate these iniquitous
laws that persecute men’s bodies for what they hold with
their minds and souls. I have suffered persecution my-
self. I know how bitter a thing it is. I would have
every man free to believe that which his conscience ap-
proves. I would join with any who would implore the
King to show mercy and clemency to his persecuted
subjects.â€
Walter’s face relaxed ; he looked relieved and pleased.
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 449
“Methought that we could trust thee, Cuthbert. Thou
art a Trevlyn; it must needs be thou art stanch. I am
right glad that thou art here. There may be work yet
for thee to do. Thou wilt abide in thine uncle’s house
unti]—â€
“Until Parliament opens at least,†answered Cuthbert
quickly. “TI have said as much to him. I would fain be
there then and see it all. And my presence in the forest
is known by foes; it is no place for me longer.†Then
breaking off—for he had not meant to say so much, and
had no wish to be further questioned on the subject—he
asked in a low tone, “Sure it was Father Urban whose
face I saw on the stairs but now ?â€
“Hist! silence!†whispered Walter, with a glance en-
forcing caution; “do not breathe that name even within
these walls. He is here at risk of his life; but at such a
moment he will not be away. A warrant is out against
him. He may not venture abroad by night or day. But
he can be useful in a thousand ways, for he knows more
than any other man of some matters appertaining to the
state. And if our hopes be realized, then he will emerge
from his prison and rove the country from end to end.
He has friends in every place. To him we shall look for
guidance in a hundred ways.â€
Walter's eyes glowed. He looked like one to whom
triumph is a certainty-—one who anticipates success and
already tastes the sweets thereof. Cuthbert was growing
uncomfortable. He felt as though he were hearing more
than he ought to do. True, the Coles had talked in very
(78) 29
450 THE GIPSY’S WARNING.
much this fashion all through the dark days of the previous
winter when he had been so much with them. They were
always looking for a day of release, always dwelling on
the bright prospects of the future. But some instinct
told Cuthbert that there was a difference now in the
fashion of their talk, and he was made uncomfortable by
it though he scarce knew why.
He rose to go.
“T have but just returned. I have many visits to pay.
I will come again anon,†he said.
“Ay, but come not too openly. Let us not be seen
consorting together. And as thou walkest the street, keep
thine eyes and thine ears open and attent, and learn ever
what men say and think. If thou hearest aught of mo-
ment, bring it to us. Every whisper may be of value.
And now farewell. Come not again by day, but slip .
in by the door in the archway when all be wrapped in
gloom. So it is safest.â€
Cuthbert drew a deep breath of relief when he stood
once again in the fresh air. He walked rapidly through
the familiar sunny streets and strove to forget the impres-
sion made upon him by the recent interview.
“ Plots, plots, plots!†he muttered—*nothing but dark
plots, and the hope’ that things will thus beset right.
I misdoubt me if it will ever be by such means. Poor
souls! I pity them with all my heart; but I like not their
ways. They are not the ways of truth, of uprightness, of
equity. Methinks I had better hold aloof and have no
dealings with them. They seem to think because I like
THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 451
them—the men themselves—and mislike these persecutions
even as they do, that I am one with them and understand
their ways and their deeds. But I do not, I do not, and
I think not that I ever shall. I will go mine own way,
and they must go theirs. It were best not to meddle too
much in strange matters. Now I will go and seek honest
Jacob, From him methinks I shall get as warm a
welcome, but a welcome that is not tinged with these
mysteries and dark words.â€
CHAPTER: XXII.
WHISPERS ABROAD.
: AVE naught to do with them, Cuthbert! I like
them not.â€
“Yet they be good men, and stanch and true. Thou
hast said so thyself a score of times in my hearing, good
Jacob. Why should I avoid them now? What have they
done amiss ?†.
Jacob passed his large hand across his face, and looked
at Cuthbert with an expression of perplexity.
“They are Papists,†he said at last, in a slightly vague
and inconclusive fashion.
Cuthbert laughed aloud.
“Why, that I know well; and I am not scared by the
name, as some of your Puritan folk seem to be. Papists,
after all, are fellow-men—and fellow-Christians too, if it
comes to that. It was a Christian act of theirs to take
to their home that hunted priest whom we rescued that
foggy night, Jacob. Many would have made much ado
ere they had opened their doors to one in such plight.
Thou canst not deny that there was true Christian charity
in that act.â€
WHISPERS ABROAD. 453
“Nay, nay, I would not try to deny it,†answered Jacob,
in his calm, lethargic way, still regarding Cuthbert with a
look of admiration and curiosity, somewhat as a savage
regards a white man, scarce knowing from moment to
moment what his acts will be. “Yet for all that I would
warn thee to keep away from that house. Men whisper
that there be strange doings there. I know not the truth
of what is spoken. But we walk in slippery places; it
were well to take heed to our steps.â€
Cuthbert returned Jacob’s look with one equally tinged
with curiosity.
“Nay now, speak more openly. What dost thou mean,
good Jacob? What do men say anent these Coles?â€
Jacob glanced round and instinctively lowered his voice.
“Tt is not of the Coles alone that they speak; it is of
the whole faction of the Papists. I know not what is said
or what is known in high places; but this I know, that
there be strange whispers abroad.â€
Cuthbert’s eyes lighted. A slight thrill ran through
him. He recalled the words recently spoken to him by
his whilom friends. But all he said was,—
“Verily men are ever whispering. It was the same cry
when I was here a year agone, and no great thing has
happened ; wherefore this new fear ?â€
Jacob shook his head. His answer was spoken in a slow,
ponderous fashion.
“ Ay, men will speak and whisper; yet the world wags
on as before, and men well-nigh cease to listen or heed.
But mark my word, Cuthbert, there be no smoke where
454 WAISPERS ABROAD.
there is not fire; and these Papists, who are for ever plot-
ting, plotting, plotting, will one day spring some strange
thing upon the world. There be so many cries of ‘ Wolf!’
that folks begin to smile and say the real wolf will never
come. But that follows not. I like not this ever-restless
secret scheming and gathering together in dark corners.
It is not for their religion that I hate and distrust the
Papists. I know little about matters of controversy. I
meddle not in things too high for me. But I hate them
for their subtlety, their deceitful ways, their lying, and
their fraud. Thou knowest how they schemed and plotted
the death of good Queen Bess; we citizens of London find
it hard to forgive them that! We love not the son of this
same Mary Stuart, whom of old the Papists strove to give
us for our Queen; yet he is our lawful King, accepted by
the nation as our sovereign; and failing him I know not
whom we might choose to reign over us. Wherefore say
I, Down with these schemers and plotters! If men wish
their grievances redressed, let them work in the light and
not in the dark. We Protestants know that it is Bible
law that evil must never be done that good may come; but
the Papists hold that they may do never so many crimes
and evil deeds if they may but win some point of theirs at
last. Thou dost not hold such false doctrine, I trow, Cuth-
bert ? thou art a soul above such false seeming.â€
Cuthbert drew his brows together in a thoughtful reverie.
“T trow thou hast the right of it, Jacob,†he answered.
“T love not dark scheming, nor love I these endless plots.
Yet in these days of oppression it must be hard for men to
WHISPERS ABROAD. 455
act openly. If they be driven to secret methods, the fault
is less theirs than that of their rulers.†,
“There be faults on both sides, I doubt not,†answered
Jacob, with calm toleration. “But two evils make not one
good; and the Puritans who suffer in like fashion do not
plot to overthrow their rulers.â€
“How knowest thou that the Papists do?†asked Cuth-
bert quickly.
“Tt has always been their way,†answered Jacob; “and
though I know but little of the meaning of the sinister
whispers I hear, we have but to look back to former days
to see how it has ever been. Think of the two plots of
this very reign, the ‘Bye’ and the ‘Main’! What was
their object but the subversion of the present rulers?
What they have tried before they will try again; and we
who live beside this great river, and mingle with those who
come from beyond the seas, do see and hear many things
that others would not know. There have been comings
and goings of late that I have not liked. It may be that
mine eyes have played me false, but methought one dark
night I saw a figure strangely like Father Urban land at
the wharf, and he was incontinently joined by Walter Cole,
who took him hastily and secretly away.â€
Cuthbert started slightly, and Jacob continued,—
“And yet when I whispered a question to Walter a few
days later concerning the priest, of whose welfare I have
asked from time to time since I had a hand in his rescue,
he told me that he was still beyond the seas, and that it
was not like he would ever set foot on English soil again.â€
456 WHISPERS ABROAD.
Cuthbert was silent. But he presently asked a question.
“But who is this Father Urban? and why should his
appearance mean aught, or disturb thee ?â€
“Father Urban is a Jesuit, and one of those they call
seminary priests, and all such are held in detestation and
suspicion above all other Papists. When men lay hands
on them they show them scant mercy. It is a saying in
this land that when treason and murder and wickedness is
abroad, a seminary priest is sure to be the leading spirit.
When those two last plots were hatching, this Father
Urban was in the country. He has returned now, and
many men are looking abroad with fear, wondering how
soon the calm will be interrupted. I like it not; I like it
not; and I caution thee to keep away from yon house, and
to have no dealings with the Papists. They be treacherous
friends as well as wily foes. It were best and safest for
thee to keep away from all such. Thou art not one of
them ; why shouldest thou consort with them ?â€
“T do not consort with them,†answered Cuthbert; “ but
I have none of thy hatred for the name, and these men
have been kind and friendly to me. I owe much to the
lessons Anthony Cole has taught me. I have no knowledge
of their secrets, but I cannot see why I may not speak a
friendly word with them; even my uncle does that.â€
« Ay, but he goes not to their house—and his name is
not Trevlyn.â€
“But what of that? the Trevlyns are now a stanch
family, in favour with the King and his counsellors.â€
“ Ay, but the name is not forgotten in many quarters as
WHISPERS ABROAD. 457
belonging to a race of persecuting Papists. It takes long
for old memories to die out. Thou hadst better take heed,
Cuthbert. A whisper against thee would soon spread and
take root. I prithee meddle not in such matters, lest some
ill befall thee !â€
Cuthbert thanked honest Jacob for his good-will and
for his warning, but he could not see that it was needed.
He was but an obscure youth, of no note in the world. He
had no dealings with any of those plots of which men were
whispering, and he could not see how any act of his could
raise suspicion of any sort against him. He was growing
intensely curious about the seething fire beneath the outer
crust of quietness and security. If some great plot were
hatching, if some great upheaval were at hand, why might
not he scent out something beforehand? Why might not
he discover what was baffling the sagacity of others? He
had no wish to be a spy or an informer; he had too
much generous sympathy with the oppressed for that. But
he was intensely curious about it all, and he felt as though
his youth and obscurity would be his best protection if
he chose to make some investigations on his own account.
The old eager thirst for knowledge was coming upon
him. The old love of adventure, which had run him into
many perils already, had not been quenched by his recent
experiences. Success had crowned his labours in the forest ;
why should that success desert him now? And then the
thought came to him that he might by chance discover
something which might be of use to his own kinsmen. He
knew that Sir Richard Trevlyn and his son Philip—Petro-
458 WHISPERS ABROAD.
nella’s lover—were in London. Might it not be possible
that they had better be elsewhere at such a time? Jacob’s
words about the Trevlyns might perchance -be true. He
had heard his uncle say the same before. If any possible
peril should be menacing them, how gladly would he find
it out and warn them in time! It began to appear to the
youth in the light of a duty to pursue his investigation,
and it was just such a task as best appealed to his ardent
and fiery temperament.
But he scarce knew what the first step had better be;
so he gave up the day following to seeking out Lord
Culverhouse, and learning from him what was the feeling
in high quarters.
Culverhouse greeted him warmly, and at once begged
him to ride out with him into the pleasant regions where
the parks now stand, which were then much larger, and
only just taking any semblance of park, being more like
fields with rides running across them. Each succeeding
king did something for the improvement of this region,
though the open ground became considerably diminished as
stately buildings grew up around it.
“Cuthbert,†said the Viscount, when they had left the
busy streets and were practically alone and out of earshot
of any chance passers-by, “dost thou know that the matter
of our secret wedding is now known?â€
“TI heard so from Mistress Kate, who has been sent away
from home in disgrace, but is bearing her captivity cheer-
fully, with my sister for her companion.â€
Culverhouse was eager to hear everything Cuthbert
WHISPERS ABROAD. 459
could tell him, and was delighted that his lady-love was
happy in her honourable captivity. When he had asked
every question he could think of, he went on with his own
side of the story.
“There was a fine coil when Sir Richard brought the
news, and I was rated more soundly than I have been
since I was.a little lad and lost. my father’s best falcon
through letting it loose when the falconer was not by to
whistle it back. There has been a mighty talking and
arguing as to whether such wedlock as ours be lawful, and
no man seems rightly to know. That we must be wed
again in more orderly fashion all agree, if we are to live
together as man and wife; but none will dare to say that
we may break the pledge we gave each to the other that
day. My father talked at first of moving some high court
to set us free; but my mother shook her head and said
that vows so solemnly spoken before God and in His name
might never rightly be annulled by man. She was grieved
and as angered as she knows how to be at our hot-headed
rashness, and spoke to me words which hurt me more than
my father’s ratings. Yet she holds steadfastly to this—
that we are betrothed too firmly to be parted; and what
she holds she can generally make my father hold, for he
thinks much of her piety and true discernment.â€
“So that thou art out of thy trouble for the nonce ?â€
Culverhouse laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“TI say not that, for they tell us it will be many years
ere we can hope to be wed again in due form; and waiting
is weary work.â€
460 WHISPERS ABROAD, —s,
“ And why should you wait?â€
Culverhouse laughed again.
“That is soon answered. My father has always told
me that I must wed a lady of wealth if I am to wed
young. Our estates are encumbered. We have more
state to keep up than we well know how to manage. We
have had troubles and losses even as the Trevlyns have.
I have known this well. I cannot complain of my father.
Nevertheless I chose my Kate without any dowry before
all the world beside, and I am prepared to abide by my
choice. But we shall have to wait; we shall have to
possess our souls in patience. They all tell us that; and
I gainsay them not. JI am young. I have friends in
high places. I will win a name for myself, and a fortune
too, ere my head be gray. Alas for the old days of
chivalry, when men might ride forth to fame and glory,
and win both that and wealth in a few short years! Those
bright days are gone for ever. Still methinks I will
conquer fate yet!†—
Culverhouse looked as though fitted indeed for some
career of chivalrous daring. He and Cuthbert would
gladly have ridden forth together upon some knightly
quest ; but the days for such things had gone by, as both
recognized with a sigh. Still there was brightness in
Cuthbert’s eyes as he said,—
“ Mistress Kate will spend her Christmas at the Cross-
Way House, and I trow that others of the Trevlyns will
do the like. If thou wilt be one of the party there upon
that day, I doubt not that there will be a welcome for
WHISPERS ABROAD. 461
thee; and perchance thou wilt find then that thy nuptials
need not be so long postponed. A golden key may be
found which will unlock many doors.â€
Culverhouse looked quickly and eagerly at his companion,
but could ask no more even had he wished, as they were
at that moment joined by two friends of his, young men
about the Court, who at once began to talk of the ap-
proaching opening of Parliament and the grand show that
would accompany the act.
The King’s love for fine dress, fine pageants, and fine
shows, of which he was the sun and centre (in his own
opinion at least), was well known by this time. These
young sprigs of the nobility amused themselves by making
game freely of his Majesty behind his back, ridiculing his
vanity, mimicking his ungainly action, especially upon
horseback (though he considered himself a most finished
and accomplished rider), and describing to Culverhouse the
fine new robes he had ordered for the occasion, and which
were to surpass in grandeur anything he had ever worn
before,
“Folks talked of the vanity of our good Queen Bess,
and called her mighty extravagant; but beshrew me if
she were half as vain or extravagant as our noble King
Jamie! It is a marvel he cannot see how tenfold uglier
he makes his ugly person by trapping himself out in all
such frippery and gorgeous apparel.â€
So the young men chatted on in lightsome fashion, and
Cuthbert, who listened to every word, could not gather that
the smallest uneasiness had penetrated the minds of those
462 WHISPERS ABROAD.
who moved in these high places. Culverhouse talked with
equal gaiety and security. Certainly he had no suspicion
of coming ill. The mutterings of discontent, the seething
of the troubled waters, the undefined apprehensions of
many of the classes of the people, were apparently unknown
and unheeded here. All was sunshine and brightness in
the region of palaces. But if these youths had enter-
tained any secret misgivings, they would have discussed
them freely together.
Culverhouse kept Cuthbert to dinner, and he was .s Kindly
received by the Earl’s family. Lady Andover even re-
membered to ask after Cherry, and won Cuthbert’s heart
by so doing. She questioned him in private about the
marriage in the church porch, of which he had been witness,
and plainly all he told her only went to strengthen her
conviction that the matter had gone too far to admit of
any drawing back without some breach of faith that was
akin to sacrilege.
After the meal, which seemed stately and igng to
Cuthbert, Culverhouse asked him would he like to see the
Houses of Parliament, where the King would shortly meet
his Lords and Commons. Cuthbert eagerly assented, and
the two youths spent some time in wandering about the
stately buildings, to which Culverhouse could obtain easy
admittance; the Viscount explaining to his companion
where the King sat and where his immediate counsellors,
to all of which Cuthbert listened with marked attention.
There were several attendants and ushers within the
building, and Culverhouse told him that orders had been
WHISPERS ABROAD. 463
given to keep strict watch over the building both by night
and day. —
“The King is not like our good Queen—Heaven rest
her soul!†said the Viscount, laughing. “He does not
trust his people. He is always in fear of some mischance
either through accident or design. Well may the great
Shakespeare have said: ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears
a crown!’ Albeit the King would do better to have a
little more courage.â€
This was the first word Cuthbert had heard of any
uneasiness in high quarters, and he asked with some
eagerness,—
“Meanest thou that the King fears some evil to himself
at this time ?â€
“No; I have heard naught of that. The country
seems unwontedly quiet. It is the fear which never leaves
him—the fear that makes him wear a doublet so thickly
quilted that it. would suffice to turn the sharpest blade,
even as a suit of chain mail. He is always dreading
assassination, That is why he wills such close watch to
be kept, lest haply any evil-disposed person might find
hiding within the walls and spring upon him unawares.
Methinks it is an unkingly fear, but there it be, and he
carries it ever with him. The Queen had none such—nor
had she need; and as thou knowest, when once an assassin
did approach her when she was alone in her garden, the
glance of her eye kept him cowed and at bay till her
gentlemen could hasten to her side. She was a Queen in
very truth! I would we had more of her like!â€
464 WHISPERS ABROAD.
Culverhouse spoke out aloud, careless of being overheard,
for he was but speaking the thoughts of the whole nation.
Cuthbert echoed his wish with all sincerity; and still
looking round and about him with keen interest, went
through a certain mental calculation which caused him at
last to ask,—
“ And what buildings. lie around or beneath this ?â€
“T know not exactly how that may be. There is a
house close beside this where methinks I have heard that
Master Thomas Percy dwells, the steward to my Lord of
Northumberland. I know not what lies beneath; it may
be some sort of cellar—Dost thou know, fellow, whether
there be cellars beneath this place ?â€
Culverhouse spoke to a man-at-arms who appeared to
be on duty there, and who had for some moments been
regarding Cuthbert with close scrutiny, and had now
drawn slowly near them. Cuthbert was vaguely aware
that the man’s face was in some way familiar to him, but
he had no recollection where he had seen him before.
“Master Thomas Percy has rented the cellar beneath,
where his coals be stored,†answered the man carelessly ;
and Cuthbert, who had asked the question rather haphazard
and without exactly knowing why, moved away to examine
a piece of fine carving close at hand.
Whilst he was doing this he knew that the man-at-arms
asked Culverhouse a question, to which the latter gave
ready reply, and he heard the name of Trevlyn pass his
lips. At the moment he heeded this little, but the re-
membrance came back to him later.
WHISPERS ABROAD. 465
As he passed out he noted that the man still continued
to gaze after him, as though wishful to read his face by
heart. He was standing beside a companion warder then,
pointing out, as it seemed, the visitor to the other fellow.
Was it only fancy, or did Cuthbert really hear the name
of Father Urban pass in a whisper between them? Puzzled,
and even a shade uneasy, he followed Culverhouse to the
outer door. A flash of memory seemed then to recall to
him the faces of these two men. Had he not seen them
keeping watch at the wharf for Father Urban that day
so long ago? He was almost certain it had been so. But
what of that? How could they possibly connect him with
the fugitive priest ?
It would soon be dusk now, so the comrades said adieu
to each other and went their several ways. Cuthbert had
come as far as the Strand by boat, and had only to drop
down and find it there ; but somehow he felt. more disposed
to linger about these solemn old buildings, and try to piece
together the things he had seen and heard.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, he wandered round
the great pile till he came to the narrow entry he had
once traversed, leading up from the river to the door of
the house where he had seen Catesby and his companions
at their mysterious toil. The house looked dark as night
now. Not a single gleam penetrated the gloom. Already
the last of the twilight had faded into night, but no ray
of any kind shone from any of the casements.
Cuthbert stood looking thoughtfully up at the house,
hardly knowing why he did so, his fancy running riot in
(378) 30
466 WHISPERS ABROAD.
his excited brain and conjuring up all manner of fantastic
visions, when suddenly and silently the door opened. A
gleam of light from behind showed in relief the figure of
a tall man muffled in a cloak, a soft felt hat being drawn
over the brow and effectually concealing the features; but
one glance sufficed to convince Cuthbert that this cloaked
and muffled individual was none other than the same tall
dark man who had produced the holy water blessed by
the Pope and had had it sprinkled around the spot where
those mysterious men were at work in Percy’s house.
Filled with a burning curiosity that rendered him imper-
vious to the thought of personal risk, Cuthbert first shrank
into a dark recess, and then with hushed and noiseless
footfall followed the tall figure in its walk.
The cloaked man walked quietly, but without any
appearance of fear. He skirted round the great block of
buildings of which the Houses of Parliament were composed,
until he reached a door in the rear of that building,
within a deep arch sunk a little way below the level of
the ground, and this door he opened, but closed it after
him, and locked it on the inside.
Unable to follow further, Cuthbert put his ear to the
keyhole, and heard distinctly the sound of footsteps de-
scending stone stairs till the sound changed to the unbar-
ring of a lower door, and then all was silence.
Cuthbert looked keenly around him, and soon made out
that these steps must certainly lead down to the cellar
beneath the Parliament Houses of which he had recently
heard. That other cellar he had visited so many months
WHISPERS ABROAD. 467
before was close at hand—close to these great buildings ;
and this tall dark man seemed to have some mysterious
connection with both.
What could it all mean? what did it mean? Cuthbert
felt as though he were on the eve of some strange discovery,
but what that discovery could be he could not guess.
He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of
approaching footfalls along the roadway, and he hastily
stood upright and walked onwards to meet the advancing
pedestrian. The man carried a light which he flashed in
Cuthbert’s face, and the youth saw that it was one of the
men-at-arms on guard over these buildings.
“What are you doing here?†asked the man civilly,
though in slightly peremptory fashion.
“T did not know that this road was anything but
public,†answered Cuthbert, with careless boldness. “I
have walked in London streets before now, no man inter-
fering with me.â€
“Have a care how and where you walk at night,â€
returned the man, passing by without further comment.
“There be many perils abroad in the streets—more than
perchance you wat of.â€
Cuthbert thanked him for the hint, and went on his
way. He would have liked well enough to linger till the
tall man emerged again, but he saw that to do so would
only excite suspicion.
Although it was quite dark by this time, it was not
really late; for it was the last day of October save one,
and masses of heavy cloud obscured the sky. Now and
468 WHISPERS ABROAD.
again a ray of moonlight glinted through these ragged
masses, but for the rest it was profoundly dark in the
narrow streets, and only a little lighter on the open river.
The tide was running in fast, with a strong cold
easterly wind. Cuthbert saw that it would be hard work
to row against it.
“ Better wait for the ebb; it will not be long in coming
now,†he said to himself as he noted the height of the
tide; and stepping into his boat, he pulled idly out into
mid-stream, as being a safer place of waiting than the
dark wharf, to find himself drifting up with the strong
current, which he did not care to try to stem.
“Beware of the dark-flowing river!†spoke a voice
within him; “ beware of the black cellar !â€
He started, for it almost seemed as though some one
had spoken the words in his ear, and a little ‘thrill of fear
ran through him. But all was silent save for the wash of
the current as it bore him rapidly onwards, and he knew
that the voice was one in his own head.
Upwards and upwards he drifted; was it by his own
will, or not? He did not himself know, he could not have
said. He only knew that a spell seemed upon him, that
an intense desire had seized him to look once again upon
that lonely house beside the river-bank. He had no wish
to try to obtain entrance there. He felt that he was
treading the dark mazes of some unhallowed plot. But
this very suspicion only increased his burning curiosity;
and surely there could no harm come of one look at that
dark and lonely place.
WHISPERS ABROAD. 469
No volition of his own was needed to carry him on-
wards; wind and tide did all that. He had merely to
keep his place and steer his little bark up the wide river.
He saw against the sky the great pile of Westminster.
He had drifted almost across the river by that time. He
was seated in the bow of the boat, just dipping an oar
from time to time as it slipped along beneath the trees.
And now the moon shone out for a few minutes clear and
bright. It did not shine upon his own craft, gliding so
stealthily beneath the bare trees that fringed the wall of
the very house he had come to see; but it did gleam upon
another wherry out in mid-stream, rowed by a strong man
wrapped in a cloak, and directed straight for the same
spot. Cuthbert started, and caught hold of a bough of a
weeping willow, bringing his boat to a stand-still in a place
where the shadow was blackest. He had no wish to be
found in this strange position. He would remain hidden
until this other boat had landed at the steps. He would
be hidden well where he was. He had better be perfectly
silent, and so remain.
A sound of voices above his head warned him that he
was not the only watcher, and for a moment he feared
that, silent as had been his movements, his presence had
been discovered. But some one spoke in anxious accents,
and in that voice he recognized the clear and mellow tones
of Robert Catesby. He was speaking in a low voice to
some companion.
“Tf he comes not within a short while, I shall hold that
all is lost. I fear me we did wrong to send him. That
470 WHISPERS ABROAD.
letter—that letter—that luckless letter! who can have
been the writer ?â€
“Tresham, I fear me without doubt, albeit he denied it
with such steadfast boldness. Would to heaven that fickle
hound had never been admitted to our counsels! That was
thy doing, Catesby.â€
“Ay, and terribly do I repent me of it, Winter. I
upbraid myself as bitterly as any can upbraid me for the
folly. But hark—listen! I hear the plash of oars.
See, there is-a boat! It is he—it is Fawkes! I
know him by his height and his strong action. Heaven
be praised! All cannot yet be lost! Move upwards yet
a few paces, and we will speak to him here alone before
we take him within doors to the others—Guido Fawkes!
Good Guy, is that verily thou ?â€
“Verily and in truth, my masters. Has the time seemed
long ?â€
“Terribly long. How foundest thou all ?â€
“ All well—all as I left it weeks ago. There has been
no soul within. Gunpowder, faggots, iron bars, and stones
—all are as before ; and above, the coal and faggots care-
fully concealing all. Why this anxiety and fear, cone
it was not wont to be so with thee.â€
“No; but I have something of terrible import to reveal
to thee, good Guy. And first I must ask thy pardon for
thus exposing thee to peril as this day I did, I sent thee
on this mission of inspection; but I ought first to have
told thee that we are in fear and trembling lest we have
been betrayed!â€
WHISPERS ABROAD. 471
“ Betrayed!†echoed Fawkes with a fierce oath, “and by
whom?â€
“That we know not. But some days since, my Lord
Mounteagle received a mysterious warning bidding him
absent himself from this meeting of Parliament, for that a
blow should then be struck, no man seeing who dealt it.
Wherefore we fear—†:
“Mounteagle!†cried Fawkes, interrupting fiercely ;
“then the traitor is yon false hound Tresham !â€
“So we all thought till we charged him with it, and had
he blenched or shrunk our daggers should have been buried
in his heart!†answered Winter in low, fierce accents;
“but he swore he knew naught of it, and that with so bold
a front and so open an air that for very doubt of his guilt
we could not smite him. There may be other traitors in
the camp. There was that lad thou, or thy fool of a serv-
ant, Catesby, once brought amongst us. I liked it not then.
He should not have been let go without solemn oath taken
on pain of death. Trevlyn, methinks, was the name. I
hear he has been seen in London again of late. Why does
he haunt us? what does he suspect ?â€
“Tush! thou art dreaming. Trevlyn! why, that is
a good name, and the lad knows nothing, and is, moreover,
stanch.— Guido, thou hast not said that thou dost pardon
us for sending thee on so perilous an errand this day.â€
“Thou needst not repent, Catesby. I should have
adventured myself the same had I known all. I have
sworn myself to this task, and I go not back to mine own |
country till all be accomplished.â€
CHAPTER XXIII.
PERIL FOR TREVLYN.
UTHBERT stood at the door of the narrow house in
Budge Row, seeking speech of the wise woman.
It was a blustering night—the first night in November.
The wind howled and shrieked round the corners of the
streets; the rain pattered down and splashed the garments
of the few pedestrians who had braved the storm. It was
but seven of the clock, yet Budge Row was dark and quiet
as though midnight had settled down upon the city. Scarce
any gleams of light filtered through the cracks in the
shutters, and only the sound of a distant watchman’s cry
broke the silence of the night.
Cuthbert had once before sought this house, but had
knocked in vain for admittance. Either the wise woman
was from home, or else she had no intention of receiving
visitors. Since then his mind had been engrossed by other
matters, and he had not thought again of Joanna’s charge
concerning Esther. But recent mysterious occurrences had
made him desirous not only of telling her his own tale,
but of seeking information from her; and here he stood in
the wind and rain making request for admittance.
Softly and silently the door swung open at last, and he
PERIL FOR TREVLYN. 473
saw before him the dark passage he had traversed a year
before with Cherry, the dim light from above just guiding
his steps as he moved. The same juggleries were repeated
as on that occasion. The outer door swung back and
bolted itself behind him. The invisible light wavered and
flickered and showed him his way. The black cat appeared
ready to dispute his entrance into the room till he had
dropped his coin into the box; and when he entered the
dim place where the wise woman ensconced herself, he saw
her as before, seated behind the lamp which shed its light
upon him, but left her face in deep shadow. All was
precisely as it had been upon a former occasion—all but
his reception by the wise woman herself. That, however,
was altogether different; for the moment she saw who
her visitor was, she rose suddenly from her chair and
exclaimed in excited tones,—
“ Cuthbert Trevlyn, why hast thou not come hither
sooner ? â€
“JT did, but could not find thee.†.
She made an impatient exclamation.
“ And thou wert content not to find me, and came not
again and yet again! Foolish boy! Did not Joanna warn
thee to seek me out and tell me all? I know well that
she did. She is loyal and true. And sg0, boy, the lost
treasure is found, and is safe beneath the roof of that
house which shelters the honoured heads of the Wyverns ?â€
“ Yes, it is all there.â€
The old woman flung up her arms with a gesture of
triumph.
474 PERIL FOR TREVLYN.
“T knew it! I knew it! I knew that the prophecy
would fulfil itself, for all Miriam’s spite and Long Robin’s
greed. Boy, thou hast done well, thou hast done very
well. But thou hast been more bold than secret. Thou
art suspected. Miriam has been here. She is raging like
a lioness robbed of her whelps. She loved yon fierce man
who called himself Long Robin, yet was neither husband
of hers, still less her son, with a love more wild and fierce
than thou wilt ever understand. She vows that she will
be revenged. She vows that the Trevlyns shall yet smart.
She suspects not thee alone, but all who bear the name.
Boy, boy, why didst thou not seek me earlier ?â€
Cuthbert made no response. He was looking in amaze
at this old woman, who had now come forth from her
nook behind the table, and was speaking to him without
any assumption of prophetic power, but as one anxious
human creature to another. He saw in her a strange
likeness to old Miriam, and to the dark gipsy queen; but
he marvelled at the excitement she evinced, and the eager
intensity of her gaze. It was so different from her aspect
when last he had seen her, so much more natural and full
of human concern and anxiety.
“T have looked for thee day by day. I said in my
heart, surely thou wouldst come quickly. And. now, in
lieu of seeking safety and counsel, thou hast been running
blindly into those very perils of which I warned thee long
ago. As if it were not enough to have Tyrrel and all his
crew, with old Miriam at their back, resolved to hunt thee
down and wrest the treasure from thee!â€
PERIL FOR TREVLYN. 475
Cuthbert started and looked intently at her.
“ Miriam! Tyrrel! what can they know?â€
“Miriam can piece together facts as well as I,†answered
Esther in rapid tones; “and thou oughtest by this to know
what power that gives to those who possess the gift. In
brief, I will tell thee what I myself have learned from her
and others. She missed Long Robin, waited for his return
till despair took the place of expectation. She knew that
one of two things had happened—either that he had
made off with the treasure, or that he had been done to
death in the forest by some secret foe. Burning with fear
and fury, she caused search to be made. The grave was
found where the body lay. Rage filled the hearts of all
the tribe, for the strange old man was venerated and
feared, albeit he was not greatly beloved; and as thou
knowest, amongst our people an injury done to one is
avenged by all. Thou hadst been seen in the forest, seen
moving to and fro in mysterious fashion. Many had
wondered what thy business was, but none had inter-
fered; for thou wast known to be under the protection
of Joanna, and the word of the queen is sacred. But
now that may serve no longer to protect thee. Miriam
has declared aloud that Robin was the keeper of the long-
lost treasure, that he was hoarding it up in some secret
spot, ready to divide it amongst the whole tribe when the
moment should have come. In fervid words she described
the golden hoard—the hoard which I know well that evil
man meant to make all his own when the time came that
he might escape from the jealous watch kept upon him by
476 PERIL FOR TREVLYN.
Miriam. He was but waiting for her death, which may
not be far distant, since she is subject to strange seizures
of the heart which defy all our skill in curing. Then
would he have fled, and taken all the treasure with him.
He would have shared the spoil with none, as Miriam well
knows. But she is using her power and her half know-
ledge of the secret for her own ends, and one of those
ends is—â€
The old woman paused, looking straight at Cuthbert,
who regarded her fixedly, and now asked in a low voice,—
“Ts what?â€
“The destruction of the house of Trevlyn, root and
branch.â€
A gleam of angry defiance shone in his eyes.
“ Still that mad hatred? But why should we fear her?
Let her do her worst!â€
Esther raised a warning hand.
“ Peace, boy!†she said; “be not so full of recklessness
and scorn. Miriam is an adversary not to be despised.
Miriam is sworn to the task of vengeance upon thy house.
She will not let this fresh deed of thine pass without
striving might and main to fulfil that vengeance which
thou hast now made void.â€
“ Made void ?â€
“ Ay, by the finding of the treasure. She is assured
that this is what thou hast done. She has persuaded
Tyrrel and his band of it, and all are resolved to find it
for themselves. She is acting with the craftiness of her
nature. She has persuaded them that all the Trevlyns
PERIL FOR TREVLYN. — 477
are in the golden secret. Wherefore vengeance is not
directed against thee alone, but against all who bear thy
name—Sir Richard and his son, who are in this city now.â€
Cuthbert drew his brows together in a frown.
“They know naught of it,†he said hastily.
“That may be; but they are Trevlyns, and that is
enough for Miriam. It is not the gold she covets; it is
vengeance upon all who bear that name. She stirs the
avarice and cupidity of others, that they may do the work
she wishes done. And she works in other dark ways too.
She has tools which few suspect, and she uses them for
her own ends without scruple. And thou, foolish boy,
blind and self-willed as thou art, unheeding my warnings,
hast played into her hands; and now others as well as
thyself may be brought into sore peril through thine own
foolhardy recklessness.â€
The old woman’s eyes were gleaming brightly. They
were fixed upon Cuthbert with keen intensity. He felt
himself change colour beneath their glance, and he answered
with some uneasiness,——
“What hast thou to chide me with? Wherein have I
been guilty of recklessness that may be hurtful to others?â€
“Did I not charge thee to beware the dark-flowing
river ; to avoid the black cellar; to have no dealings with
strange men; to have the courage to say nay to what
was asked of thee? Hast thou avoided these perils?
No! thou hast been led on by thy reckless hardihood and
insensate curiosity. Hast thou said no to what has been
asked of thee? No! thou hast ever done the things
478 "PERIL FOR TREVLYN.
required of thee, making excuse to forget warnings and
disobey those who have counselled thee for thy good.
And what has come of it? Verily, that the name of
Trevlyn has been whispered amongst the names of traitors
suspected of foul crimes, and that thine own kindred now
stand in dire peril from thine own defiant hardihood.â€
Cuthbert started and made a step forward.
“Woman, what meanest thou?†he asked with breathless
eagerness, “J understand not the meaning of thy words.â€
Esther continued to gaze at him with her bright keen
eyes.
“Understandest thou not that there be on foot at this
very moment a vile plot for the destruction at one blow of
the King, the nobles, and the whole house of his Peers—a
plot to blow them all into the air at the moment of their
assembly upon the fifth day of this month ?â€
Cuthbert recoiled in horror. A sudden illumination
came upon him. He put together-chance words dropped,
expressions used, things he had seen as well as what he had
heard, and his face grew pale with conflicting emotions
and his extreme bewilderment.
“What?†he gasped ; “is that what it means? Is that
the hideous deed to be done? Great Heavens protect us
from such men, if it has come to that! How. knowest
thou this thing?†he added, turning almost fiercely upon
the old woman, who was still regarding him steadily. “If
it be as thou sayest, sure such a fearful secret would be
held sacred from all.â€
‘Esther smiled her strange smile.
PERIL FOR TREVLYN. 479
“Secrets known to many have a wondrous fashion of
leaking out, And, moreover, the wise woman has means
thou knowest naught of for learning the things concealed
from the world. Cuthbert Trevlyn, look back, search thy
memory, and thou wilt surely know that I have spoken
naught but the truth. If thou art not one of them, thou
knowest their dark secrets ; thou canst not deny it!â€
Again he recoiled from her.
“T know their secrets! I one of them! Woman, dost
thou believe this vile thing of me?â€
“No, I believe it not. I know that thou hast but let
thyself be led into dire peril through that foolish, generous
weakness of youth and thy Trevlyn blood, against which I
have warned thee—and warned thee in vain. But dost
thou think thou canst despise the warnings of the wise
woman and escape deadly peril? Cuthbert Trevlyn, listen
to me and heed me well. This thing is known—is known
in high places. The King and his counsellors have had in-
telligence thereof. The deed of darkness will be frustrated,
and heads will fall beneath the axe of the executioner.
Already whispers are going abroad—already the guilty
ones are watched and spied upon; and with the guilty
there are those suspected who know naught of this vile
deed. Shall I say more, or can thine own quick wits
supply the rest ?â€
Cuthbert had turned a little pale. His eyes were fixed
upon this woman’s face.
“Tell me all,†he said hoarsely. “ What dost thou mean
by these dark sayings ?â€
480 PERIL FOR TREVLYN.
“T mean,†she answered, in clear low tones, “that there
is peril for Trevlyn in this thing. Thine own rashness,
Miriam’s spite and quickness of wit to avail herself of
every trifling matter that passes, the presence in London
of Sir Richard and his son at this time, the old tradition
surrounding the name of Trevlyn—all are helping on the
work; all are pointing in one direction. Rash boy, thou
hast been seen with Father Urban in the streets—a Jesuit,
a seminary priest, a man suspected of many plots and many
daring acts of courage and cunning. Thou art suspected
to have been concerned in his escape one dark and fogey
night, when thou wert on the river in thy wherry; and
he must have been taken on board some such craft. Thou
hast been seen with others who are suspected of being
mixed up in this business. Thou hast appeared within
the city walls when they appeared; when they were ab-
sent thou wast absent likewise. Thou wouldst not heed
warnings when yet there was time; thou must now
take double heed to thy steps—â€
“Thou spokest of Sir Richard and his son but’ now,â€
cried Cuthbert, interrupting hastily. “For myself, I must
take the consequences of my rashness. The fault is mine,
and if harm comes to me I can bear it; but if others have
been imperilled through me, I should never forgive my-
self. Tell me plainly if this has been so; keep me not in
suspense! How can one word be breathed against the
loyalty of a man faithful and true as Sir Richard, and a
stanch Protestant to boot ?â€
The old woman shook her head meaningly.
PERIZ FOR TREVLYN. 481
“A man’s character and reputation and life may too
easily be whispered away in these evil times. But
listen to me, Cuthbert Trevlyn, and all may yet be well.
Thou hast been noted, spied upon, observed. There be
those who have seen thee in strange places and strange
company, and it behoves thee to look well to thyself.
But for thy kinsmen, methinks that no whisper regard-
ing them has as yet reached high quarters. As thou
sayest, Sir Richard's loyalty is known, and men will not
easily believe such ill of him. Yet he were best to be
gone. Miriam is at work. Miriam has tools that even
I wat not of, and she hates the head of Trevlyn’s house
with a bitter and undying hatred. Let but this thing
be known-—as known it will be to all the world in a
few more days—and she will leave no stone unturned
to’ overwhelm him in the ruin that must then fall upon
so many. Vengeance such as that would be dear to her
heart. She would weave her web right skilfully to en-
trap his unsuspecting steps. Wherefore let him begone
—let all who bear the name of Trevlyn begone, and: that
right speedily, Flight will not be thought flight now;
for this thing is as yet a profound secret, and thou must
not breathe a word that I have spoken to thee abroad, else
thou mayest do harm of which thou little reckest. Let
him go speedily ; and go thou likewise, and do not tarry.
If thou wouldest undo the harm thy rasliness has- well-
nigh brought to thy kinsfolk, ony. them this warnin,
and make them listen.â€
“That will I do right speedily,†answered Cuthbert,
(s78) 3]
482 PERIL FOR TREVLYN.
whose heart was beating high with |