All this while Kate's letter to her cousin Lord Culverhouse 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 goodwill 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
entrust the letter into any hands but those of Lord Culverhouse
himself, he had gone away again, and the excitements of the new
life 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 countenancing
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 keeping a well-spread table at
which to ask his friends to sit, still less from sending out to his
poorer neighbours portions of the good cheer which has always
seemed appropriate 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 stew pans crowding each other
upon the stove.
He was used to it, and it appeared the inevitable preliminary to
Yuletide; though Cuthbert looked on in amaze, and marvelled how any
household could consume the quantities of victuals under
preparation, be their hospitality 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 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 jostling 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 courtyard, 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 wondering 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 nothing 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 indulgent 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
language, he might have her companionship and welcome; and it would
doubtless amuse her to go into Lord Andover'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
ordered, 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."
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 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
surreptitious 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 passing 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 narrow but bustling and
busy streets. She had always been kept rigorously at home on all
occasions of public rejoicing 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.
"Wait but here for me a little five minutes," she said; "I have an
errand to my cousin Rachel."
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 one 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.
"I 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 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?"
"Nay, I know not; I am unlearned in these questions. But how got
you these fine clothes? Did Mistress Rachel lend them?"
"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 Christmastide. 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 today, 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 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!"
Her happiness was infectious. Cuthbert felt more like a
light-hearted boy than ever he had done in his life before. 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. Dunstan's in the
West, and watched the bronze figures striking on their bells as the
hour of midday 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
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, attended 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 courtyard, 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 courtyard, 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."
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 fireplaces. 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 himself at will.
Busy and noisy as this place was, an air of good fellowship 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 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 reading 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."
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 congratulation 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 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 conducted 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 guest--a cousin of Cuthbert Trevlyn, who has brought me a most
welcome missive from my dear cousin Kate?"
And then Cherry looked 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 characteristics, 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 beside 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."
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 perfectly captivated and carried away,
living in the glamour of absolute enchantment, and amusing her
fashionable 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 indoors 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 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 himself, 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!"
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:
"Oh, how could I love anybody else? O Cuthbert, how happy thou hast
made me! Art sure thou speakest sooth?"
"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 myself 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!"
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?"
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 hearing this strange tale.
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," 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?"
"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 bed chamber
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 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."
Cherry's lips were parted, her eyes were full of wonder and
curiosity. She shivered with excitement and surprise.
"Thinkest thou that she knows the place?"
"That I know not, but I trow well that she knows 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."
"Then thou wilt keep the tryst?"
"Assuredly I will."
"And thou art not afraid that harm will befall thee? Oh beware,
Cuthbert, of that wicked, fierce old woman!"
"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."
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 wouldst know."
"And what way is that, sweet coz?"
Again came the little pause of hesitation, and then Cherry said:
"We might consult the wise woman.
"The wise woman! and who is she?"
"There be many of them," answered Cherry, still speaking 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 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."
"Hast thou ever been to one thyself, Cherry?"
Her face was all in a glow. She clung closer to Cuthbert'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
command."
And there Cherry stopped, blushing and palpitating 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 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
religious matters. He was no bigot, but he had a constitutionally
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
downtrodden 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 circulate
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 imprisonment, if not to death.
But to return to the pair now closely approaching their home, and
lagging somewhat in their walk to prolong the talk for a few
minutes. Cherry was in a fever of curiosity and impatience, and
longed to hear her lover speak the word.
"It is so long to wait till May Day; and I trow that she could tell
us all. Say, Cuthbert, shall we go to her?"
It was sweet to Cuthbert to hear the little word "we" 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?"
"To be sure I will. I should love to be thy companion."
"And brave thy father's wrath should he find out?"
Cherry clung yet closer to his arm.
"I fear nothing when thou art beside me, Cuthbert. I would go with
thee to death."
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."
Cherry uttered a little cry of delight.
"Ah, how pleased I am--how pleased I am! We will go this very week,
so soon as the Yuletide 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."