The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot by - (guided reading books .txt) 📕

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!"

Chapter 10: The Hunted Priest.

The two friends that Cuthbert had made of his own sex during the first weeks spent beneath his uncle's roof were the same two guests he had seen at the supper table on the evening of his arrival--Walter Cole and Jacob Dyson.

Both these men were several years older than himself, but in a short time he became exceedingly intimate with the pair, and thus obtained insight into the home life of persons belonging to the three leading parties in the realm. The Puritan element was strongly represented in Martin Holt's house, the Romanist in that of the Coles, whilst the Dysons, although springing from a Puritan stock, had been amongst those willing to conform to the laws as laid down in the late Queen's time. Both Rachel and Jacob preferred the Episcopal form of worship to any other, and openly marvelled at the taste of those who still frequented the private conventicles, where unlicensed preachers, at the risk of liberty and even life, held forth by the hour together upon their favourite doctrines and arguments.

But honest Jacob was no theologian. He did not hesitate to assert openly his ignorance of all controversy, and his opinion that it mattered uncommonly little what a man believed, so long as he led an upright life and did his duty in the world. He was "fair sick" of long-drawn arguments, the splitting of hairs, and those questions which the theologians of all parties took such keen joy in discussing--though, as nobody ever moved his opponent one whit, the disputes could only be held for the love the disputants felt for hearing themselves talk. Jacob had long since claimed for himself the right to leave the room when politics and religion came under discussion. As an only son, he had some privileges accorded him, and this was one he used without stint.

Honest Jacob had taken an immediate and great liking for Cuthbert Trevlyn from the first appearance of that youth at his uncle's house. Though himself rough and uncouth of aspect, clumsy of gait and slow of speech, he was quick to see and admire beauty and