With the first light of day the start was to be made. Kate, who had
slept little, was ready betimes, had dressed herself in her riding
suit long before she was sent for, and was employing herself in
wondering if she would after all be permitted to say farewell to
her sisters, and whether she should have an opportunity of asking
her mother's pardon for her wrongdoing in this matter of her secret
espousals.
The girl had suffered a good deal during these past months. She had
not realized when yielding to Culverhouse's persuasions how hard it
would be to live beneath her parents' roof with this secret preying
on her mind. She had not realized what a weight it would become in
time, and she had looked for a speedy meeting with her cousin and
betrothed in London, whither Sir Richard had intended taking his
family for a while before the autumn set in. Kate had looked
forward then to making her confession to her parents and his, and
winning pardon for them both, as she felt sure of doing when she
had his support in the telling of the tale. But the change of her
father's plans, and the absence from England of Lord Culverhouse,
who had been sent on a mission to France by his father, put an end
to all these hopes, and she had felt the burden of her secret heavy
indeed. Moreover, she was fearful lest Culverhouse should in some
sort repent him of the step he had taken and wish it undone. Kate
had but a small share of vanity, and only a very modest
appreciation of her own attractions, and it seemed to her as though
her cousin, moving as he did in the gay world of fashion, must
surely see many other maidens tenfold more beautiful and graceful.
Suppose he were to repent of his secret betrothal; suppose his
troth plight weighed heavy on his spirit? what misery that would be
for both! And during these long months of silence such thoughts and
fears had preyed upon the girl's spirit, and had produced in her
the change that both her parents had observed.
Wherefore now that the confession had been made, and the burdensome
secret was a secret no longer, a reaction set in that was almost
like relief. She felt certain, since all was known, that
Culverhouse would come forward and stand boldly beside her and lay
claim to her hand before the world as he had talked of doing when
he had led her to the troth plight on that May Day that seemed so
long ago now.
Even the thought of the journey and the visit to her father's great
aunts was not altogether distasteful. She was more afraid of
meeting her mother's sorrowful glances than stern ones from
strangers. Kate had no lack of courage, and the love of variety and
change was implanted in her as strongly as it is in most young
things; so that when Philip knocked at her door as the first rays
of the October sun were gilding the trees and fields, it was with a
smiling face that she opened to him, whilst he looked at her with
something of smiling surprise in his glance.
"Art ready, my sister? the horses will be at the door in a few
short minutes. I am glad to see thee so bright and happy. I had
feared to discover thee bathed in tears of woe."
"Perchance I ought to be heavier hearted than I am," answered Kate,
with a swift glance at Philip through her long lashes. "I do repent
me that I have angered our father and mother. I know that I have
been wrong to keep the secret; perchance I was wrong to let
Culverhouse persuade me. But that the thing is done I cannot truly
repent; the only thing which would make me wish that vow unsaid
would be if Culverhouse were to wish to be free of his troth
plight."
"Which I trow he never will be," answered Philip warmly, as he laid
his hand on Kate's shoulder.
Those two were very near akin in spirit and in sympathy. Kate knew
all his love for Petronella, and his anxiety for her since her
flight (though he fully believed her to be in hiding with Cuthbert
in the forest, albeit he had not been able to discover them), and
he had strong fellow feeling with the impulsive lovers.
"He has never loved any but thee, my sister, since the days we
played together as children. Save that concealment ever leads to
trouble, and that wedlock vows are too sacred to be made playthings
of, I could find it in my heart to wish that Petronella and I were
wed in like fashion. But our mother is sorely grieved at what thou
hast done--going before a tonsured priest, with none of thine own
kindred by, to take vows which should have had the sanction of thy
parents before they passed thy lips, and should have been made in
different fashion and in a different place. Howbeit no doubt time
will soften her anger, and she will grow reconciled to the thought.
When we have made all inquiries anent this priest and his ways, my
father and I will to London to speak with Lord Andover of this
business. I trust all will end well for thee, sister. But thou must
learn in thy captivity to be a patient and discreet maiden, that
they do not fear to give thee to Culverhouse at last, since it must
needs be so."
Kate looked up gratefully, comforted by the kind tone of her
brother's words.
"In very sooth I will try, Philip. I thank thee for thy good
counsel. I will be patient and discreet towards my great aunts. I
will strive to show them all due reverence, that they may satisfy
my mother when she makes inquiry of them."
Kate long remembered the ride with her father and brother through
the forest and across the heath that day. Her father was stern and
grave, and scarcely addressed a single word to her. Philip and she
talked a little, but were affected by this silence of displeasure,
and observed a befitting decorum and quietness. Sir Richard made
his daughter take him to the spot of her troth plight, and show him
exactly how and where it had taken place. As they stopped to bait
the horses at the little hostelry, he made various inquiries
concerning the priest and his annual visitation to the wake on May
Day, and his face looked none the less severe as he heard the
replies.
"Methinks the knot hath been something tightly tied--too tight for
it to be easily unloosed," whispered Philip to his sister as he
lifted her to the saddle after the noontide halt; and she could not
but answer by a bright smile, which she saw reflected in his face.
The day, which had been bright and fine, turned dull and lowering
as the riders neared the Cross Way House, as the residence of Lady
Humbert was called; and Kate looked curiously at the house as they
approached it, wondering what sort of a life its inmates led.
To her eyes, accustomed to the seclusion of park and grounds, the
most striking feature of this house was that it stood actually upon
the road itself. It occupied an angle of the cross formed by the
junction of four roads, and its north and east windows looked out
straight upon these two highways, with nothing intervening between
them but some twenty feet of paved walk enclosed behind walls ten
feet high, and guarded by strong gates of wrought iron.
Doubtless to the south and west there were gardens and grounds. The
walls seemed to run a long way along the road, and Kate felt
certain that she should find seclusion and privacy there. She could
see tall trees rearing their heads above the wall, and was certain
from the aspect of the house, which was sufficiently imposing, that
she should find within the ease and luxury to which she was
accustomed.
On the whole, she rather liked the prospect of looking out upon the
roads. If Culverhouse were to ride by, she could signal to him from
the windows. She could watch the fine folk passing to and fro on
their way to London. Possibly a belated traveller might ask shelter
at the house, and amuse them with tales of adventure and peril.
Kate had time to think of many things as their horses stood at the
gates awaiting admittance; and when these were thrown back at last,
and they rode through an archway and into a centre courtyard round
which the house was built, the girl was delighted with everything;
for the quadrangular structure was a novelty to her, and a novelty
which took her fancy not a little. There were servants to look
after the horses; and it was plain the travellers were expected,
for they were quickly ushered into the house by one of the great
doors which opened on a wide flight of steps leading down into the
court, and were there met by an aged majordomo, who greeted them
with ceremonious solemnity.
"My lady is looking for you, sir," he said to Sir Richard; and
turning to Kate, he added, in the same mechanical fashion, "Your
maid will show you to your room, madam. My lady will see you after
you have recovered from the fatigues of the journey."
Kate was not in the least fatigued, but she was too well brought up
to remonstrate in any way. The maid was hovering in the background;
an elderly woman with a capable face and slightly repellent manner.
It was plain to Kate that her relatives would not receive her till
they had learned more of the details of her banishment from home
from her father, and had made up their minds how to treat her. She
felt that even the serving woman regarded her somewhat in the light
of a culprit, and it was with a mind divided betwixt amusement and
girlish shame that she followed the attendant into the bed chamber
that had been prepared for her.
This was a more sumptuous apartment than her room at home, and
looked comfortable enough in the glow of the great fire of logs.
The hangings of the bed were dark and heavy, and the carved oak
furniture was also sombre in its polished blackness; but there was
a thick square carpet on the floor, which was a luxury Kate had
never possessed in her bed chamber before, and the mirrors and
silver sconces for the candles all bespoke an ease and luxury that
reminded Kate of what life would be like when she lived as a
Countess or Viscountess in her own house, with Lord Culverhouse as
lord and master.
"This is your room," said the woman. "Your mails arrived earlier in
the day, and your things have been put away in the cupboard there
and in the bureau yonder. My lady gave orders you were to be served
with something to eat and drink in your own room, and that she
would visit you later. There is another young lady visiting in the
house; she will come and see you if you will permit her."
"Very willingly," answered Kate, who was always ready for company,
and very curious to know something about these great aunts of hers,
whom she had never seen as yet. "I shall be glad of food, as I
liked not what they served us with at the inn in the forest. As for
the young lady, albeit I know not who she can be, I should gladly
welcome her. I have no love for too much of my own company;
wherefore the sooner she comes the better shall I be pleased."
The woman withdrew, and Kate removed her hat and gloves, and looked
about her with quick, searching glances.
"A good room in sooth, and no bad prison, if prisoner I am to be.
And since I may have company, I can scarce be in such dire disgrace
as that. I wonder who this visitor may be? Some Wyvern, belike; but
doubtless we shall learn to take pleasure in each other.
"Soft! are those steps without? Yes; and some one knocks at the
door.
"Enter, enter, I pray. I am right glad--What! do my eyes deceive
me? Sure I am in some strange dream! Petronella! Surely it cannot
be Petronella! The features are the same; but the Petronella I once
knew was wan and frail as a fair wood lily, and thou--nay, but it
cannot be!"
"But it is--it is!" cried the girl, making a bound forward and
flinging her arms round Kate's neck in an ecstasy of happiness;
"and, O Kate, I have seen him again! I saw him ride to the door by
thy side! Perchance I shall even have words with him ere he journey
forth again! Ah, how rejoiced was I when I heard that thou wert
coming! O Kate, I have such news for thee--such news, such news!"
The two girls were folded in each other's arms. Between every few
words they paused to kiss and laugh in the very exuberance of their
happiness. It seemed like a dream to Kate; she could scarce believe
her eyes.
"Petronella--but how earnest thou here?"
"I came when the weather grew so inclement that Cuthbert would no
longer let me share his forest life. He brought me to this house,
and our aunts, when they heard our story, opened their doors to me;
and I have been here three whole weeks--ever since the summer's
heats broke in storms of rain. But here I go by the name of Ellen
Wyvern, lest haply it should come to my father's ears that I am
here, and he should fetch me away. But I have almost ceased to
quake at that thought; I have had my freedom so long."
"I scarce know thee, thou art so changed--so full of sunshine and
courage," cried Kate. "Erstwhile thou wert like a creature of
moonlight and vapour; a breath seemed as though it would blow thee
away. What has befallen to change thee so? What hast thou been
doing all this while? And where is Cuthbert?"
"Cuthbert is yet in the forest," answered Petronella, sinking her
voice to the merest whisper, as if afraid that even the walls would
have ears. "His task is not yet finished. It is one that takes
great skill and patience and watchfulness. But it is being
accomplished by slow and sure degrees. Ah, Kate! what news thinkest
thou that I have for thee? The time has not yet come when the world
may know all; but I trow that thou mayest know, for thou hast ever
been with us in the secret of the quest."
Kate's face flushed and paled; her heart beat fast with hope and
wonder. She well knew what difference to her future would be made
by the restoration to the house of Trevlyn of that lost treasure.
She could scarce frame the words she longed to speak, but her eyes
asked the question for her; and Petronella, putting her lips close
to her cousin's ear, whispered the wondrous news that the lost
treasure was found.
"Found--really found!" and Kate gave a great gasp. "Nay, but,
Petronella, tell me how."
Petronella laid a warning hand upon Kate's lips.
"Nay, cousin, but thou must call me Ellen here. And we must wait
till the household be at rest, and we share the same bed, ere I
dare to pour into thine ears all the tale. And thou must promise to
breathe no word of it, bad nor good, till the moment has come for
the world to know. It will not be long now, I trow; but we are
pledged, and were it not that I know well thou art stanch and true,
I dared not have shared the joyful secret with thee."
"It is safe with me," cried Kate; "I will never betray it. O Ellen,
how I long to hear the whole! But since that may not be now, tell
me more of these great aunts of ours. What treatment am I to look
for beneath their roof? Am I to be received as kinswoman or as
prisoner? for marry I know not myself."
Petronella's face kindled into smiles, those bright happy smiles
that gave it a charm never seen in past days. She bent an arch
glance upon her cousin, and then made reply.
"The Lady Humbert is a fine stately dame, before whom my heart
quailed mightily when first I stood before her. Her voice is sharp;
her eyes look you through and through; her frown sets you quaking,
and makes you wish the earth would swallow you up. But for all
that, when once you get to know her, you find that a warm heart
beats beneath her stiff bodice, and that though she will speak
sharply to you before your face, she will do you many a kind act of
which you know little or nothing. Mistress Dowsabel is younger,
smaller, less fearsome to the eye; indeed she is timorous and often
full of fears herself. She too is kind, though I truly think that
Lady Humbert has the larger heart. They love each other well, and
are willing to befriend all who have claims of kindred. For the
rest, they live much secluded from the world, and think that the
times are sadly changed for the worse since the days when they were
young."
"And what think they of me?" asked Kate, with natural girlish self
consciousness.
Petronella repeated her arch glance.
"To me they say that thou art a wilful maid who needest watching
and stern guarding. They shake their heads at such loose marriage,
and tell me to take warning and not fall into like folly and sin
through overmuch love of my own way. But I heard them talking
together of thee when they forgot that I was by; and then there was
something different in their words, and I could scarce forbear to
smile."
"What said they then?" asked Kate eagerly.
"My Lady Humbert, she said that Lord Andover was a good man and
stanch, and that all spoke well of his son. They added that if thou
wouldst one day be Countess of Andover, they would gladly think
that thou wouldst worthily fill that place. Aunt Dowsabel asked if
thou hadst made a good beginning in this hasty marriage or troth
plight of thine; whereat Lady Humbert gave a laugh, and said she
was glad that thou hadst had the spirit of thy ancestors in thee,
and that for her part, if you were both true and stanch in your
love, she saw small harm in letting love have the mastery over
prudence. And then it turned out, as I learned from their talk,
that she herself had run away to be married when she was a girl,
and that she had never for one hour repented the act. So she
plainly felt that thou wast her own kinswoman in all faith; and
although she may speak to thee with stern rebuke, thou mayest know
in thy heart that she thinks kindly of thee, and that she will
stand thy friend with thy father, and make the peace with thy
mother if she may."
Kate's face flushed happily.
"Nay, now, that is good hearing! Why did we not know these good
aunts before? I can go before them with a light heart now. I repent
me of nothing save that I displeased my parents, and hid the matter
from them all this while. I trow I shall never repent that I let
Culverhouse persuade me to plight my troth to him."
Kate was glad of the assurance Petronella's words had given her
when she was presently summoned before her relatives, and stood in
the dim panelled room before their straight-backed chairs, feeling
the stern eyes of Lady Humbert fixed full upon her, whilst she
heard that her father and brother had already left, since it was
only pain and grief to them to be beneath the same roof as their
obdurate and disobedient daughter and sister.
Kate received the lecture addressed her by the mistress of the
house with all becoming humility, and without that sinking of heart
that she might otherwise have felt at the cold stern tone; and she
gladly passed her word, when desired to do so, not to go beyond the
precincts of the great walled garden without special permission. In
her walks and rides abroad she was always to be attended, and was
to promise never to slip away from her escort. If she would
faithfully promise this, she might be allowed the companionship of
Ellen Wyvern, now a guest beneath the roof of Cross Way House; and
to give this promise cost Kate no pang, for she had no feverish
desire after unfettered liberty, but was content to await the time
she knew must shortly come now, when Culverhouse would come to
claim her for his own, and would find her no longer the portionless
maiden she once had been, but dowered with some of the rich spoil
from that long-lost hoard.
Supper was served in solemn state in the dining parlour, and the
two girls sat with their aged relatives to partake of it.
Petronella was a little sad that Philip had gone without even
knowing of her presence beneath that roof: but she was certain
their meeting would not be much longer delayed, and was content to
wait. The Wyvern sisters did not keep a great establishment, as
their means were not large, though they clung to the old house
which had come down to them, and would have sacrificed much rather
than sell it. But Kate soon discovered that the largest rooms were
shut up and partially dismantled in order that comfort should reign
in those parts of the house that were habitually used; that the
staff of servants was but small; and that of these nearly all were
old men and women who had grown gray and enfeebled in the service
of the family, and were kept on by the present mistresses, who
themselves disliked any changes in their establishment, and who
could hardly see their way to finding the wages that able-bodied
servants would look to receive. So they lived in this very quiet
fashion, surrounded by retainers almost as aged as themselves, and
led on the whole a happy and a placid life. Petronella was proving
of so much use that the burden of her maintenance was not felt, and
Sir Richard Trevlyn made generous arrangements for the cost of his
daughter. But there was something altogether quaint and curious in
the life of the house, and Kate thought it exceedingly interesting
even before the first evening had passed.
Yet all the while she was longing to hear Petronella's tale, and
was glad when the tapestry work was put away, and formal good
nights had been exchanged. The girls ran up to the guest chamber
prepared for Kate, which they had agreed to share together from
that time forth. It did not take them long to slip into bed; and
old Dyson, the waiting woman, who also acted as housekeeper, came
quickly in to see that the lights were safely extinguished, after
which only the glow of the fire illuminated the darkness of the big
room; and Kate in an eager whisper begged Petronella to lose no
time in telling her tale.
With breathless eagerness she heard of the girl's flight from home,
and of her rescue of Cuthbert from the very jaws of death. She
could not understand Petronella's shuddering horror at the thought
of having killed a man.
"I would have killed fifty, and been glad to rid the earth of them
were they such wretches as Long Robin!" she cried.
Then in deep silence she heard of Cuthbert's dive into the well,
and of the golden flagon he had brought up as an earnest of what
was to come. Petronella went on to say that, having made absolutely
sure of the presence of the treasure in the well, Cuthbert had then
directed all his energies to detecting the sources of the hidden
springs that fed it, and after long search and patience had
satisfied himself that it was filled by two, both rising in the
high ground not far distant.
He had then set to work to see how these waters could be diverted
so as to leave the well dry at his will; and though it had taken
months to perform this feat, and had only been done at the cost of
immense labour and trouble, still it had been done, and one day in
early September the brother and sister had stood together to see
the water ebbing slowly and more slowly away, until at last their
eyes beheld a vast quantity of silver and gold lying exposed at the
bottom of the well, and knew that the lost treasure of Trevlyn was
theirs indeed.
But their labours were not yet ended. It was plain to both that
they must quickly find some safe spot whither they could transport
it all, else some passing traveller might even now see and report
what he had seen, and so rob them of the fruit of their toil.
Afraid to go to Trevlyn Chase for help, lest the news should in
some way leak out to Nicholas at the Gate House, and also because
the brother and sister had set their hearts on accomplishing the
task entirely alone, it suddenly entered Cuthbert's head to take
his sister to the Cross Way House, and ask of its owners protection
for her through the approaching inclement season; and then, if
satisfied that these Wyvern kinswomen were to be trusted, and were
friendly of disposition towards them, to whisper the secret of the
treasure trove in their ears, and ask leave to deposit it all
within the great strongroom underground, that the Wyvern house had
always boasted, and of which the secret was known to very few.
This was the plan that had been carried out. His reception by Lady
Humbert, and her kindness to the lonely Petronella when her pitiful
story was told, quite decided Cuthbert to confide the golden secret
to her. She listened in amaze, but was highly pleased at being the
first person to know it. She laid her hand on Cuthbert's head, and
spoke to him of the old saw which predicted that fortune should
return to the Wyverns through the daughters' sons, and declared
that he was fulfilling the prophecy she had longed to live to see
come true. Cuthbert trusted that such indeed would be the case, but
did not know whether the Wyverns had any lot or share in the
treasure trove. Whereat the old lady smiled, and said that she laid
no claim to the gold--it was none of theirs, and never would be;
but still, with her hand on Cuthbert's head, she declared that
after herself and her sister he should reign at the Cross Way
House, and that his share of the treasure, which in all sooth
should be a large one, since but for him it might never have been
found, would go to restore the fallen fortunes of the house, and to
fulfil in very truth the fondly-cherished prediction.
Cuthbert's amazement had naturally been great; but this fair
prospect held out to him had but given greater zest to his
enterprise. Not to a single soul in the house would Lady Humbert
confide the secret, lest amongst themselves the faithful old
servants should gossip, and rumour get abroad that the lonely house
was worth attacking. In the dead of night, upon appointed dates,
Cuthbert brought to a certain iron-barred window the laden ass
bearing his costly burden, and Petronella and Lady Humbert
themselves received the treasure and bore it piece by piece to the
secret room. Not a creature slept on that side of the house--not a
living being knew what was passing in the dead hours of the night; and
in this fashion the treasure was being brought, Cuthbert descending
the well, into which a little water had now filtered--enough to
conceal the treasure from a passing observer if such there should
chance to be--and with the assistance of their four-footed friend,
drawing up as much as the patient beast could carry, and transporting
it by night to this very house.
"When all is done," concluded Petronella--"and every load we think
must surely be the last, there is so much of it--then he will forth
to seek the gipsy in the forest, and tell her that the task is
done. After that he will to London, to see how it fares with his
cousins there, and to tell my uncle something of his tale,
demanding, as I right well believe, the hand of our cousin Cherry
in wedlock, since he may now support a wife in all comfort and
ease. When that is done he will hither again, and Lady Humbert will
ask to her house a gathering of kinsfolk for the Yuletide festival.
And then the great secret will be told. The treasure will be
divided between the Trevlyns assembled beneath this roof; and I
trow, sweet Kate, that my Lord Culverhouse will contrive to be
here, and that when the good news has been told to all, he will
have small work in getting the parental blessing for those nuptials
that will be celebrated anew with pomp and rejoicing, and will make
thee in very truth, and without shadow of a doubt, the Viscountess
Culverhouse."
Kate, laughing and quivering, clasped Petronella in her arms, as
she cried between laughter and tears:
"And when that good hap befalls me, sweet Petronella, I will
warrant that Philip will be in no wise behind in claiming his
bride, and that thou as well as I shalt find that the recovered
treasure of Trevlyn has smoothed our path to wedded happiness!"