"And 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."
"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
somewhat to do; albeit I barely know so much as their name, and my
father has held no manner of communication with them these many
years."
"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."
"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."
"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 another and a higher sphere than
his own. "I was longing to ask of thee a question."
"Ask on, good Master Cuthbert," was the ready reply; "I will answer
to the best of my humble ability."
"I have heard of this Lord Culverhouse from many beneath this roof
since I have been here. I would fain know who he is."
"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?"
"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?"
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."
"I prithee pardon me if I have seen and heard too much," answered
Cuthbert; "but I had a fancy--"
He stopped, stammering, blushing, and Kate took pity on his
confusion.
"I am not vexed," she said, smiling; "and in very sooth thou hast
divined what is in part the truth. But we do not dare talk of it
yet. There be so many weighty matters against us."
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.
"I' 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 tomorrow an I might. I
am not ashamed of loving him," cried the girl, her dark eyes
flashing as she threw hack 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?"
Kate gave him a little bow of acknowledgment for his compliment,
but her face was slightly more grave as she made answer:
"It is not, alack! a question of dislike to me. Were that all, I
might hope to win the favour of stern hearts, 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."
"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 ourselves 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."
Cuthbert looked thoughtful. That certainly was a difficulty hard to
be got over. He made no comment, but merely asked:
"And my Lord of Andover--is that the objection with him?"
"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, 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 treasure of Trevlyn has much to answer
for."
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 forward 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."
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?"
"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 as I 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 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--"
"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?"
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?"
"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 I a 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 expended 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 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."
"Dost thou believe that, too?"
"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?"
"I 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 wherewithal 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."
"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?"
"I have heard my father speak of these things," answered 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 to do with the loss of the treasure."
"It 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."
"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,
stamping 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, 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;" 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."
Thus recalled to her subject, Kate took up her narrative again.
"You doubtless know that Queen Mary died in November of the year of
grace fifteen hundred and fifty-eight. 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
dreaming 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 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 precincts 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 valuables 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."
"Then it was all laid by at the Chase--all the money and precious
things taken from others?"
"Yes, and a vast quantity of silver and gold plate 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 firelight, 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
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!"
Cuthbert was leaning forward drinking all in with eager curiosity.
"My father discovered the loss--my father?"
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 grand sire
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
became a Protestant, that your father picked a quarrel. He hated
his brother's wife, it is true; but he never appeared 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."
"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 somewhat to do with the stealing of the treasure?"
"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 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 to us. 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."
"It 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."
"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?"
"I 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?"
"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."
"And what did she tell thee?"
"My grandam was a Wyvern," said Kate, "as perchance thou knowest,
since the match pleased not thy father. And she was not the first
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."
"But the prediction--the prediction?" demanded Cuthbert eagerly.
"I am coming to that," answered Kate. "It is a prediction 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."
Cuthbert rose to his feet and shook back his hair. His dark eyes
flashed with the fixity of his purpose.
"I will never despair till the treasure is found. Prithee, good
cousin, show me the spot where it was buried first."
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 disappointments, 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 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."
"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 wildcat. 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!"
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.
"It is all well--there is no fear. It is Philip and Petronella."
"Petronella, my sister! Nay, but this is a happy chance!" cried
Cuthbert, springing eagerly forward; and the next moment
Petronella, with a little cry 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?"
"In 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 tomorrow, tell me of
thyself. How go matters at the Gate House? What said our father to
my flight?"
"He is right furious thereat, and raged for two days like a madman,
so that I durst not venture near him."
"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."
"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, during the inclement months of the winter now before us.
Later on "--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 anything 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.
I 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."
"And I will charge myself to watch over Petronella," 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."
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?"
"Gladly, thankfully, confidently!" answered the lad, with great
earnestness; and he thought within himself that 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.
"I 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
sweetness 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!"