"Cuthbert! alas, Cuthbert!"
"Why, how now? What ails thee, Cherry?"
"Cuthbert, my father hath been speaking with me."
"Well, and wherefore not? Thy father is no stern tyrant like mine,
sweet coz."
Cherry was panting with excitement and what appeared like terror.
She clung fast to Cuthbert's arm, and her eyes were dilated with
fear. She was an excitable little mortal, so he did not feel any
great alarm at her looks, but strove to reassure her in a friendly,
brotherly fashion. The Christmas festivities and excitements, which
had lasted above a week, had doubtless done something to upset the
balance of her mind. She had been so extravagantly and overwhelmingly
happy with the remembrance of her adventure at Lord Andover's house,
and her knowledge of the secret between herself and Cuthbert, that
the young man had felt half afraid lest she should contrive to betray
it to others by her blushes, her bright, fitful glances, and her
newborn softness in his presence, which gave a sweeter quality to her
childish charms. He himself did not wish Martin Holt to be aware that
anything had passed between him and Cherry till he could come boldly
forward and ask her at her father's hands, having the wherewithal
to support her. He had been surprised into an admission of youthful
devotion, and he by no means wished the words unsaid; for the secret
understanding now existing betwixt himself and Cherry was the sweetest
element in his daily life, and he was more and more in love every day
with his charming cousin. But he knew that until he could come with his
share of the Trevlyn treasure in his hands, he could scarce hope or
look for a patient hearing from the shrewd man of business. And though
he himself was increasingly confident that the treasure had been hidden
out of spite, and not really made away with, and that some day it would
be found, he knew that this opinion would be regarded by the world at
large as a chimera of ardent youth, and that Martin Holt for one would
bid him lay aside all such vain and idle dreams, and strive by steady
perseverance in business to win for himself a modest independence. Only
to the young, the ardent, the lovers of imaginative romance, had the
notion of hidden treasure any charm.
And here was Cherry crying, palpitating, trembling in his arms as
though some great trouble menaced them.
"What ails thee, sweetheart?" he asked, with playful tenderness;
and Cherry choked back her sobs to answer:
"Cuthbert, he has spoken to me of marriage--my father. He has told
me plainly what he purposes for me. He and my uncle Dyson have
talked of it together. I am to wed my cousin Jacob. O Cuthbert,
Cuthbert! what must I do? what must I say?"
Cuthbert heard the news in silence. It was not altogether
unexpected, but he had scarce looked to have heard the subject
openly broached so soon. Cherry had been regarded in her home as
such a child, and her father, sisters, and aunt had so combined to
speak and think of her as such, that although her eighteenth
birthday was hard at hand, and she was certainly of marriageable
age, he had not looked to have to face this complication in the
situation quite so quickly. But as he stood holding Cherry in his
arms (for she had come to him in the upper parlour at an hour when
all the household were elsewhere engaged, and there was no fear of
interruption), a look of stern purpose and resolution passed across
the young man's face--an expression which those who knew the
Trevlyn family would have recognized as a true Trevlyn look. His
face seemed to take added years and manliness as that expression
crossed it; and looking tenderly down at the quivering Cherry, he
asked:
"Thinkest thou that he has seen or suspected aught?"
"I know not. He said no word of that, only looked hard at me as be
spoke of Jacob."
"And what saidst thou?"
"Alack! what could I say? I did but tell him I had no thoughts of
such a thing. I prayed he would not send me from him. I told him I
was over young to think of marriage, and besought him to speak of
it no more. And as my tears began to flow I could say no more."
"And he?"
"He reminded me that many another girl was a wedded wife and mother
at my age; and then I turned and said that since Jemima and Kezzie
were yet unwed--ay, and Rachel too, for all her rosy cheeks and her
dowry--it was hard that I should have to be the one to be turned
first out of the nest. And at that I cried the more; and he put his
arm about me, and said he had no thought to grieve me, and did not
think that Jacob would wish me vexed in the matter. And I begged
for a year's grace; and, after thinking and pondering awhile, he
answered that he had no wish to hurry things on--that I was full
young to leave my girlhood behind and be saddled with the cares of
a household. And then it came out that the haste was all Uncle
Dyson's doing. Rachel is to be wed at Easter, and he wants his son
to bring home a wife to nurse Aunt Rebecca and mind his house. And
when I heard that I was in a pretty rage; for I cannot abide Aunt
Rebecca, who is as cross as a bear with a sore head, and she cannot
abear the sight of me. I know not wherefore I have offended her,
but so it is. And I know naught of managing a house, and so Aunt
Susan will tell them an they ask her. So I dared to stamp my foot,
and to tell father I would not wed Jacob to be made his mother's
slave; that I would rather live and die a maid like the good Queen
who has been taken from us. And father, he scarce seemed to know
what to say. I know he muttered something about its being a sore
pity it was not Jemima or Kezzie that had been chosen. And then he
bethought him that it was not right to let a daughter see too much
of his mind, or speak too much of her own; and he bid me begone
something sternly, declaring he would think the matter over, but
that he looked for dutiful obedience from any child of his, and
that I was not to think I might set up mine own will against his
whatever his decision might be in the end."
Cherry's tempest of tears was by this time ended, and she spoke
collectedly enough, raising her eyes now and then to the grave face
of her lover to mark the effect of her words upon him. Cuthbert's
face was grave but not unhopeful, and taking Cherry's hand firmly
in his as she ended her tale, he said:
"If he will but put the matter off for a year, all will be well. If
the treasure is to be found at all, I shall have found it by then.
Let these dark winter days but change to the long soft ones of
spring, and I go forth into the forest upon my quest. When I return
laden with my share of the spoil, I trow I shall be able to win and
wed my Cherry, be there never so many Jacobs in the field before
me!"
Cherry laughed a soft little laugh, and her fears and tremblings
ceased for the time being. Looking fondly up into Cuthbert's face,
she said:
"And why wait till the spring to begin? Hast forgotten what we
spoke of not long since? The wise woman--let us go to her! Thou
hast money, and I trow she will be able to tell thee somewhat of
the treasure. Men say that she hath a marvellous gift."
Waiting was slow work, and Cuthbert was by no means averse to
testing the skill of the old sorceress. He had a certain amount of
faith in the divinations of magic, and at least it could do no harm
to see what the beldam would say. He would but have to risk a gold
or silver piece, and it would satisfy Cherry that he was not
loitering and half hearted.
"I will go gladly an thou canst come with me. But when shall it be?
I have heard that these witches and diviners only exercise their
skill at night, and how couldst thou be abroad with me then? There
would be a pretty coil if it were discovered that we were not
within doors."
But Cherry was full of invention, and had all a woman's wit and
readiness of resource. She was a true daughter of Eve, this little
rosy-cheeked maiden; and when her heart was set on a thing, she,
could generally find the means to carry it out.
"Listen!" she said, after pausing a few moments to think the thing
out. "Any time after dark will do for the wise woman. It matters
not for it to be late in the night, so long as the sun be down and
the world wrapped in gloom. That happens early enow in these winter
days. Now do thou listen and heed me, Cuthbert. Thou hast heard of
good Master Harlow, hast thou not?"
"Ay, verily! I have heard of little else these many days!" answered
Cuthbert, with a touch of impatience in his voice. "I am well nigh
weary of the sound of his name. He is a notable Puritan preacher,
is he not?"
"Ay, verily, most notable and most wearisome!" answered Cherry,
with a delightful little grimace. "Thou speakest of being weary of
the sound of his name. Thou wouldst be tenfold more weary of the
sound of his voice didst thou but attend one of his preachings. I
have known him discourse for four hours at a time--all men hanging
on his words as if they were those of God Himself, and only poor
little me well nigh dead from weariness and hunger"
"I marvel not at that," answered Cuthbert. "Four hours would tax
the patience of the most ardent disciple."
"Nay, but thou little knowest. There be those amongst my father's
sect who call it all too short, who would listen, I verily believe,
till they dropped from their benches with starvation. But however
that may be, this Master Harlow is one of the hunted martyrs of the
cause, and he is not allowed to exercise his gifts save by stealth;
and the preaching, of which thou hast heard these many whispers, is
to be held by night, and in some obscure cellar underground, where
they who go will be safe from all molestation from spies and foes."
"Ah!" said Cuthbert, looking quickly at her, "and thou thinkest
that this will be our chance?"
"Let them but once start forth without us and all will be well,"
answered Cherry quickly. "The only trouble will be that Aunt Susan
loves to drag me whither she knows I love not to go, and father
thinks that these wearisome discourses are for the saving of souls.
He will wish to take the twain of us. It must be ours to escape him
and abide at home."
"And how can we compass that?"
"For thee it will be easy," answered Cherry. "Thou must promise
Walter Cole to assist him with some task of printing or binding
that same evening, and tell my father that thou art not seasoned to
long discourses, and hast no desire to fill the room of another who
would fain hear the words of life from the notable man. There will
be more crowding to hear him than the room will hold, so that it
will be no idle plea on thy part. Once thou art gone I can yawn and
feign some sort of ache or colic that will make me plead to go to
bed rather than attend the preaching. Aunt Susan will scold and
protest it is but mine idleness and sinfulness in striving to avoid
the godly discourse; but father will not compel me to go. And when
all have started thou canst return, and we will together to the
wise woman; and be she never so long with her divinations, we shall
have returned long ere they have done, and none will know of the
visit."
Cuthbert agreed willingly to this plan. A bit of mischief and
frolic was as palatable to young folks in the seventeenth century
as it is in the nineteenth, and as a frolic those two regarded the
whole business. They were both full of curiosity about the wise
woman and her divinations, and it seemed to Cherry that to fail in
taking advantage of her skill when they had the chance of doing so
would be simple folly and absurdity. If she could read the secrets
of the future, surely she must be able to tell them somewhat of the
lost treasure.
Cherry's plan was carried out to the letter without the least real
difficulty, and without raising any suspicion. Martin Holt was not
particularly anxious that the exact locality of the underground
meeting place should be known to his nephew, who had not professed
himself by any means on the Puritan side as yet, though listening
with dutiful and heedful attention whenever his uncle spoke to him
on the matter of his tenets. As for Cherry, her dislike to sermons
had long been openly declared, and it was scarcely expected that
she would patiently endure another of the discourses that had
caused her such distaste before.
And so it came about that upon a chill, frosty January night,
Cuthbert and Cherry stood before a small, narrow house in Budge
Row--a house that seemed to be jammed in between its two
neighbours, and almost crushed by their overhanging gables and
heavy beams; and Cherry, with a trembling hand, gave a peculiar
knock, thrice repeated, upon the stout panels of the narrow door,
that at the third summons opened slowly and noiselessly, as if
without any human agency.
The dark passage thus revealed to view was black as pitch, and
Cuthbert involuntarily recoiled. But Cherry had been here before,
and knew the place, and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Courage!" she said, in a voice that quivered with excitement and
not with fear; "it is always so here. Walk boldly in; there is
naught to hurt us. When the door has closed we shall see a light."
Stepping across the threshold, and keeping fast hold of Cherry's
arm, his quick glance roving from side to side in search of any
possible foe lurking in the shadows, Cuthbert entered this strange
abode, and felt rather than saw that the door closed noiselessly
behind them, whilst he heard the shooting of a heavy bolt, and
turned with a start, for it seemed impossible that this could have
been done without some human hand to accomplish the deed. But his
sense of touch assured him that he and Cherry were the only persons
at this end of the narrow passage, and with a light shiver at the
uncanny occurrence, he made up his mind to follow this adventure to
the end.
"See, there is the light!" whispered Cherry, who was quivering with
excitement. "That is the sign that the wise woman is ready. We have
to follow it. It will lead us to her."
The light was dim enough, but it showed plainly in the pitchy
darkness of the passage, and seemed to be considerably above them.
"We must mount the stairs," whispered Cherry, feeling her way
cautiously to the foot of the rickety flight; and the cousins
mounted carefully, the dun light, which they did not see--only the
reflections it cast brightening the dimness--going on before, until
they reached an upper chamber, the door of which stood wide open, a
soft radiance shining out, whilst a strange monotonous chanting was
heard within.
Upon the threshold of the room stood a huge black cat with
bristling tail and fiery eyes. It seemed as though he would dispute
the entrance of the strangers, and Cuthbert said to himself that he
had never seen an uglier-looking brute of the kind since the
monster wildcat he had killed in the forest about his home. He drew
Cherry a pace backwards, for the creature looked crouching for a
spring.
"It is the wise woman's cat, her familiar spirit!" whispered the
girl, in a very low voice. "Show him a piece of money; then he will
let us pass. He takes toll of those who come to the wise woman.
Show him the gold, and then place it within that shell. After that
he will let us go in."
Cuthbert took a small piece of gold from his purse. He held it up
before the formidable-looking creature, and then let it drop into a
shell fixed in the outer wall of the room. He heard it fall as if
through a slot, and fancied that some person within the room had
taken it out and examined it. There was a slight peculiar call, and
the cat, whose tail had begun to grow less, and whose snarlings had
ceased at sight of the coin, now sprang suddenly backwards and
vanished within the room, whilst a cracked voice was heard bidding
them enter.
"That is the voice of the wise woman," said Cherry. "Come,
Cuthbert, and fear nothing."
Together the pair stepped over the threshold, and again the door
closed noiselessly behind them, and the bolt flew as it seemed of
itself into its socket. Cuthbert did not altogether relish this
locking of doors behind them as they went; but Cherry, who had been
here before, did not seem to mind, and doubtless it was but
prudence that had taught the old woman to carry on her arts
secretly if she wished to escape imprisonment or death.
Glancing curiously round him, Cuthbert saw himself in a long, low,
narrow room that was all in deep shadow save at the upper end,
where a soft bright light was burning, carefully shaded at one
side, and so arranged that whilst it illuminated the features of
those who stood beside the table behind which the oracle sat, it
left the features of the wise woman herself in the deepest shadow,
a pair of small black beady eyes being at first glance the only
feature Cuthbert could distinguish.
The lamp stood upon a table, and the old woman, clad from head to
foot in a long black mantle, sat on the farther side. There were a
few implements of her profession about her--one or two big books, a
crystal bowl containing some black fluid very clear and sparkling,
an ebony wand, and a dusky mirror in a silver frame. She fixed her
bright bead-like eyes upon her guests as they advanced, and asked
in her cracked, harsh tones:
"Who comes here?"
"Two persons desirous of testing your skill," answered Cuthbert
boldly. "It is told me that you can read the future; I would ask if
you can also look back into the past?"
He felt the snake-like glance bent fixedly upon him. There was a
subtle fascination in those eyes, and he looked into them fixedly
whether he would or no. As his eyes became used to the dimness in
which the old woman sat, he saw that her face was brown and
wrinkled like a fragment of ancient parchment, that her features
were very sharp and wasted, and that there was something weird and
witch-like in her whole aspect. He felt as though he had seen
before some face that that withered one faintly resembled, but in
the confusion of the moment he could put no name to it. He wanted
to keep his head, and to retain his firmness and acuteness, but he
was conscious of a strange whirling in his brain as the old woman
continued to gaze and gaze upon him as though she would never be
satisfied with her inspection.
At last she spoke again.
"And who art thou that comest so boldly to pry into the dead
secrets of the past?"
"I am one Cuthbert Trevlyn, son of a house that has suffered sore
vicissitudes. I come to ask the skill of the wise woman in
discovering a secret long hidden from our family."
He stopped suddenly, for the woman held up her hand as if to stop
him, and her voice took a strange hissing tone.
"Silence! Enough--thou hast spoken enough. Let me now tell thee the
rest. I will tell thee what thou hast come to seek for. Silence! I
will consult the spirits; they will tell me all."
Drawing nearer to her the crystal bowl, the old woman bent her head
over it, and whispered incantations, as it seemed, over its
contents. For a while there was deep silence in the room, and
Cherry felt chill with excitement and wonder. This was very
different from the reception she and her cousin Rachel had met.
They had but been bidden to show their hands, and had then seen
some cabalistic characters formed by the wise woman, from which she
had told them all they wished to know. But there had been nothing
half so mysterious as this, and the girl felt certain that the wise
woman regarded Cuthbert and his questions with far greater interest
than any she had bestowed upon the fortunes or the ailments of
Rachel.
Presently there arose, as if in the far, far distance, a sound of
voices faint and confused. Cherry clung to Cuthbert's arm, and
looked about her with a pale, scared face, half expecting to see
the room filled with disembodied spirits; but his glance never
shifted from the down-bent face of the wise woman, and he half
suspected that the sounds proceeded in some way from her, albeit
they seemed to float about in the air round them, and to approach
and die away at will.
Suddenly the old woman raised her head and spoke.
"Thy mission to me this day is to ask news of the lost treasure of
Trevlyn."
Cherry started, and so did Cuthbert. There could be no doubting the
old woman's power now. If she could see so much in her bowl, could
she not likewise see where that lost treasure lay buried?
"Thou speakest sooth, mother," he said boldly. "It is of the lost
treasure I would speak. Canst tell me if it still remains as it was
when it was lost? Canst tell me the spot where it lies hid, that I
may draw it thence? If thou canst lead me to it, thou shalt not
lose thy reward; thou shalt be rich for life."
The youth spoke eagerly; but a curious smile crept over the old
woman's face at his words.
"Foolish boy!" she said. "Seest thou not that if gold were my
desire I have but to discover the place where the treasure lies to
some stalwart knave sworn to do my bidding, and all would be mine?
Could I not sell this golden secret to the highest bidder, an
wealth was all I craved? Foolish, foolish boy--impetuous like all
thy race! What hast thou to offer me that I may not obtain by one
wave of this wand?"
Cuthbert was silent, wondering alike at the old woman and her
words. If she was not disposed to sell her golden secret (and what
she said was but too true--that the treasure would be more to her
than any reward), what hope was there of her revealing it to him?
He stood silent and perplexed, waiting for the old woman to speak
again.
"Cuthbert Trevlyn," she said, after a long pause, "methought that
the hope of finding the treasure had long since been abandoned by
thy race."
"That may well be, but it has not been so abandoned by me. Whilst I
have youth and health and strength, I will not give up that hope.
I, the grandson of Isabel Wyvern, will not cease to strive till I
have won back the lost luck that was to return to that house
through the daughters' sons."
It was almost at random that Cuthbert had spoken these words, but
some recollection had come over him of the story he had heard of
the devotion of certain gipsy people to the family of the Wyverns,
and their prognostications concerning them. This woman, with the
brown and crumpled skin and the beady black eyes, was very like
some of those wild gipsy folk he had seen from time to time in the
forest. Was it not just possible that she might be one of their
tribe, who for some reason or some physical infirmity had abandoned
the wandering life, and had set up for a wise woman in the heart of
the great city? Was there not some strange community of knowledge
and interest amongst all these wandering people? and might she not
in any case know something about the families of foe and friend,
and the loss of the vast treasure one day to be restored?
As his grandmother's name passed his lips, Cuthbert was certain
that he saw a flicker pass across the wise woman's face; but she
bent her head again over her bowl, and for some minutes remained in
deep silence. Then she looked up and scanned his face again.
"Let me see thy hand," she said.
He held it out fearlessly, and she bent over it for some time.
"It is a good hand," she said at length, "and its owner may look
for prosperity in life, But he must heed one thing, and that is his
own over-bold rashness. He must beware of trusting all men. He must
beware of fatal fascination. He must beware of a darkly-flowing
river, and the dark cellar beyond. He must have the courage to say
'nay'--the courage to fly as well as to fight. Young man, thou hast
over-much curiosity. In these times of peril men must walk warily.
Choose the safe path, and keep therein. Think not to play with edge
tools and yet keep thy fingers unscarred."
Cuthbert felt the colour rising in his face. He felt the home
thrust embodied in these words. He knew that they were a warning
addressed to that side of his character which urged him to make
friends on all sides, and strive to see good in all men, and to
avoid joining himself to any one party in Church or State whilst in
measure belonging to all. For a man of quality he knew such a
course would be impossible and foolishly perilous, but he had felt
secure in his own insignificance. He, however, well understood the
warning, and so he marked the words about the flowing river and
dark cellar, and though by no means understanding them now, he
resolved that he would not forget.
But Cherry was shivering with excitement, and at last she could
keep silence no longer. The wise woman had been kind to her before;
surely she would not resent it if she spoke now.
"But the treasure, mother, the treasure," she urged. "Canst not
thou help us there?"
The old woman shifted her bright eyes to the flushed face of the
girl, and a flicker passed over her face as she repeated:
"Us--us? And what part or lot has Martin Holt's daughter in the
lost treasure of Trevlyn? What, my pretty child, has thy handsome
lover come so soon? and art thou looking already to be made a lady
of by him?"
The girl hid her blushing face on Cuthbert's shoulder, whilst he
answered with boyish straightforwardness:
"I will wed my cousin Cherry or none else. We have plighted our
troth secretly, and she shall one day be my bride. If thou canst
help me in this matter, it will make our lot easier; but, poor or
rich, she shall be mine!"
The old woman nodded her head several times, and Cuthbert fancied
that a greater benignity of expression crossed her wrinkled face.
"Brave words! brave words!" she muttered, "and a brave heart
behind. Grandson to Isabel Wyvern! Ay, so it is; and there is
Wyvern in that face as well as Trevlyn. For her sake--for her sake!
Ay, I would do much for that.
"Boy," she said suddenly, raising her voice and speaking in her
witch-like accents again, "thou hast spoken a name which is as a
talisman, and though thou hast asked a hard thing, I will help thee
an I can. Yet I myself know naught. It is the familiar spirits that
know, and they will not always come even at my call; they will not
always speak sooth at my bidding. I can but use my arts; the rest
lies with them; and this is a secret that has been long-time hid."
"Ay, and the time has now come when it should be revealed,"
answered Cuthbert boldly. "Use what arts thou wilt! I ask the
answer to my question. I would know where the lost treasure lies."
As he spoke these words the room became suddenly darkened. Around
them again as they stood there seemed to float voices and whispers,
though not one articulate word could either hear. In the gloom they
saw nothing save the fiery eyes of the great cat, which appeared to
be crouched upon the table beside its mistress. The whisperings and
voices, sometimes accompanied by soft or mocking laughter,
continued for the space of several moments, and appeared to be
interrupted at last by the tap of the wise woman's wand upon the
table, which three times repeated enforced a sudden silence.
The silence was for a moment more awe inspiring than what had gone
first; but before Cherry had more time than sufficed to nip
Cuthbert hard by the hand, they heard the old woman's voice, in an
accent of stern command, uttering one single word:
"Speak!"
There was a brief pause, and then a sweet low voice rose in the
room and seemed to float round them, whilst the words with their
rhythmic cadence fell distinctly on the ears of the listening pair:
"Three times three--on a moonlight night,
The oak behind, the beech to right;
Three times three--over ling and moss,
Robin's gain is Trevlyn's loss.
"Three times three--the war is long,
Yet vengeance hums, and the back is strong;
Three times three--the dell is deep,
It knows its secret well to keep.
"Three times three--the bones gleam white,
None dare pass by day or night;
Three times three--the riddle tell!
The answer lies in the pixies' well."
The voice ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
"Is that all?" asked the harsh accents of the wise woman.
"That is all the spirits choose to tell," answered the soft voice,
already, as it seemed, far away; and in another moment the lamp
shone forth again.
The cat leaped down from the table with a hissing sound, and the
old woman was revealed in her former position, resting her two
elbows on the table, her withered face supported in the palm of her
hand.
"Thou hast heard?"
"Ay, but I have not understood. Canst thou read the riddle to me?"
But the old woman shook her head.
"That may not be; that thou must do for thyself. I will write down
the words for thee, that thou mayest not forget; but thou, and thou
alone, must find the clue."
With swift fingers she transcribed some characters on a fragment of
parchment, and Cuthbert marvelled at the skill in penmanship the
old woman displayed when she gave the paper into his hands. It was
with a beating heart that he scanned the mysterious characters; but
the old woman had risen to her feet, and motioned them away.
"Begone!" she cried, "begone! I have no more to say. Heed my
warning. Beware of menaced perils. The perils of the forest are
less than the perils of the city; and an open foe is better than a
false friend--a friend who lures those that trust him to a common
destruction, even though he himself be ready to share it. Harden
thine heart--beware of thine own merciful spirit. Turn a deaf ear
to the cry of the pursued. Swim with the current, and strive not to
stem it. And now go! I have said my say. Thou hast fortune within
thy grasp an thou hast wits to find it and hold it."
There was no disobeying the imperious gesture of the old woman.
Cuthbert would fain have lingered to ask more questions, but he
dared not do so. With a few brief words of thanks and farewell, he
took Cherry's hand and turned away. The bolt of the door flew back;
the door opened of itself again. The cat stalked on before down the
dark staircase, and a faint gleam from above showed them the way
down. The outer door sprang open before and closed behind them, and
the next minute Cuthbert was hurrying his companion along the dark
street, pulling her into the shadow of a doorway if any sounds
announced the approach of any of the tavern roisterers, and so
protecting her from any danger or peril till they stood at last in
safety beneath Martin Holt's roof, and looked wonderingly into each
other's eyes, as if questioning whether it had not all been part
and parcel of a dream.
They had not been long gone; a bare hour had elapsed since they had
stolen out into the darkness together. There was no fear that any
other member of Martin Holt's household would be back for a
considerable time. The two conspirators bent over the scrap of
parchment they placed between them on the table, and pored
earnestly over it together.
"What does it mean, Cuthbert? what can it mean? Canst read the
words aright?"
"Ay, it is well writ. I can read it, but I know not what it means."
"Read it again to me."
He obeyed, and she forthwith began to ask a hundred questions.
"'Three times three'--that comes so many times. What can that mean,
Cuthbert? it must mean something."
"Yes, doubtless, but I know not what."
"And again, 'Robin's gain is Trevlyn's loss.' Cuthbert, who may
Robin be?"
"I know not: Yet stop--hold! Yes, I have it now. Not that it may be
aught of import. Robin is a name a score of men may bear even in
one village. But when the robbers of the road found themselves at
the ruined mill where the gipsies were, I heard the leader ask,
'Where is Long Robin?'"
"And was he there?" asked Cherry eagerly.
"I know not: none answered the question, and I heeded it no more.
Most like he was but some serving man they wanted to take the
horses."
"Cuthbert, it seems plain that some Robin has stolen this treasure,
and carried it off and hidden it. The verses must mean that!"
"Ay, I doubt it not, Cherry," answered Cuthbert, smiling; "but see
you not, fair cousin, that almost any person knowing of this lost
treasure and the legend of the gipsies' hate could have strung
together words like these? All men hold that it may still be hidden
in the forest around the Chase; but there be deep dells by the
dozen, and the pixies, men say, have all fled away. And there be
wells that run dry, and men find fresh ones bursting out where
never water was before. These lines scarce show me more than I have
known or thought before."
"But they do, they do!" cried Cherry excitedly. "They tell that it
was Robin who has stolen it. Cuthbert, when thou goest to the
forest next thou must find this Long Robin and see if it can be
he."
The young man smiled at her credulity and enthusiasm. He was not so
entirely sceptical as to some possible clue being given by these
verses as he would have her believe, but he could not see any
daylight yet, and wished to save her from disappointment.
"That is scarce like to be. The treasure was stolen nigh on fifty
years agone, and he must have been a lusty robber who stole it
then--scarce like to be living now. But we will think of this more.
The wise woman must have dealings with a familiar, else how could
she have known our errand? We must heed her words well; they may be
words of wisdom. She knew strange things from my hand. I marvel how
she could read it all there."
Cuthbert looked upon his palm and shook his head. It was all a
mystery to him. But he had greater faith in the wise woman than he
altogether felt prepared to admit, and as he sought his couch that
night he kept saying over and over to himself the magic words he
had heard.
"'Three times three--three times three!' What can that signify? In
the forest perchance I shall read the riddle aright. Or perchance
the gipsy queen, the dark-eyed Joanna, will aid me in the search.
If I could but trust her, she might see things that I cannot in
these lines. Would that the winter were past; would that the summer
were about to come! The perils of the forest are to be less to me
than the perils of the city. I wonder what perils menace me here.
Beneath my father's roof I oft went in peril of my life; but
here--why, here I feel safer than ever in my life before!"