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

hast quick hands and eyes, and, I trust, a willing heart, and I have resolved to send thee. Thou wilt be in the country, and the change will doubtless be good for thee. I shall look to receive thee back restored to thine old self again. The Cross Way House stands south from this by some seventeen miles, and is not very far away from the forest of which Cuthbert used to talk, and Trevlyn Chase where his kinsfolk live. Thou mayest hear somewhat of him there, for methinks the ladies Wyvern are in some sort his kinsfolk, too. I marvel that all these months have gone by without a word or a sign from him. Thou canst ask if aught has been heard of him. I trust no mishap has befallen the lad. He promised us news of himself ere now."

Had the room been less dim and dark, Martin might have seen the sudden alternations of red and white in Cherry's cheek as these last words were spoken; but the twilight was drawing in apace, and she kept her face down bent. But her heart was beating fast with throbs of gladness as well as astonishment. The idea of being sent away from home to the house of strangers was something fearful, but the last clause had given her food for eager anticipation. Where would she not go for news of Cuthbert, for whom she was now pining, and pining all the more sadly because she might speak to none of her anxiety and trouble?

Cuthbert had said he should be some months away; but she had looked for him at Michaelmas, and now October was speeding along, and yet there was no sign. Cherry had all a London girl's terror of the forests and their perils. She remembered how he had spoken of danger when last he had ridden through, and how nearly the terrible old gipsy had fulfilled her vow of vengeance by wreaking it upon his head. Might she not have found him and have slain him when he lived hidden away in the forest? Might not his search for the lost treasure have led him into many deadly perils? If living and free, why had he not written or appeared to her by this time? Could it be--oh, could it be--that he had forgotten her, and was keeping purposely away? Almost sooner would she believe him dead; but either fear filled her with dread and dismay.

And now a new throb of hope was in her heart. Once near the forest and what might she not hear or see? Might she not even find him herself? In her ignorance and inexperience anything seemed possible if only she might escape from the trammels of city life, and from the Argus eye of her aunt Susan.

"And am I to go and help my aunt Prudence, father?"

"Yes; I think it is but right and kind that thou shouldst do so. Thou art willing thyself?--and wilt thou be docile and teachable?"

"I will strive in all things to please her."

"That is well. I shall trust thee to do credit to thy name."

"And when am I to go, father?"

"So soon as I can find escort for thee; and that methinks will not be long, since the house stands directly on the road betwixt London and Southampton. Thou hadst best look to thy clothes and such things as thou mayest need there; for I would not lose a chance of sending thee safely guarded. I shall to Abraham Dyson this very evening, to ask what business is doing by road with Southampton just now."

"And how long shall I be away, father?"

"Nay, child, that I know not. Prudence makes no mention of that. Haply, I take it, a matter of three months or so, since had the ladies been leaving shortly she would scarce have sent so urgently for thee. Thou wilt not be home for thy Christmas, I fear; but thou wilt be in a good and a godly house, with thine own aunt to watch over thee; and I trow that thou wilt so act and comport thyself as to bring credit and not disgrace upon the name thou bearest."

"I will try, good father," answered Cherry with great meekness; and her father kissed her and bid her begone, for that he was about to go forth and talk to Abraham Dyson on this matter.

Cherry went up to her room feeling bewildered, half frightened, and yet elated and pleased. Something had come to break at last the long monotony of the life which she felt was crushing the spirit out of her. She was going to a place where it seemed that she must surely have news of Cuthbert, and where, if she did not pass him on the road, she would certainly be nearer to him.

Her sisters, greatly astonished, could scarcely believe their ears when told that Cherry was really going away; and Keziah hung over her with wistful eyes, assisting her to get her clothes ready, and wondering what the house would seem like without its rebellious and most attractive member.

"Methinks it will be duller than ever," she said. "Jacob will scarce care to come if thou art gone."

"Jacob! why, I trow he will but come the more," answered Cherry, with a saucy gleam in her eye as she looked in Kezzie's grave face. "He will come to thee for comfort, my sister, and I trow that thou wilt give it him in full measure."

Keziah's grave face lighted up somewhat.

"Thinkest thou that? Indeed I would gladly try. Jacob is a good lad and a kind one. I marvel thou dost not treat him better, Cherry."

"I like Jacob; he is very good. We are great friends," answered Cherry hastily, "but--"

There she broke off and busied herself over her trunk, saying as she leaned so far into it that her face could not be seen, "Kezzie, if Cuthbert should come back, thou wilt tell him where I have gone. Tell him I am with his kinsfolk, and ask him if he goes that way to pay a visit to them."

"I will," answered Keziah, who had her own ideas about Cuthbert's sudden and entire disappearance; "but I fear me we shall see Cuthbert no more. He--"

"Why sayest thou so? What dost thou know? What dost thou mean, Keziah? Hast thou heard aught of him?"

"Bless the child--no--" answered Keziah hastily "How should I know aught of him? But, Cherry, my sweet sister, be not angry with me if I say it. Cuthbert is a Trevlyn, for all that our aunt was his mother. He is of rank above ours. He may have made friends in his own walk in life. He may repent him of the friendships he made at the bridge house. Be not wroth with me for saying it, but men before him have gone forth and returned not to those who looked for them. But if he comes I will tell him--I will tell him all. Only do not too greatly count upon it. I grieve so lest thou shouldest be disappointed."

Cherry said nothing. She would not even by a word seem to doubt Cuthbert's fidelity. Keziah, if she did not know how matters stood betwixt them, knew enough to have a very shrewd suspicion of it. She had been in some sort Cherry's confidante. Both the sisters had some knowledge of each other's secret.

The next evening, just before it grew dark, as Cherry was sitting alone in the upper parlour, exempt from household toil that she might get her own wardrobe ready, and now having laid her needle aside because she could no longer see, the door opened, and the tall, loose figure of Jacob Dyson appeared framed against the dark background of the staircase behind, and the girl sprang to her feet with a little exclamation of pleasure and welcome.

"I thought that thou wouldst come to see me, Jacob. Thou hast heard that I am going away?"

"Ay, I have heard it. Art thou glad to be going, Cherry?"

"Yes, verily I am. I am sick at heart for news of him, and perchance I may get it where I be going. I shall be near his home and his kinsfolk."

Jacob had sat down, and was turning his cap round and round in those large red hands that were such an offence to the girl. After a few moments of silence he looked up and said:

"Cherry, hast thou ever thought of the things thou hast said to me--of the promise thou hast given?"

She bent her head low, and the whispered "Yes," was barely audible.

"Thou wilt not go back from thy word?"

She raised her head suddenly and said:

"No, Jacob, I will not go back from my word. Thou hast been very good and kind and patient; and if in time to come it should be proved that Cuthbert is dead, or has wed another and been false to me, then I will say naught against thee, but will do as my father saith, and strive to make thee a good wife. But I have never promised to love thee as a wife should love her husband. Thou must not expect that of me, Jacob."

She lifted her eyes to his with a look that sent a quick thrill through him. He put out one of his hands and took hers, saying in very gentle tone, though his gestures were slightly uncouth:

"I will only strive might and main to win thy love, sweetheart. Methinks if thy heart were once free again thou mightest learn the lesson."

She shook her head and answered very low:

"Thou couldst learn to love again, good Jacob; but I--never. I would that thou couldst look around thee, and find a good and useful wife whom thy mother would welcome; who would love thee well, and whom thou couldst love without let. There be such--I am well assured of it. As for me, even though some day thou shouldst gain my hand, my heart can never be thine."

Jacob looked at her with a wistful, dog-like devotion, and heaved a heavy sigh. That unselfish and faithful youth was going through a rather hard probation, such as so often falls upon the best and warmest hearted of earth's sons, who have been denied those outward graces that charm the fancy and take the eye. He had long since divined the secret of the attachment betwixt Cuthbert and Cherry; and when urged by his father to press his own suit, had been backward in so doing. On Cuthbert's disappearance he had one day spoken openly to Cherry of his suspicions, and she had frankly told him all, begging him to keep their secret, and to hold off his own suit until Cuthbert's quest should be over, and he could come to claim her as his own.

Truth to tell, Jacob had little belief in the finding of the lost treasure; but he did believe in Cuthbert, whom he loved only second to Cherry, and whom he would any day have set before himself. He made Cherry a promise that it should be as she desired; that he would give her time to test Cuthbert's sincerity before he spoke another word of marriage with her. But he also timidly asked in return for the sacrifice he was making, and as a reward for his championship, that if Cuthbert should never return, if harm should befall him in the forest, or if some other maiden should win his heart and hand, that then Cherry should become his wife, and let him try to comfort her by his own devoted and life-long love.

Cherry had given the promise without overmuch persuasion. What good would life be to her without Cuthbert? she had argued. If she could make any one else happy, she might as well do it as not. Jacob was very good. He would be kind to her and patient with her, whilst her aunt Susan would be just the reverse. Life under such conditions, beneath that unsympathetic rule, would be well-nigh unendurable. It would be better for her own sake to wed Jacob and escape from it all. And when the promise had been given, it seemed so little likely that she would be called upon to fulfil it! Even now she scarcely contemplated it seriously, for her heart was filled with hope. Was she herself not going towards the forest and Cuthbert? Surely she would hear somewhat of him there!

"I shall ask none other woman to be my wife until I know that thou canst never be mine, Cherry," answered Jacob, with gentle obstinacy. "I shall never wish aught of ill to Cuthbert. Thou knowest that I would stand betwixt him and peril an I might. But till he stands at thy side and claims thee as his own, I will not give thee up. I can bide my time--I can wait and watch."

She looked at him with suddenly dilating eyes, as