After leaving Petronella close to her home, and watching the slight
figure vanish within the postern door, Cuthbert turned his own
steps towards the Chase, resolved to see Philip and tell him what
had passed between him and his sister before returning to the
forest dell where he had resolved to keep his watch.
He would not make any disturbance at the house at this dead hour of
the night; but as he was familiar with the place, he quickly found
his way to a small pavilion in the garden, the door of which was
not locked at night, and stretching himself upon a wooden settle
which stood there, he quickly fell asleep, and slept soundly and
well until awakened by the sound of a startled exclamation.
Springing to his feet, bewildered for a moment, and unable to
remember where he was, he found himself confronted by the eager,
startled face and big lustrous eyes of his cousin Kate.
"Cuthbert! thou here!" she exclaimed in amaze. "Thou surely hast
not brought me ill news of my--of Culverhouse!" and a deep flush
overspread her face as she spoke.
Cuthbert hastened to reassure her. He explained that he had not
seen Culverhouse since they parted in the forest, and that his own
errand was of a private nature, and concerned himself and his
sister.
"Ah, poor Petronella! methinks a hard lot is hers, Cuthbert. My
brother does what he may; yet that is but little, and of late he
has not been able so much as to get sight of her. Yet I see not
what thou canst do for her. Thy father is even more incensed
against thee than against us!"
"I came but to see with mine own eyes how she fared, and to breathe
a word of hope in her ear. Kate, sweet coz, let me breathe that
same word in thine; for thou wast the one to give me hope and
confidence when all besides looked on me as a wild dreamer.
Methinks I am on the track of the lost treasure. Methinks with
patience and care I shall find it yet."
Kate's eyes kindled and glowed.
"Nay, now, that is good hearing! Said I not ever that the old saws
spake sooth? And is not the luck to return to the house of Wyvern
through its daughters' sons? Cuthbert, tell me more--tell me all!
how is it thou hast succeeded where all besides have failed?"
"I cannot lay claim to success as yet," answered Cuthbert, smiling.
"I have not said the treasure is mine, only that I trow I know
where soon I may lay hands upon it. Sweet Kate, when all that gold
is brought back to the halls of Trevlyn Chase whence it was taken,
sure thy dowry will be fair enough to win Lord Andover's smiles.
Sure thou wilt not then be afraid to own--"
But Kate laid her soft hand upon his lips and glanced round with
startled eyes. Courageous as she was to carry out a bold
resolution, she was not free from nervous timidity, too.
"Speak not the words, good Cuthbert, neither here nor yet within
the walls of the Chase. I have not dared to breathe to them at home
the thing I have done. Heaven pardon me if it were a sin; but I may
not wish it undone. It is so sweet to feel myself his; and if it be
as thou sayest, we may not have long to wait ere he may claim me
before the world. But if thou findest the treasure thyself, will it
not be all thine?"
"I trow not, and I trust thou hast no such evil thoughts of me,
fair cousin, as to think that I would keep all, when but a portion
was my father's share, and that will scarce be mine whilst he
lives. I do but hope to restore it to those to whom it rightfully
belongs. I trow there will be enough to make all glad and happy,
and I doubt not that something of good hap may come to me thereby.
But to lay claim to all--why, that would be a scurvy thought,
unworthy a man of honour."
Kate's bright face was full of eager sympathy and approval.
"I like thee, Cuthbert," she cried; "I like thy honest thoughts and
words. Thou art in sooth a very proper youth. Thou art worthy of
thy Wyvern blood, which I hold to be purer than that of Trevlyn,
which has times and again been stained by acts of malice, greed,
and violence. But see, the sun is rising in the sky! We must back
to the house for the morning meal. And, Cuthbert, good Cuthbert,
thou wilt keep my secret? Thou wilt not tell of our meeting on May
Day in the forest?"
"Never a word an thou biddest me not," answered Cuthbert, with a
smile. "So that is to be a secret, Lady Culverhouse?"
She recoiled with a little start, her eyes dancing, her cheeks
aglow.
"O Cuthbert, I had not thought that my name was changed. Lady
Culverhouse! What a pleasant sound it has! But oh, not a word at
home! I dare not tell them aught till Culverhouse be by my side. I
misdoubt me that I did right to let him persuade me thus; and yet I
could not say him nay, and I longed to hear the words spoken that
should bind us to each other. But I dare not tell my father! I trow
both he and my mother would chide full sternly. In truth, I fear me
it were scarce a maidenly act. But, O Cuthbert, love is so
strong--so hard a task master. Where he drives, it seems that one
needs must go;" and she looked up at him with such arch appeal that
he felt those glances would go far to soften the sternest parental
heart.
"In truth, I believe thee, fair coz, and I will keep thy secret
faithfully. It is safe with me; and I trust that all will end
happily when the lost treasure shall return to the house of
Trevlyn."
And talking eagerly upon this theme, which was also to be kept
secret from all the world besides, the cousins walked towards the
house. Cuthbert received a warm and hearty greeting from all his
kinsfolks there, who were pleased that he should have kept his
promise and have come to see them with the long days of early
summer.
Sir Richard and his wife were both pleased with the fashion in
which the youth had developed; his intelligence and information
were now plainly apparent, and had taken a fresh impetus from the
new surroundings in which he had found himself. He could talk with
discrimination and insight on all the leading topics of the day,
had plainly lost much of his old rusticity of thought and speech,
and had become an interesting and self-possessed youth.
But his errand was really to Philip, and to him he spoke in private
of his sister's story, and how she had promised to obey her father
and to see him no more. Cuthbert could assure the disappointed
lover that this was no indication of coldness on Petronella's part,
but that it was done from a sense of filial duty, combined with a
fear of some violence on her father's part towards her lover should
he be provoked too far. Cuthbert was as certain as Philip could
wish that Petronella's heart was entirely his. He had read the
girl's secret in the tones of her voice and in the shy glances of
her soft eyes. He told Philip, too, of the gold that was awaiting
the girl in her uncle's keeping, and added that he was certain sure
that Martin Holt would be glad enough to give it over to his niece
if she had a sturdy husband of the Reformed faith to take care of
her and it. His only fear was of its falling into the hands of the
Papists, which thing would have been abhorrent to the grand sire
whose legacy the money was. That fear laid to rest, he would be
glad to be rid of the charge, and to give over the gold to its
rightful owner.
Philip's heart was with Petronella, and he had not concerned
himself as yet with any thoughts as to her poverty and his own
somewhat impecunious position as his father's heir, but with three
sisters to be provided for out of the revenues of the impoverished
estate. He was man of the world enough to know that this dowry
would do much to smooth his path when the time should come for
making known his case to his parents, but for the moment his
thoughts were all with the lonely girl shut up so relentlessly by
her father.
"I will see Nicholas Trevlyn," he said, with stern decision.
"Things have gone too far not to go further. I will see him, and
make formal application for his daughter's hand. He can but refuse
me, and I shall tell him plainly that I decline to give her up at
any word of his. I can wait with patience till she is of age to
judge for herself; but she is the woman of my choice, and her alone
will I wed if she will have me."
Cuthbert's face was grave and troubled.
"And waiting for that, she may well be done to death within those
walls, as I should have been had I not fled. I am in trouble of
heart anent my sister. I pray she may find her way to me yet in the
free forest!"
Philip started and looked surprised.
"Is there likelihood of that?"
"I know not. I bid her come if our father should grow more harsh,
and told her where I likeliest might be found. I purpose to dwell
for a while myself in the forest, albeit thou wouldst mock me if
thou knewest the wherefore."
"To search for the lost treasure, I doubt not," said Philip with a
smile, remembering the talk of the autumn previous. "Marry thou
hast my best wishes for a happy quest. But what couldst thou do
with a tender maid out in the woods with thee?"
"I scarce know that myself; but anything would be better than life
with a madman--as I trow our father is like to become an he change
not his habit of life. Belike I would take her to mine uncle on the
bridge; yet perchance he would not thank me for adding to his
charges.
"If we had other relatives--"
"Why, and so ye have, even as we have. Hast never heard of my Lady
Humbert and Mistress Dowsabel Wyvern? They must be kinsfolk of
thine as well as of ours, and they dwell not very far distant from
here, albeit I myself have never visited them."
Cuthbert raised his head and looked eagerly at Philip.
"I would know more of that," he said.
"It is not much I can tell thee. This Lady Humbert is a widow, and
is sister to that Gertrude Wyvern who was my grandam and thy aunt.
Mistress Dowsabel is her younger sister; and albeit they are both
now of a good old age, they dwell together, with only servants for
company, in a house thou wouldst have passed on the road to London
hadst thou not taken the lonelier way across the heath. My father
and mother go each year to see after their welfare, and a letter
comes now and again from them with greetings or questions. We of
the younger generation have never been to visit them, since they
are too old to wish for the presence of the young, and love not to
see the changeless current of their lives interrupted. I remember
that of old, when we were in disgrace for some prank, our grandam
would shake her head at us and vow we should be sent to her sister
Dowsabel for chastisement, and stay with her till we learned better
manners. So we have grown up in the fancy that these kinswomen be
something stern and redoubtable ladies. Nevertheless, if thou wast
to put thy sister beneath their care, I trow they would receive her
with kindness and treat her well, and she would scarce regret the
Gate House were the captivity never so hard. Nor would Nicholas
Trevlyn be like to seek her there, though at the Chase he would
find her at once, were we to strive to aid her flight as we aided
thine."
Cuthbert saw this plainly, and asked a few more eager questions
about these ladies and where they might be found. He hardly knew
whether or not he expected Petronella to flee away to him, but at
least it would do no harm to be prepared in case she did so.
Philip told him all he knew, which was not much. The house would be
easily found, as it stood upon the highroad just a mile from a
large village, its gates opening straight upon the road, although
at the back were gardens and pleasaunces and a clear trout stream.
It seemed to Cuthbert as he listened that such a place as this
might prove a safe haven of refuge for his sister should one be
needed, and he resolved that if she once came to him he would
persuade her to place herself beneath the protection of these
ladies.
He would well have liked to see her again, to have whispered
something of this new plan into her ears. But though he lingered
much about the house during the two short weeks he spent at the
Chase, he saw no glimpse of his sister, and he did not dare to
summon her out to meet him at night, lest haply the suspicions of
the grim old tyrant should be aroused.
Leaving Philip fully determined to see Nicholas Trevlyn ere long,
to lay before him his formal proposal for Petronella's hand, and
confident that all at the Chase would befriend her as far as it was
possible; Cuthbert, afraid to linger longer in the immediate
vicinity of the Gate House, took his departure for the forest,
resolved to give himself over heart and soul to the search after
the missing treasure, and not to give it up until every nook and
corner of the pixies' dell had been subjected to the closest
scrutiny.
It was easy to obtain from Philip all such tools as would be
needful for the task of excavation. Although the young man himself
had small hopes of Cuthbert's success, he was interested in spite
of himself in the proposed plan, and would have been more so had he
known how much had been already discovered. But Cuthbert kept much
of that to himself, not willing that tattling tongues should spread
the rumour. Only to real believers in the hidden treasure did he
care to speak of the gipsy's strange words and the visit to the
wise woman of Budge Row. Philip, he thought, would smile, and
perhaps he would speak of the matter to his father, who in turn
might name it to some one else, and so it might come round, through
the gipsy spies and watchers, to the ears of Long Robin himself.
That, as Cuthbert well knew, would be well-nigh destruction to all
his cherished hopes; yet one who believed not would smile at his
fears, and could scarce be expected to observe the needful caution.
As Cuthbert started for his nine miles' tramp in the cool of the
evening, with his tools slung across his shoulders, he was glad to
think that he had resisted the temptation to speak openly of this
matter to any but Petronella and Kate. With them he well knew the
secret was safe, for they entertained for Long Robin just the same
suspicious fear as he did himself, and their lips were sealed even
as his own.
The walk was nothing for his strong young limbs; but as he
approached the lonely dell, he instinctively slackened his speed,
and proceeded with greater caution. The thick growth of the trees
made the place dark in spite of the moon, which hung low in the sky
and shone between the trees in long silvery beams; and the tangled
path which once had led to the forest well had been long overgrown
with a mass of bramble and underwood, through which it was hard to
force a way.
But Cuthbert cautiously proceeded, listening intently for any
sounds of life to indicate the presence of Long Robin, the only
being likely to be near at such an hour; but all appeared to be
intensely still, and presently he commenced his cautious descent
into the dell itself, and at last stood beside the old stone wall
that guarded the mouth of the well.
Cuthbert had heard something of that well since he had been at his
uncle's house. Some of the old servants at the Chase knew the
forest well, and he had been told the story of the pixies' dell:
how it had once been a noted spot in the forest, and how travellers
turned aside to drink the waters, which were not only fresh and
clear and cold, even on the most sultry summer's day, but were
reported to possess healing properties, especially if taken at
certain hours of the night and in certain phases of the moon. Long
ago there had been a monastery near the well, and the monks had
dispensed the waters to the applicants who came. But the monastery
had fallen into ruins and had disappeared, and after that the
pixies were given the credit of the healing waters. People came to
drink them, though less frequently than before; and as the place
grew more lonely and deserted, rumours began to float about that
the pixies were inimical to man, and that the waters no longer
possessed their old power. Later on still, a more terrible thing
was discovered: it was said that it was death to approach that dell
and drink the waters. Men's bones had been found in great numbers
close about that spot, and it was plain that they must belong to
the unhappy wights who, disregarding cautions, had ventured to the
place, and had died before they could get away from thence.
After that, as may well be guessed, no sick folks had cared to
trouble the dell again. Travellers made a wide circuit to avoid it,
and it was held to be the place of most evil repute in the forest.
All this story was well understood by Cuthbert, who felt no fear of
the spot, only a little natural awe as he recollected the deed that
had once been done there. The moon was going down as he looked
about him; the dark hour before morning was about to fall upon the
world. He looked about for a resting place in which to conceal
himself till he could commence his search, and found the place he
desired in a hollow tree, just beyond the circle of smooth sward
that surrounded the well itself.
Plainly this tree had been used before for a like purpose. The
leaves had been carefully raked together within, and were covered
by a warm rug, in which Cuthbert was not sorry to wrap himself, for
the night air was sharp and chilly though the days were hot.
"Long Robin's rug, or I greatly mistake me," he said with a smile.
"I trow he would be sore amazed were he to come and find me here.
Howbeit he would but take me for a passing wayfarer, since he knows
not my face, and I misdoubt me if he come tonight. He fears too
much Joanna's watchful eyes and Miriam's jealous ones. I will sleep
in peace till daylight dawns, and then I will begin my search."
Sleep came quickly to the lad's eyes, but it was only light, for
with the first blush of dawn he awoke and prepared to commence his
work.
His tools he had hidden away beneath the heap of leaves which had
formed his bed, and he did not disturb them for the time being, but
walked forth and examined the dell for himself before making any
excavation.
First his attention was given to the patch of greensward around the
well; but this was so smooth and even that it seemed as if it had
not been disturbed for ages. Such soft emerald turf, as Cuthbert
well knew, was the growth of centuries, and there was no sort of
trace or seam to indicate the handiwork of man.
Round and round the open space he paced, his eyes fixed upon the
ground beneath his feet, his quick glance shifting from spot to
spot, as he strove for some indication, however faint, of the
existence of some hidden hoard.
"Yet it is certain to be well hid. It were strange if I did light
upon it in the first hour," he said to himself at length, covering
his disappointment with a smile. "I will break my fast with the
good fare given me by my fair cousin Kate, and will taste the
waters of the magic well. I trow I shall take no harm from them.
Long Robin will scarce have poisoned the spring from which he
himself must ofttimes drink."
Whilst he partook of his simple meal, he looked about him with keen
and eager glances, wondering where he should next search, and
striving to see traces of footsteps in the sandy sides of the dell,
or breaks in the tangled growth of underwood that would indicate
some track used by Robin. Cuthbert shrewdly suspected that he would
not be able to resist the temptation of going frequently to the
spot where the buried treasure lay, to see if the ground remained
undisturbed, and he thought that the surest way of discovering this
spot was to seek for traces likely to be left by him; or, failing
these, to watch patiently from some obscure spot till the gipsy
came again to the dell, when it was probable he might betray the
secret by his own movements.
"If I dig and delve before the clue is mine, I may chance to put
him on his guard, and find nothing. No; I will be patient--I will
be very cautious. Success comes to him that can wait. Long Robin is
a foe not to be despised or trifled with; I can tell that from his
own words and Joanna's. He would take a hundred lives to save his
golden secret. He is cautious and cunning and wary. I must try to
be the same."
All that long summer's day Cuthbert prowled up and down the dell,
searching for some trace, however slight, which should give him the
clue, and searching in vain. The only path where the undergrowth
was in any way trodden was the one by which he and Robin alike
approached the well, the old, half-obliterated track that once had
been so freely used. All around the sides of the dell, fern and
bramble, hazel and undergrowth of all kinds, grew in wild
confusion. Search as he would, Cuthbert could find nothing like a
path of any kind. Did Robin indeed trust to that tangled
undergrowth to keep his secret hid? And if so, what chance was
there of its being found unless the whole dell was dug up?
A short while back it seemed so much to have found out this dell.
When he had been resolved to search the whole forest through, no
wonder the task had been practically impossible; but when he had
had indications of a confined locality, he had looked upon his work
as well-nigh accomplished, and had come here with a heart full of
high hopes. And now he was confronted by difficulties that appeared
almost as insurmountable as before; for he plainly saw the
hopelessness of attempting single-handed to delve the whole dell
over. Robin would return before the task was more than begun. He
would guess the import, would set a close watch, and would slay the
bold invader of his haunted dell without pity or remorse. Whilst
the only other plan, that of bringing a gang of men to work strong
enough to be a guard to themselves, was simply out of the question
for Cuthbert. He had no money himself. His uncle Martin would
certainly not give him the gold in the box for any such
hare-brained scheme; whilst to appeal to Sir Richard, with nothing
to back his statements but what would be looked upon as old wives'
fables and gipsy delusions, would only be to provoke ridicule and
scorn. The Trevlyns had long given up the treasure as lost beyond
recall. They had no sort of hope of recovering it, and the present
owner of the Chase and his lady were in particular very greatly
averse to any sort of dealings with occult magic and gipsy lore.
Cuthbert had a shrewd notion that there was little enough of magic
in any of the words and dark sayings he had heard. He had been let
just a very little behind the scenes, and had his own opinions on
the subject. His faith in spirits and familiars had been greatly
shaken; but he knew that his story would sound wild and improbable,
and he was by no means sure that even Joanna would consent to
appear before Sir Richard and repeat it all to him. She was anxious
to do her part towards making restitution; but, having put the clue
in Cuthbert's hands, would very likely consider that part done, and
decline to be questioned further by any one.
"What I do I must do alone," said Cuthbert to himself, with a sigh,
at the close of that day of toil and discouragement. "Well, I
should have been mightily surprised had I lighted on the treasure
at the close of the first day. I ought not to be thus discouraged,
and yet I am. Still there is one more thing to do. If I can but
watch Long Robin, surely I shall learn somewhat from him. I vow
that that is better far than prowling aimlessly about the dell. Let
me spend my time and strength in building for myself some nook high
up in one of yon trees, from which vantage ground I may spy upon
his doings. If I can but get me up high enough, I can watch him
from spot to spot. Sure I should be stupider than a daylight owl an
I could not learn somewhat from his looks and actions on his next
visit. And it will be safer for me to have mine own perch. I will
venture to sleep one more night in the tree; but after that I will
sleep by day and watch by night, for it is plain that he is a night
bird in his visits here."
The next day Cuthbert set to work with a better heart. It was not
difficult to find the sort of nook he wanted high up in the
branches of a great sycamore. The oaks were hardly thick enough yet
to conceal him, and the foliage of the elm was somewhat scanty
still, for all that the season was forward. But by good hap there
chanced to be, amongst the tall trees that fringed the round of
sward, a noble sycamore in full leaf and very thick; and by
skillful contrivance, and with the help of his tools, Cuthbert
quickly built himself up there a small but secure and commodious
platform, upon which he could perch himself at ease and watch the
whole of the dell. Even if he fell asleep, he was in no danger of
falling; and if he could obtain the needful supplies of food, he
could keep watch there unseen for an indefinite time. He had plenty
of provision so far, for he had been supplied with dry and salted
provisions enough to last a week. These he took up to his nest, and
also his tools, which he resolved to keep beside him for safety;
and having spent the best part of the day in this labour of
ingenuity and patience, and having then quenched his thirst by long
draughts of clear cold water, he ascended to his perch with an
armful of dried bracken--the eighth such load he had carried
up--and as he arranged his riding cloak upon the soft and fragrant
cushion thus prepared, he said to himself with a smile that he
could afford to be patient now, for he had a commodious castle all
his own, and could await with patience the advance of the foe.
His patience was not, however, destined to be very sorely taxed. He
had fallen into a light sleep, and was dreaming of a hand-to-hand
struggle with Long Robin, when some unwonted sound smote upon his
ears, and he started up all alert on the instant.
He knew that sound; he had heard it before. It was the wild,
unearthly noise made by Robin to increase the fear of this dell in
the hearts of any chance wayfarers who might haply be within
hearing. In a few more seconds Cuthbert, peering down from his
leafy canopy, saw the tall form thrusting itself through the
underwood; and Robin, with a loud laugh, threw himself upon the low
wall of the pixies' well.
He was talking and muttering to himself, but Cuthbert could not
catch the words. He seemed in a merry mood, for he laughed aloud
once or twice, and drank of the well and laughed again. Once
Cuthbert thought he caught the words "treasure" and "safe," but of
that he could not be certain; and it was not easy to see how Robin
could know this, seeing he had not stirred three paces from the
well.
And then a sudden flash came into Cuthbert's soul like one of
inspiration. Suppose the treasure was in the well itself? What more
likely? Would not that be the safest place of all? For the precious
metals would not hurt through contact with the water; and had he
not heard that the waters of this well possessed peculiar
properties for preserving anything thrown into them?
Cuthbert's heart beat so fast that he almost feared Robin would
hear his deep breathing; but the man was looking down into the
well, laughing to himself in the peculiarly malevolent fashion that
Cuthbert had heard before. He never moved from the side of the well
for the long hour he remained; and Cuthbert, waiting in feverish
impatience till he should be gone, felt as though he had never
known an hour so long.
But it ended at last. The tall figure reared itself upright, and he
heard the voice distinctly now.
"I must be going--I must be going. Miriam will be asking questions.
That hag is the plague of my life. All safe--all safe. And now I
will depart."
The tall figure put on its stooping gait, which appeared to be
second nature, and went slouching away through the underwood along
the narrow track. Cuthbert waited till there had been a long spell
of perfect silence, and then he glided with cat-like caution to the
ground.
"I may not be able to see anything by this light, not even the
glint of gold beneath the clear waters. But he seemed to see. He
looked down and muttered, 'Safe--safe!' Beshrew me but I trow I
have the secret now! The pixies' well--the hidden secret it guards
so well. All is true! all is true! Why did I not think of it
before?"
Creeping to the side of the well, Cuthbert peered over the edge and
gazed fixedly into the dark water. What was it he saw? Was that
moonlight shining and glinting there; or was it--could it be--Hold,
what is this?
With a stifled cry Cuthbert strove to spring to his feet; but the
attempt was vain. He was encircled in the bear-like grip of a pair
of arms that were strong as bands of iron around him. He felt as
though all the breath were being pressed out of him, and in his ear
there rang a hideous laugh, the sound of which he knew but too
well.
"Fool!" cried a hoarse voice, hissing the words in his ears--"fool
of a mad boy to trust a treacherous gipsy tale! So thou thoughtest
to outwit Long Robin! Thou thoughtest to win back the lost treasure
to the house of Trevlyn! Mad boy--fool of a hardy knave! But yet
thou shalt have thy wish--thou shalt have thy will. Thou shalt see
with thine own eyes that long-lost treasure."
There was a cruel sneer in the man's eyes, a mocking inflection in
his voice, that sent a thrill of cold horror through Cuthbert's
veins. He was absolutely powerless in that merciless clasp. He felt
the strength leaving his limbs and his head turning giddy. He only
just knew it when he was laid upon the grass, his captor's knee
firmly planted on his chest; and then he felt his hands and feet
being tightly and securely bound, whilst the stars in the sky
seemed to reel and dance before his eyes, and he said to himself,
without realizing the import of his own words:
"He is going to kill me; he is going to kill me."
"Yes, I am going to kill thee, mad boy," said Long Robin coolly, as
though he had heard the spoken word. "I am going to kill thee, as I
kill all those who dare to thwart my will or cross my path. I shall
kill thee; but thou shalt first have the desire of thine eyes and
of thine heart. Thou shalt see and thou shalt touch the long-lost
treasure! Thou shalt learn the secret ere thou diest, and thy ghost
can impart it to thy friends."
With a brutal and almost diabolical laugh, Long Robin rose to his
feet and leaned over the well. He seemed to be raising from it some
heavy weight, and Cuthbert heard a heavy thud fall upon the grass.
"Now, thou shalt go to join the lost treasure. The Trevlyns when
they find it will find their lost kinsman, too! Ha, ha! they are
welcome to that find; they are welcome to it!" and the man stooped
to lift the bound and helpless Cuthbert in his strong arms.
Cuthbert closed his eyes. He knew well what was coming. A fall, a
sullen splash, one brief ineffectual struggle, and then black
darkness. He tried to breathe a prayer, but could form no words. He
thought of Cherry, of Petronella, and sharp stabs of pain seemed to
run through him. One minute more and all would be over. But what an
endless minute that was, whilst he felt the grip upon his body
growing firmer as the giant prepared to lift him.
What was that?
"Crack!"--a sudden flash from the dark underwood, and with a loud
cry his captor dropped him, and staggered backwards, to fall a few
paces farther on, where he lay rigid and motionless. Then from the
thicket there came the sound of a quick sharp cry, and a slim
figure rushed forward with the gasping question:
"Is he dead? Oh, have I killed him?"
And Cuthbert, raising his head, and scarce believing aught of this
could be anything but a fevered dream, uttered the one word:
"Petronella!"