The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot by - (read novels website txt) 📖

who dares to ask a night's shelter there is allowed to depart without suffering injury either in person or pocket. Whither are you bound, my young friend, if I may ask the question?"

"For London, sir. I have an uncle there whom I am about to seek. But the way is something strange to me when the heath be passed, and I know not if I can find it in the dark."

"I also am bound for London," answered the stranger, "and in these days it is better to travel two than one, and four than two. But being no more than two, we must e'en hope for the best if we fall not in with other belated travellers. My business brooked not delay; wherefore I came alone. I mislike the fetter of a retinue of servants, and I have had wonderful good hap on the roads; but there be others who tell a different tale, and I often join company when I find a traveller to my liking going my way."

Cuthbert was glad enough to have a companion. This man was many years his senior, so that he was somewhat flattered by the proposition of riding in his company; moreover, he was plainly a gentleman of some condition, whose fancy it was (not his necessity) to travel thus unattended. Also he was speedily conscious of a strange sense of fascination which this stranger exercised upon him, for which he could not in the least account; and he quickly found himself answering the questions carelessly addressed to him with a freedom that surprised himself; for why should there be such pleasure in talking of himself and his prospects to one whose name he did not even know?

When first he had pronounced his name, he observed that the stranger gave him a quick, keen glance; and after they had been some time in conversation, he spoke with a sudden gravity and earnestness that was decidedly impressive.

"Young man, I trust that you are loyal and true to the faith of those forefathers of yours who have been one of England's brightest ornaments. In these latter days there has been a falling away. Men have let slip the ancient truths. Love of the world has been stronger within them than love of the truth. They have let themselves be corrupted by heresy; they have lost their first love. I trust it is not so with you. I trust you are one of the faithful who are yet looking for brighter days for England, when she shall be gathered again to the arms of the true Church. But a few minutes ago I saw you make the holy sign, and my heart went out to you as to a brother. These Protestants deny and contemn that symbol, as they despise and contemn in their wantonness the ordinances of God and the authority of His Vicar. I trust you have not fallen into like error; I trust that you are a true son of the old stock of Trevlyn?"

"I know little of such disputed matters," answered Cuthbert, made a little nervous by the ardent glance bent upon him from the bright eyes of the speaker. He had a dark, narrow face, pale and eager, a small, pointed beard trimmed after the fashion of the times, and the wide-brimmed sugar-loaf hat drawn down upon his brows cast a deep shadow over his features. But his voice was peculiarly melodious and persuasive, and there was a nameless attraction about him that Cuthbert was quick to feel. Others in the days to follow felt it to their own undoing, but of that the lad knew nothing. He only wished to retain the good opinion this stranger seemed to have formed of him.

"I have led but a hermit's life, as I have told you. I have been bred up in the faith of my forefathers, and that faith I believe. What perplexes me is that those who hold the Established or Reformed faith, as men term it, have the same creeds, the same doctrines as we ourselves. I have from time to time conformed to the law, and gone to the services, and I have not heard aught spoken within their walls that our good priest in old days used not to tell me was sound doctrine. There be things he taught me that these men say naught about; but no man may in one discourse touch upon every point of doctrine. I freely own that I have been sorely perplexed to know whence comes all this strife, all these heart burnings."

"Thou wilt know and understand full soon, when once thou hast seen the life of the great city and the strife of faction there," answered his companion, lapsing into the familiar "thou" as he spoke with increased earnestness. "In thy hermit's life thou hast had no knowledge of the robbery, the desecration, the pollution which our Holy Mother Church has undergone from these pestilent heretics, who have thought to denude her of her beauty and her glory, whilst striving to retain such things as jump with their crabbed humours, and may be pared down to please their poisoned and vicious minds. Ah! it makes the blood boil in the veins of the true sons of the Church, as thou wilt find, my youthful friend, when thou gettest amongst them. But it will not always last. The day of reckoning will come--nay, is already coming when men shall find that the Blessed and Holy Church may not be defiled and downtrodden with impunity for ever. Ah yes! the day will come--it is even at the door--when God shall arise and his enemies be scattered. Scattered--scattered! verily that is the word. And the sons of the true faith throughout the length and breadth of the land shall arise and rejoice, and the heretics shall stand amazed and confounded!"

As he spoke these words his figure seemed to expand, and he raised his right hand to heaven with a peculiar gesture of mingled menace and appeal. Cuthbert was silent and amazed. He did not understand in the least the tenor of these wild words, but he was awed and impressed, and felt at once that the strife and stress of the great world into which he was faring was something very different from anything he had conceived of before.

By this time the travellers had reached the dreary waste called by the inhabitants Hammerton Heath. At some seasons of the year it was golden with gorse or purple with ling, but in this drear winter season it was bare and colourless, and utterly desolate. The outline of dark forests could be seen all around on the horizon; but the road led over the exposed ground, where not a tree broke the monotony of the way. Cuthbert was glad enough to have a companion to ride by his side over the lonely waste, which looked its loneliest in the cold radiance of the moon. He did not reply to the strange words he had just heard, and his companion, after a brief pause, resumed his discourse in a different tone, telling the lad more about London and the life there than ever he had heard in his life before. But the moral of his discourse was always the sufferings, the wrongs, the troubles of the Roman Catholics, who had looked for better times under Mary Stuart's son; and gradually raising within the breast of the youth a feeling of warm sympathy with those of his own faith, and a distrust and abhorrence of the laws that made life well nigh impossible for the true sons of the Church.

"Ruined in estate, too often injured in body, hated, despised, hunted to death like beasts of the earth, what is left for us but some great struggle after our lives and liberties?" concluded the speaker, in his half melancholy, half ardent way. "Verily, when things be so bad that they cannot well be worse, then truly men begin to think that the hour of action is at hand. Be the night never so long, the dawn comes at last. And so will our day dawn for us--though it may dawn in clouds of smoke and vapour, and with a terrible sound of destruction."

But these last words were hardly heard by Cuthbert, whose attention had been attracted by the regular beat of horse hoofs upon the road behind. Although the track was but a sandy path full of ruts and holes, the sound travelled clearly through the still night air. Whoever these new travellers were, they were coming along at a brisk pace, and Cuthbert drew rein to look behind him.

"There be horsemen coming this way!" he said.

"Ay, verily there be; and moreover I mislike their looks. Honest folks do not gallop over these bad roads in yon headlong fashion. I doubt not they be robbers, eager to overtake and despoil us. We must make shift to press on at the top of our speed. This is an ill place to be overtaken. We have no chance against such numbers. Luckily our steeds are not way worn; they have but jogged comfortably along these many miles. Push your beast to a gallop, my lad; there is no time to lose."

Cuthbert essayed to do this; but honest old Dobbin had no notion of a pace faster than a leisurely amble. Most of his work had been done in the plough, and he had no liking for the rapid gallop demanded by his rider.

The lad soon saw how it stood with him, and called out to his well-mounted companion not to tarry for him, but to leave him to chance and kind fortune.

"I have so little to lose that they may not think me worth the robbing, belike. But you, sir, must not linger. Your good steed is equal to theirs, I doubt not, and will carry you safe across the heath."

"Ay, verily he will. I purchased him for that same speed, and it has never failed me yet. I fear not pursuit. My only peril lies in the chance of meeting a second band watching the road farther on. I like not thus to leave you, boy; but I have no choice. I may not risk being robbed of my papers. There be more in them than must be suffered to be scanned by any eyes for which they were not meant. My gold might go, and welcome, but I must save my papers. And if thou hast any small valuables about thee, I will charge myself with the care of them, and thou canst call at my lodging in London when thou gettest there to claim thine own again. 'Twill be the better chance than leaving yon gentlemen to rid thee of them."

The smile with which the stranger uttered these words was so winning and frank, that Cuthbert placed his purse in the outstretched hand without a qualm.

"When thou wantest thine own again, go to the Cat and Fiddle in the thoroughfare of Holborn, and ask news there of Master Robert Catesby. It is an eating house and tavern where I am constantly to be met with. If I be not lodging there at that very time, thou wilt have news of me there. Farewell; and keep up a brave heart. These fellows are less harsh with poor travellers than rich. Let them see you have small fear, and it will be the better for all."

These last words were faintly borne back to Cuthbert on the wings of the wind, as his companion galloped with long easy strides across the heath. A little dip in the ground hid for a moment their pursuers from sight, and before they emerged upon the crest of the undulation, Master Robert Catesby was practically out of sight; for a cloud had obscured the brightness of the moon, and only a short distance off objects became invisible.

Cuthbert rode slowly on his way, trying to compose himself to the state of coolness and courage that he would like to show in the hour of danger. He felt the beatings of his heart, but they were due as much to excitement as to fear. In truth he was more excited than afraid; for he had absolutely nothing to lose save a suit of old clothes and his horse, and both of these were in sorry enough plight to be little tempting to those hardy ruffians, who were accustomed to have travellers to rob of a far superior stamp.

Nearer and nearer came the galloping horse hoofs, and a loud, rough voice ordered him to stop.

Cuthbert obeyed, and wheeled round on his placid steed, who showed no sign of disquietude or excitement, but at once commenced to nibble the short grass that grew beside the sandy track.

"And what do you want of me, gentlemen?" asked Cuthbert, as he found himself confronted by half-a-dozen stalwart fellows, with swarthy faces and vigorous frames. They were all armed and well mounted, and would have been formidable enough to a wealthy traveller with