"Cuthbert, is it--can it really be thou?"
"Petronella--sister! What happiness to see thee once more!"
She clung to him almost sobbing in the excitement of pure
happiness. He could feel that she trembled in his arms, and he
enfolded the slight frame ever closer and closer.
"Sweetest sister, fear not! Dost fear I could not protect thee from
harm? Believe me, thou hast a wondrous different brother now from
the cowed and timorous lad who went forth from these doors but six
short months back. Fear not, my sister; look up, and let me see thy
face. I would learn how it has fared with thee since we parted that
night on this very spot, though it now seems so long ago."
Petronella heaved a long sigh, and her tremblings gradually ceased.
It seemed as though the brotherly clasp of those strong arms
stilled her fears and brought comfort and soothing. But as Cuthbert
held her closely to him, it seemed to him almost as though he
clasped a phantom form rather than one of solid flesh and blood.
There seemed nothing of the girl but skin and bone; and looking
anxiously into the small oval face, he noted how wistful and hollow
the great dark eyes had grown, and how pinched and worn every
feature. Had it always been so with her? He scarce knew, for we
heed little the aspect of those about us when we are young and
inexperienced.
Petronella had always been somewhat shadowy and wan, had always
been slight and slim and small. But was she always as wan and
slight as she now seemed? or did he observe it the more from the
contrast it presented to Cherry's blooming beauty, to which his
eyes had grown used? He asked the question anxiously of himself,
but could not answer it.
Then drawing Petronella into the full light of the silver moon, he
made her sit beside him on a fragment of mouldering wall, and
holding her thin hands in a warm clasp, he scanned her face with
glances of earnest scrutiny.
"My sister, hast thou been ill?"
She shook her head with a pathetic little smile.
"Alas, no! Methinks I am a true Trevlyn for that. Sickness passes
me by and seizes upon others who might so much better be spared."
"Why dost thou say 'alas' to that, sweet sister?"
"Verily because there be times when I would so gladly lay down my
head never to lift it more. For me death would be sweeter than
life. The dead rest in God's peaceful keeping--my good aunt at the
Chase has told me so, and I no longer fear the scorching fires of
purgatory. I have a little New Testament now of my own, full of
sweet promises and words of love and peace. When I read of the
pearly gates and the streets of gold, and the city into which
nothing unholy may enter, I long sorely to leave behind this world
of sin and sorrow and find a refuge there.
"But I would know more of thee, Cuthbert, and of what thou hast
seen and done since thou hast left the Gate House. For me I have
naught to tell. Life here is ever the same. But thou must have done
and seen so much. May I not hear thy tale? May I not learn how it
has fared with thee?"
Cuthbert was willing enough to outpour his story to her, sitting
beside her in the old chantry, where so many happy hours of their
shadowed childhood had been spent. He told of his adventures by the
way, of his night with the gipsies, of his timely rescue of Cherry
and his admittance to his uncle's house. He told of his uncle's
wonderful story of the gold that was to be all for his sister; told
of the life at the bridge house, and his attachment to his cousin
Cherry. The only matter he named not was that of his meeting with
Master Robert Catesby, and all that had followed in which he was
concerned. Petronella would only be bewildered by so many strange
things. It was enough to tell her of his recent adventures in the
forest, and his growing hopes of coming upon traces of the lost
treasure.
Petronella listened to the whole of this tale with parted lips and
wide-open eyes, as a child listens to a tale of fairy romance and
wonder. She could scarce believe that all these strange things had
befallen her own brother; but as she questioned and he answered,
she gradually began to understand, to enter into his feelings, and
to obtain a clearer comprehension of the situation of affairs. Her
intercourse with the Trevlyns of the Chase had done something to
widen her knowledge of life, and Cuthbert found that her mind had
matured and expanded in a fashion he had hardly expected. He
wondered where she had picked up some of the bits of experience
that fell from her lips from time to time, and he looked somewhat
searchingly into her face.
"Methinks, my sister, that time has not stood still with thee since
I went away. Thou art wondrous wise for thy years. Who has been thy
instructor?"
Even in the moonlight he could see the sudden flush that dyed her
cheek and neck at the question.
"I have been to the Chase as much as our father would
permit--indeed, I fear me I have been oftener; but I was very
lonely, and they were all so kind. And Philip, he has been often
here. He has been in very truth a--a--brother to me in thy place.
Methinks but for him I should almost have died. But, O Cuthbert, it
is hard, it is hard!"
The last words were spoken with such sudden passion and vehemence
that the youth started and looked once again at his sister. Of old,
Petronella had always been so gentle, so meek and yielding, that to
hear such an outburst from her startled him not a little.
"What is hard, sweet sister?"
"To be the daughter of--of--such a father as ours," she answered,
lowering her voice and speaking with infinite sadness now. "Heaven
knows I have striven to love him, have striven to obey him, have
striven to be all a daughter should!"
"Ay, verily thou hast!" answered Cuthbert warmly. "I have chidden
thee many a time before this for the meekness that raised no
protest let him be never so harsh. Thou hast done more than thy
share, sweet Petronella. None can blame thee for rebellious
thoughts or words. If he will none of our love or service, the
fault is his, not ours--thine least of all, for thou wast ever
gentle and meek."
"I have tried," repeated Petronella sadly; "and when thou hadst
gone and the tempest had something subsided, I tried as never
before to be a loving daughter, and make up to him for the loss of
his son. But he would have none of my love. He drove me from his
presence with bitter words. I had perforce to seek others, if I
were to live at all; and though he hurled taunts and harsh speeches
at me oftentimes, he did not forbid me that house, albeit he scarce
knew perchance how oft I was there, since he shut himself up more
and more, and sometimes saw me not from one week's end to the
other."
"What a lone life for thee, my sister!"
"Yes, it was lone, save for the comradeship of our cousins. But
that was better, far better, than what followed."
Cuthbert looked quickly at her, and his eyes darkened.
"And what did follow, Petronella?"
She bent her head a little, that he might not see the expression of
her face. Her words were falteringly spoken.
"It was not many weeks since--it was when the days began to lengthen
out, and the forest paths to grow decked with flowers--that some evil
thoughts of suspicion came into his head, I know not how, and he
dogged my steps as I wandered in the woods; and twice--nay, thrice--he
came suddenly upon us as we walked together in the woodland dells."
"'We? who was with thee, sister?"
"Philip," she answered very softly, and there was something in the
tender intonation with which she spoke the name that told a tale
Cuthbert was not slow to read. He had guessed as much before, but
this made assurance doubly sure; and with the sympathy of the
ardent young lover, he put his hand on Petronella's and pressed it
tenderly. She understood the meaning of that clasp, and looked
gratefully at him, going on with more confidence afterwards.
"It was with Philip that he found me; and the sight filled him with
a sullen fury--the fury that thou knowest, brother, which brooks no
opposition, no words. He would not hear Philip speak. He struck him
on the mouth--a cruel blow that caused the blood to spring forth;
and he dragged me away by main force, and locked me up in the
pillared chamber, vowing to keep me a prisoner all my life an I
would not promise never to speak with Philip again."
"And thou?"
"I told him I would promise naught save to meet him no more in the
forest. I was glad to promise that; for I feared our savage father
might kill him in a fit of fury were he to find us again together.
I should have been terrified to wander forth with him more. I
promised that, but I would promise no more."
"And did that satisfy him?" asked Cuthbert breathlessly. "Tell me
all, my sister. He did not dare lay hands on thee?"
Petronella smiled faintly.
"Methinks he would dare anything he wished; but he let himself be
satisfied with that pledge. Only he kept me many days in that dim
place of terror, and gave me but scant prisoner's fare the while.
Cuthbert, as thou art free and thou art nigh, wilt thou to Trevlyn
Chase for me ere thou goest back into the forest, and tell Philip
what has befallen me, and that I may no more hope to meet him in
our favourite haunts? Tell him all I have told to thee, and bid him
keep himself from this house. It is an ill place! an ill place! Ah,
Cuthbert, were I but a man like thee, I would fare forth as thou
hast done. I would not stay beneath yon roof to be starved in soul
and body and spirit. O father, father!"
The cry was one of exceeding bitterness, and yet in it spoke a
patience that moved Cuthbert strangely.
"Sister, my sister!" he cried, in accents of suppressed agitation,
"I know not how to leave thee here. Petronella, why not forth with
me to the forest? Sure I could protect thee there and give thee a
better home beneath the greenwood trees than our father does
beneath yon grim walls. And, sister, I could take thee to our
uncle, Martin Holt. Sure he would give thee asylum with him, as he
gave to me. Thou wouldst have Cherry for a sister. Thou--"
But Petronella shrank away a little, and looked scared at the
thought. Hers was one of those timid natures that find it easier to
endure even a terrible wrong than to take a bold step to escape
from it. The life of the forest might have attracted her, for she
loved the freedom of the woodlands, and had no fears of loneliness
or privation. But she had heard from Cuthbert of the bands of
outlaws and gipsies, of Long Robin and his murderous hatred; and of
other perils which she felt she had scarce courage to face. She
feared that if she let Cuthbert carry her off she would but prove a
burden and a care, whilst the thought of London and the strange
relations there filled her with distaste and dread.
"Nay, nay, my brother; I have borne much--I will bear a little
more. I love the old Gate House as thou hast never loved it; and
perchance after this storm there may be a lull of quiet peace. I
should but hamper thee, and hold thee back from that great purpose;
and--"
"But Martin Holt, he would welcome thee; and once beneath his
roof--"
"Nay, Cuthbert, it might well be that our father would guess
whither I had fled, and would come and drag me back. I am not of an
age to resist him. And I am a helpless woman, not a man. I have
thought many times of flight, but I fear me it would but lead to
worse."
"I know not that," answered Cuthbert thoughtfully. "Our uncle
Martin is a good man; and, Petronella, remember that whether or no
thy brother finds the lost treasure, he holds in his keeping a
dowry for thee that will make thee no unworthy mate for Philip
Trevlyn when the day comes for him to claim thee as his bride. Nay,
hide not thy face, sister."
"Alas, alas, my brother! that day will never come! My father--"
"Nay, courage, sweetheart; our father's power lasts not for ever,
and we will be happy yet in spite of him. And, sister mine, we must
have kinsfolks somewhere of the house of Wyvern. Our father never
speaks to us of any such matters; but hast thou heard aught at the
Chase?"
Petronella looked quickly up at him.
"Ay, I have heard them speak of kinsfolk of that family, albeit I
heeded not greatly what they said. Are they our kinsfolk likewise?"
"Ay, verily, inasmuch as our grandam was a Wyvern; and there have
been Wyverns of two generations that have wed with the Trevlyns, as
thou hast heard in the story of the lost treasure, which I have
told to thee. Sister, it might be that thou mightest find a refuge
with them safer than with mine uncle of the bridge, who might
perchance think I asked too much were I to bring my sister to him,
albeit he is a kind man and a just; but--"
"But I trust I may not have to flee," said Petronella, with the
same air of shrinking that she had shown before. "I have borne so
much; surely I can bear the rest, until thou hast found the
treasure, and all is changed for us. When thou art rich and great,
and high in favour with all, then perchance thou canst prevail even
with our stern father, and win his leave to carry hence thy poor
little sister. Till then I will strive to remain."
Cuthbert took her hand and held it between his.
"Petronella, I like it not--I like not to leave thee here; but it
must be as thou desirest. Only, remember one thing, my sister. I am
nigh at hand. I am in the forest, not many miles away; and if
things should become worse with thee, thou canst fly to me thither;
thou wilt find me, doubtless, in or about the pixies' dell, of
which thou hast heard me speak, for it is there that my closest
watch will be held. Thinkest thou that thou canst find the place?"
"I trow so; thou hast told me how to do so. Nine miles across the
open forest, starting from the Trevlyn oak, with the great beech to
the right. If I am forced to fly, I will fly thither by night, and
the stars will be my guide. Brother, it is good to feel that thou
art near."
"Ay, Petronella, I am glad indeed; for I fear me sometimes that our
father--"
"What, Cuthbert?"
"That he must surely be going mad. It is hard to believe he could
so persecute his children were it not so, and it is not fitting
that thou shouldest dwell beneath the roof of a madman."
The girl shivered slightly, and her dark eyes dilated.
"Thinkest thou so, Cuthbert? Sure I had thought it was his wrath at
finding that we loved not the faith in which he has brought us up;
that first thou and then I have learned to find comfort in the holy
Book he has denied to us, and to find that there be other holy
things than our priests have taught us, and purer truths than
methinks they know themselves. I thought that was why his anger
burned so hotly against us. That was his quarrel with thee, and
methinks he must have suspected me, else would he scarce have
dogged my steps as he did."
"It may be so," answered Cuthbert; "but I fear me he has brooded
over his wrongs and his sins until he is well-nigh beside himself.
My sister, let not thy patience lead thee into peril. Remember what
I have said, and whither I may be found. I will take thy message to
Philip. He shall be bidden not to anger thy father further by
seeking thee. After that it is for thee to decide whether thou
canst still live in such solitude as must then be thine at the Gate
House, or whether thou wilt fly to me in the forest."
"I will remember," answered Petronella, rising to her feet; for
even here, and at this hour, and with her brother for her
companion, she dared not linger long. "Tell my kind aunt that the
Testament she gave me is the solace and happiness of my life. I
think of her words every day, and they are written on my heart.
Though I see her not, my blessing rests upon her. I would that she
could know what peace and joy she has helped to bring into my
lonely lot."
"I will tell her," answered Cuthbert, as he took the slight form
into his arms. "She will be rejoiced to hear it, I doubt not. I
too, my sister, have shared some of that peace myself. I have found
that the faith in which we were reared, albeit it holds much of
golden truth, has been so overlaid by artifice of man that the gold
is sadly tarnished. I have some deep love for it yet, but I love
better the purer faith that I have learned from the written Word of
God, and have heard from the lips of godly men of the Established
Church of the land. I have seen and heard much in yon great city,
and methinks that all creeds have much that is true--much that is
the same; but it seems the nature of man to fight and wrangle over
the differences, instead of rejoicing in the unity of a common
faith; wherefore there be misery and strife and jealousy abounding,
and the adversaries may well blaspheme. But I came not to talk such
matters with thee, sweet sister; they baffle the wisdom of the
wisest. Keep fast hold of the peace thou hast found, and let no man
take it from thee. I would I lived not in the midst of such weary
war of words. There be times when the heart sickens at it, and one
is fain to lay all aside sooner than have to own allegiance to any
one party, when one sees the bad as well as the good of all."
Petronella's eyes were wide with astonishment and perplexity. She
felt as though she had a very Solon for a brother when Cuthbert
talked after this serious fashion. But she too had heard from the
Trevlyns of the Chase somewhat of the burning questions of the day,
and she was not wholly uninstructed in the matter.
"That is one boon granted to us weak women," she said, with a
shadowy little smile. "We are not called upon to take part in the
world's battlefield. We may think our own thoughts, and go our
quiet way in the main unheeded and unmolested. But I am glad that
thou dost see as I do, my brother. It is sweet to find accord in
those we love. And now I must be gone; I dare not linger longer.
Heaven bless and keep thee ever! I shall carry my daily load more
lightly for this happy hour spent together."
Cuthbert kissed her many times before he let her go, reminded her
again of the place where he himself might be found, and then walked
slowly with her towards the old Gate House, only letting her go
when she desired it, and watching her glide towards the little door
with a sense of sinking at heart which he could hardly explain.
As for Petronella, she stole within the door, which she bolted
behind her, as she had found it, and felt her way up the narrow
winding stairs that led to the ground floor of the house. The
postern door was below that level, and had a little stair of its
own leading to the house, from which it was again shut off by
another door at the top. When Petronella had stolen out to meet
Cuthbert, she had left this door open, so as to avoid all needless
noise; but when she reached the head of the stairs she found it
closed, and her heart gave a sudden throb of dismay as she stood
quite still listening and wondering.
Surely she had left it open? her memory had not deceived her! No;
she remembered debating the matter with herself and deciding to do
so. Could it have shut by itself afterwards? She could scarcely
believe it. It was a heavy oaken door, that moved ponderously on
its hinges; and the night was calm and breathless. No current of
air could have blown upon it. Had some person from above come down
and shut it after her? and if so, who could that person be? and had
he suspected that she had slipped out into the night, and for what
purpose?
With a wildly-beating heart and a frame that felt ready to sink
into the ground with fear, Petronella tried the latch of the door,
and found it yield to her hand. She pressed it open and then stood
suddenly still, a gasp of terror and dismay escaping her; for
there, in the middle of the hall, the moonlight falling full upon
his tall rugged figure, stood her father, waiting with folded arms
for his truant daughter, a look upon his stern face that she
shivered to behold.
"So, girl!" he exclaimed, making one stride forward and catching
the frail wrist in a vice-like grasp which almost extorted a cry of
pain--"so, my daughter, thou hast come in from this midnight tryst
with thy lover! And what dost thou think is the reward a father
bestows upon a daughter who leaves his house at this dead hour of
the night to meet the man he has bidden her eschew for ever?"
Petronella's agitation was so great that she was well-nigh
swooning. Her nerves had been on the strain for some time. The
excitement of seeing Cuthbert again, of hearing his story and
telling her own, had been considerable. And now to be confronted by
a furious father, and accused of having broken her solemn pledge,
and of having met her lover at an hour of the night when no
virtuous maiden would dream of such a tryst, was more than she
could bear. Slipping to her knees, she laid her hand upon her
father's robe, and clutching hold of it, as if for support, she
gasped out the one word:
"Pardon! pardon!"
"Thou mayest well sue for pardon, false jade; but to win it is
another matter. Say, vile girl, whom I blush to call my
daughter--say how oft hast thou thus gone forth to meet thy lover?"
"Father--father, revile me not thus!" cried the girl, beside
herself with agitation, fearful of betraying Cuthbert's near
presence to the Gate House, lest the angry man should contrive to
do him some injury or gain some hold upon him, yet terrified at the
accusations levelled at her own head, which seemed to bear some
show of reason. "Father, have pity; drive me not to despair, as
thou didst drive my brother. I am so lonely and so miserable. Pity
me! pardon me!"
"Answer my question, base girl. How oft hast thou done this deed
before tonight?"
"Never before, my father, never before! Ah, do not be too hard upon
me! I have done no wrong--I swear it!"
"Keep thy false oaths for thy false lover!" cried the angry man; "I
will have none of them. Thou hast passed me thy word once, and I
believed thee, and thou hast played me false. I will never believe
thee again--never, never! Thou hast made thy bed, and thou shalt
lie upon it."
And with that the angry man flung the kneeling girl from him with
such violence that she fell against the wall, and striking her head
sharply, sank stunned and unconscious at his feet.
"Serve her right well, the false minx, the evil jade!" spoke the
heartless father, as he strode back to his own room without so much
as going across to the girl to know if she were severely hurt. "She
will be safe enow for this night. She will not seek to go forth
again. She shall smart for this bare-faced defiance. I will not be
set at naught by both of my children. I will not--I will not!"
When Petronella awoke from what seemed to her a long dream, she
found herself in her own bed, tended by the deaf-and-dumb servant,
who was sitting beside her and watching her with wistful glances. A
glad smile lighted up the woman's face as Petronella made a sign
that showed she recognized her; but no speech was possible between
them, and the girl was too weary to care to ask questions by means
of the series of signals long since established between them. She
turned her eyes from the light, and fell asleep again like a tired
child.
For several days her life was more like one long sleep than
anything else. It was some while before she remembered any of the
events immediately preceding this mysterious attack of illness; and
when she did remember, the events of that night seemed to stand out
in fearful colours.
Yet there was one thought of comfort: Cuthbert was not far away.
Since her father had openly accused her of vileness, deceit, and
treachery; since he had struck her down so cruelly, and had not
even come to see her in her helplessness and weakness, must not
Cuthbert's surmise be the true one--must he not surely be mad? She
could see by the old woman's cowering looks if the door moved on
its hinges, how much she feared the terrible master; and when
Petronella was sufficiently recovered to be able to enter into the
kind of conversation by means of signals which in some sort
resembled the finger talking of more modern times, she learned that
indeed her father was in a more black and terrible mood than ever
before, and that old Martha herself went in fear of her life.
Bit by bit the old woman made the girl understand what had
happened. Shortly after the day upon which she had found her young
mistress lying cold and insensible on the stone floor of the hall,
Philip Trevlyn had come to the Gate House, and had demanded an
interview with the owner. Right well did both the women know the
nature of that errand, though none had been present but the young
lover and the enraged father. There could be no manner of doubt but
that, incited to it by Cuthbert's tale, he had come to make a
definite offer of marriage, and doubtless had tried to bribe the
avaricious old man by some tempting offer of gold or land. But
whatever had been the terms in which the proposal was couched,
anger had proved a stronger passion with Nicholas than greed.
Philip had been driven from the house with a fury that threatened
actual violence, and for hours afterwards Nicholas had raged up and
down the house like a wild beast in a cage. He had once gone up to
his daughter's room with a face so full of fury that the old woman
had feared he meant to fall upon her then and there; but even he
had been calmed by a glance at the still, unconscious face upon the
pillow, so white and bloodless and death-like; and the man had gone
down with a quieter footfall than he had mounted, but had been
brooding in sullen fury ever since, so that the old servant had
feared to approach him even to bring him his needful food. She had
spent almost all her time up with her young mistress, afraid to
leave her by night or day lest some mischance should befall her.
All this the girl gradually understood as she became strong enough
to take in the silent talk of the old woman. She knew that she must
have lain some days in this state of unconsciousness, for the trees
were greener than they had been when she had seen them last, and
the sunlight was fast gaining its golden summer-like glow. There
was something exhilarating in the beauty and richness of reviving
nature, and even Petronella's wan cheek kindled into a flush of
pleasure as she looked forth once again upon the fair world around
her dismal home.
Home? no, that was no longer the word for it. Slowly but surely the
knowledge had come to her that Cuthbert had been right, and that
this house could no longer be a home to her. Right well did she
credit now, what had never entered her mind before, that her father
had brooded and brooded until his very mind had become unhinged. He
was not master of his words when he spoke to her as he had done
upon that terrible night; he was not master of his actions when he
had flung her away and left her lying unconscious on the stone
floor. There was even some slight comfort in this thought, though
it settled for ever the doubt in her mind. She must leave the Gate
House so soon as she was strong enough to walk, and she must find
her brother in the forest, and place herself beneath his care.
The old servant approved the plan. She herself could find a refuge
at Trevlyn Chase; but that house would be no shelter for her young
mistress. Her father's authority would be enough to carry her back
into captivity; and what her fate would be, were she to have
escaped him once and be again brought back, was a thought to
shudder at.
"I must go back to Cuthbert," she said to herself, as she looked
over the fair landscape, and thought longingly of the cool, dim
woods, and the free life of the forest. Her own home was nothing
now but a prison house. She knew that if she presented herself
before her father sound and whole, she would at once be placed
under some close restraint that would effectually hinder her from
carrying out her plan. He would sooner kill her, as she verily
believed, than permit her such liberty as might enable her to meet
by accident or design any member of the household from the Chase.
If she were to succeed in her escape, the attempt must be made
whilst her father still believed her too feeble to stir from her
bed; after that she would be too closely watched for it to be
possible.
The old woman entered into this scheme with alacrity and zeal.
Petronella kept to her bed; and when Nicholas Trevlyn demanded by
signs how it fared with his daughter, he was answered by solemn
shakings of the head. If he mounted the stairs to see with his own
eyes how she was, he saw her lying upon the bed with closed eyes
and wan face, and would smile with an evil smile and mutter that
she was safe enough now--safe enough now.
Yet each day hope and the good food the shrewd old woman contrived
to provide for her did its work upon Petronella's frail body, and
she grew better every hour. Indeed, after some while she felt
stronger than she had done for many weeks before her illness; and
in due time even the fond old woman began to see that there was no
need to postpone longer the scheme of escape.
It was a simple little scheme, yet one which promised success if
carefully carried out. Nicholas Trevlyn was accustomed to take
night by night a posset of mead, brewed in some particular way by
Martha. She was, upon the night planned as the one for the escape
of Petronella, to add to this posset some drops of a concoction
prepared by herself from herbs, which would infallibly produce
sound and deep sleep within two hours. The master of the house
asleep, all would be simple. The two women would sally forth by the
postern door, and make for the forest. With the first light of the
dawn, Martha would seek the shelter of Trevlyn Chase, whilst
Petronella sought her brother in the pixies' dell. Nicholas Trevlyn
would awake the next morning to find himself alone in the old Gate
House that he had made intolerable for any other inmate.