Trevlyn Chase was a fine Tudor structure, standing 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 handsome 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 garden 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 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 chambers. 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
resolution 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 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 youngest.
All three were engrossed in some sort of talk that appeared full of
interest for them.
"I wish he would not do it," said Philip, turning his eyes in an
easterly direction, towards a hollow in the falling 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 prudence as he has courage."
"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 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."
"We would all gladly do that," answered Philip; "the hard thing
being to find the way."
"We shall find it anon, I doubt not," answered Kate. "Things cannot
go on ever as they are now."
"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."
"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."
"Fathers of his type have done as bad ere now," answered Philip,
with gravity, "and there is no bigot like the Papist bigot, who is
soured and embittered by persecution 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 suddenly as he
turned it towards his sisters.
"But sure the King would protect them if he knew," said Bessie, the
youngest of the sisters. "Why, the law bids 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."
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 sometimes 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."
"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 wilfully. 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.
"What is the matter, Kate, that thou art thus scornful towards his
majesty? In what has he offended thee, my saucy princess?"
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 affectionate 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
today? He was there both in the morning and the afternoon."
"I thought I saw him. I was not sure. I am glad his father has had
the sense to relent thus far with him."
"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 grievous 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
answering 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."
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 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 kinsman 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 concerned--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 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 certainly 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.
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 kinsman 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 striving 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 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 at the 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 concerned in the
matter of cardinal doctrines of the faith as in asserting and
upholding the temporal as well as the spiritual 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 his father too greatly.
Tomorrow 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."
"We must strive so to win upon him by gentle means that he permits
his children free intercourse with ours," 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."
"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 I a man. I would
always aet--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."
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.
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."
They took the path that led thither. The great clock 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!"
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
newcomer.
"We have been talking of you and wondering how it fared with you,"
he said, as they reached the side of the youth "I am right glad to
see you here tonight."
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 bespoke 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 you."
"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?"
"I 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."
"You look like a veritable ghost," said Kate, still brimming over
with pity and indignation. "What did that miserable man do to you?"
"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."
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?"
"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 learning; and I trow I need never sink to beggary. I mind not
what I do. 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, that is good
hearing!" cried Kate, with sparkling eyes. "I marvel we had none of
us thought of that plan ourselves; it is excellent."
"It seemed the one thing left--the only thing possible. I could not
endure such thralldom longer," answered Cuthbert, 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 myself and the Gate House tonight."
"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 over past, and till thy wounds be healed and thou
hast regained thy strength and spirit; and then thou shalt 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."
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 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."
"If 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."
"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
controversy, 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."
"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--"
"The daughter of a wool stapler, one Martin Holt, foster brother to
my venerated father, the third Earl of Andover," 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 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."
"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."
"A wool stapler!" muttered Kate, with a slight pout of her pretty
lips. "I was going to have sent him to Culverhouse with a letter,
to see what he would do for my cousin."
"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 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 talking 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."
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 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!"