The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot by - (red queen ebook txt) 📗

was a space of smooth greensward--sward that appeared to have been untouched for centuries. All around, the sides of the dell rose up, covered with a thick growth of wood and copse. It was a lovely spot in all truth, but lonely to the verge of desolation. Cuthbert dimly remembered having heard fragments of legends respecting a pixies' dell in the heart of the forest--a dell avoided by all, for that no man who ventured in came forth alive. Most likely this was the place; most likely the legend of fear surrounding it was due to some exaggerated version of old Robin's ghastly crime in bygone years.

Cuthbert gazed and gazed with a sense of weird fascination. He fully believed that in some spot not many yards from where he stood lay hidden the lost treasure of Trevlyn, and that the secret of that resting place remained known to one man only in the whole world; and that was the man before him!

A wild impulse seized Cuthbert to spring upon that bowed figure, and, holding a knife to the man's throat, to demand a full revelation of that secret as the price of life. Perhaps had he not seen but an hour before how upright, powerful, and stalwart that bending figure could be, he would have done it then and there. But with that memory clear in his mind, together with his knowledge of the perfectly unscrupulous character of the gipsy, he felt that such a step would be the sheerest madness; and after gazing his fill at the motionless figure, he softly crept away once more.

He lay hidden in the bushes till he heard Long Robin leave the dell and go crashing through the underwood with heavy steps, cursing as he went the two women who stood between him and his desire. It was plain from his muttered words that he was going back to the camp now. Plainly he had paid his visit to the hoard and found all safe and undisturbed. Cuthbert was more and more convinced that the treasure lay here, as Esther had always believed; and it would be strange indeed, being so near, if he could not find it in time.

But he would not search tonight; he had the whole summer before him. Plainly Long Robin was not going to take any immediate step for the removal of the treasure; and during the last hours a great longing had come upon Cuthbert to see Petronella again. He was within ten miles of his old home now, and the thoughts of his sister had been mingling with these other thoughts of the lost treasure. Surely he could find his way to the Gate House from this lonely dell, and once there, by making a signal at his sister's window, he could advise her of his presence and gain a stolen interview.

So taking his bearings from the moon, he struck boldly across the lonely waste of forest that lay between him and his former home, and soon found himself tramping over the ling and moss of the high ridge of common land with which the woody tracts of the forest were frequently interspersed.

As he thus tramped the words of the verses began singing in his head: "Three times three--o'er ling and moss." What was that three times three? The question mingled with his dreams of his sister, and suddenly the thought came to him, Could the three times three be miles--miles from the giant oak from beneath which the treasure had been taken? Three times three--it might well be so. The distance was surely about nine miles. The spot where the Trevlyns had hid their treasure lay directly in Cuthbert's way as he marched steadily towards the Gate House. He saw the giant oak rise up before him in the moonlight, and he hastened to the spot and stood beneath the overhanging branches.

Standing beneath it with the oak behind him, he looked straight along the way he had come across the bog and moss. Surely there were nine miles, and little more or less, between the one spot and the other. And again, with the oak behind there was a beech at his right hand, and straight before him the road to the pixies' dell. Well, it might not be much, yet it seemed like a link in the chain. Esther had perchance heard Robin mutter these numbers in his troubled sleep. Surely he had been thinking or dreaming of that long nine miles' tramp, and the words he had used to direct the men whom afterwards he had foully and treacherously murdered!

"I am on the track! I am on the track!" cried Cuthbert exultantly, as he pursued his way. "The secret lies hid in the pixies' dell. Surely if I have learned as much as that, I cannot be long in finding out the whole!"

And with thoughts of his sister, of Cherry, of Kate, warm in his heart, Cuthbert sped gaily along in the direction of his old home.

Midnight struck from the clock in the turret of Trevlyn Chase as the youth approached the gray walls of the old Gate House. How grim and hoary it looked in the white moonlight! Something of a faint shiver of repulsion ran through Cuthbert's frame as he looked upon the familiar outline of the building. Was it possible that all but the few last months of his life had been spent there? It seemed to him that the old life was already like a dim and distant dream, and that the fuller life he had enjoyed since leaving was the only one that had any reality about it.

But he well knew the habits and the sullen ferocity of the grim old man his father, and it was with cautious steps that he approached the walls. No light burned in any window. The inmates of the building were doubtless wrapped in sleep. He well knew his sister's window, and cutting himself a long hazel bough, he gently swept it to and fro across the glass. This had always been a signal between them in their childhood, and many had been their nocturnal rambles taken together when Cuthbert had contrived to escape from the house before it was locked up, and had then called Petronella and assisted her down by the tangled ivy that clung to the gray old walls. He knew she would recognize in a moment who was outside when she heard the tapping of that hazel wand; and it seemed indeed as if she did, for in a moment the window was opened, and a soft tremulous voice asked eagerly:

"Cuthbert, can it be thou?"

"It is indeed I, sweet sister. Canst thou come to me? Hast thou lost thy cunning or thy lightness of foot? I am here to help thee."

"I will come to thee anon; but the little postern door is seldom locked since thou art gone, and I can get out thus. Linger not beside the house, Cuthbert; speed to the chantry--I will meet thee there. He might hear or see thee here. Do not linger; go. I will be with thee anon; I will not keep thee but a few short minutes. But do not tarry; go!"

There was such earnestness in her soft whispers that Cuthbert did not attempt to reply save by a brief nod. He slid away in the darkness and took the familiar but now tangled path to the chantry, looking round the old ruin with loving eyes; for it was the one spot connected with his home not fraught with memories of pain and fear.

"Poor little timid Petronella!" he mused. "Was I right to leave her thus alone with our harsh father? Yet I could do nothing for her; and it seemed as though my presence in the house stirred him up to continual fury. I would I had a home to bring her to. I would I might carry her off with me now. But what could she do in the forest, away from the haunts of men? Nay, she must tarry here but a little while. Then will I come and claim her. Then will she have dowry worthy her name and state. Oh that lost treasure, that lost treasure! what happiness will there be in store for very many when that lost treasure is found!"

And then he paused and held out his arms, for light steps were speeding towards him through the dewy grass, and Petronella, with a little sobbing cry, flung herself upon him, to be enfolded in a strong embrace.

Chapter 15: Petronella.

"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