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

his hand to shield his face, for the barrel was aimed straight at his temple. He was conscious of a sudden stinging pain in his wrist. A momentary giddiness seized him, and he stumbled and fell. A sardonic laugh seemed to ring in his ears. He thought he heard the banging of a door and the drawing of heavy bolts. Probably the man who had fired was so certain of his aim that he did not even pause to see how the shot had told.

"Your tongue will not wag again before the morrow!"

Those words seemed to be ringing in Cuthbert's ears, and then for a moment all was blackness and darkness, with a sense of distress and suffocation and stabs of sudden pain.

When he awoke from what he first thought had been a nightmare dream, he was puzzled indeed to know where he was, and for a while believed that he was dreaming still, and that he should soon awake to find himself in his little attic chamber in the bridge house. But as his senses gradually cleared themselves he became aware that he was in no such safe or desirable spot. He was lying on some cloaks in the bow of a large boat, which was being rowed steadily and silently up stream by four stalwart men. The daylight was gone, but so too was the fog, and the moon was shining down and giving a sufficient light. In the stern of the boat sat two other men, whose faces Cuthbert could dimly see, though their hats were drawn down over their brows. These faces did not seem entirely unfamiliar, yet he could not remember where it was he had seen them before. His senses were cloudy and confused. He felt giddy and exhausted. He had no disposition to try to move; but he soon found that even had he been so disposed he could have accomplished little. His feet were bound together by a cord, and his right hand was bound up and utterly powerless. He remembered the shot levelled at him in the garden of the river-side house, and felt certain that his wrist was broken.

And who were these men who were carrying him away captive, and what was their motive? He imagined that they must surely be those fierce pursuers who had striven to capture him upon the river, and who had followed him into the garden where he had hoped to hide himself from their malice. Doubtless they had found him as he lay in a momentary faint, and had borne him back to their boat; though what was their motive in thus capturing him, and whither they were now transporting him, he could not imagine. His mind was still confused and weak. Esther's words of warning seemed to mingle with the gurgle of the water against the bows of the boat. His temples throbbed, there was burning pain in his wounded arm; but the night wind fanned his brow, and brought with it a certain sense of refreshment.

Hitherto there had been unbroken silence in the boat, and the rowers had steadily plied their oars without uttering a word; but now that they were out in mid river, without the smallest fear of pursuit, far away from sight or sound from the shore, they paused as by common consent, and one of them suddenly said:

"Now, comrades, we must settle which it is to be. Are we to take him to Miriam or to Tyrrel?"

Those words told Cuthbert who were his captors. He was in the hands of the gipsies or highwaymen--probably the prisoner of a mixed band who had joined together to effect his capture. As the discussion went on it became more evident that there were two parties and two factions, both anxious to possess his person, and he listened with bated breath and a beating heart to every word that passed.

"I say to Miriam," spoke up one swarthy fellow, with a backward look towards the prisoner in the bow. "Miriam is wild to have him. She is certain sure he has killed Long Robin. She would give her two eyes to have vengeance on some Trevlyn. Why not let her have the boy, to do with as she will?"

"Because all she cares for is to burn him alive, as her old mother was burnt by some Trevlyn long ago; and what good would that do to the rest of us? Long Robin was no such friend to us. If Miriam's story be true, he was a treacherous fox, and deserved the fate he got. If he it was who stole and hid the treasure, and kept the secret all these years, hoping to enjoy the fruits of it alone, why, he was a knave and a villain, say I; and that old hag is little better. What do we care for her vow of vengeance? what is it to us? Tyrrel, now, wants the prisoner for a purpose. This lad knows where the treasure is, and he must give up the secret to us. Once we know where he found it, and if moved where he has stowed it, we shall speedily be rich for the rest of our days. You all know that the forest is getting something too hot for us. Tyrrel has decreed that we must go elsewhere, where we are less known. It would be a thousand pities to go without this treasure, since it really lies beneath our hand. A curse upon Long Robin, say I, for keeping it hid all these years! It was a scurvy trick! and Miriam was privy to it. I will raise no hand to help her. She may die with her vow unfulfilled for all I care. Had she but acted fairly by us, then would we have given yon lad up to her tender mercies; but not now--not now!"

A murmur of assent ran through the whole party. The only one to demur was the first speaker.

"The old woman got her death blow when Robin's corpse was found. She will not last many weeks more, they say. I should well like to bring her a bit of happiness at the end; and her one cry is for vengeance upon the Trevlyn brood. She would well like to have yon prisoner brought bound to her, Why not lead him first to Tyrrel and then to Miriam?"

"When Tyrrel has him, he will decree what is done with him, not we," said another voice. "He has no love for Miriam and her insensate hate. Miriam and Long Robin have both played us false; and Tyrrel loves the dark-eyed Joanna, and she will not stoop to any deed of cruelty or tyranny. He will have a care how he treats the boy over whom her mantle has once been thrown. But the secret of the gold he must and will have. We will not let him go without that."

"To Tyrrel then!" cried several voices with one accord. "I trow he will have scant patience with any son of the house of Trevlyn, since he was so bested by those other Trevlyns but two short evenings back. He will be glad enow to have this lad brought before him, for he verily feared that the whole brood had found shelter within the gates of the Cross Way House."

Cuthbert listened eagerly to these last words, which told him that his kinsmen at least had escaped peril and had found a safe shelter where the treasure lay. Knowing that this was so, and that the treasure was under their safe keeping, even did these men throw aside the tradition of years and make a raid upon the home of the Wyverns, his mind became somewhat calmed, although his own fate was terribly uncertain, and he might have to pay the penalty of his rashness with his life.

The rowers bent to their oars once again when this knotty point had been settled. They rowed on steadily for a short time, and then out of the darkness came a sharp clear hail.

"Who goes there?"

"Friends. We have caught the quarry; we are bringing him to Tyrrel."

"Good. He has been waiting with impatience this two hours for news. His wound doth not make him the more patient."

"We bring him at least the best medicine.

"Easy, lads! Ship your oars. Catch hold of her prow, Toby. So here we are safe and sound, and there is the prisoner!"

Cuthbert had raised his head, and supporting himself on his left elbow was gazing about him from side to side. He was still in the middle of the river; but the boat was now alongside a big barge moored in midstream, and from this barge several lights were gleaming, whilst voices were answering and asking questions, and the name of Tyrrel passed continually from mouth to mouth.

Then the rowers in the bow came and lifted him bodily in their arms, taking care not to be needlessly rough with the broken arm that gave him considerable pain; and so soon as he was placed upon the barge, the rope that bound his feet was cut, somebody remarking that it was needless now to hobble him, since he was safely on board and beneath the eye of the whole crew.

"And where is Tyrrel?" asked several voices.

"Below in the cabin, and waiting impatiently for news. Go, and take the boy with you; the sight of him will be the best medicine for him."

Cuthbert was led along, dazed and bewildered, but calm from a sense of his own helplessness, and perhaps from bodily weakness, too. This weakness surprised him, for he did not know how much blood he had lost, and he could not account for the way in which the lights swam before his eyes and his steps reeled, as he was taken down a dark ladder-like staircase and into a low long room with a swinging lamp suspended from the ceiling. It felt close and airless after the coldness of the night, and everything swam in a mist before his eyes; but he heard a voice not altogether unfamiliar say in authoritative accents: "Let him sit down, and give him a stoup of wine;" and presently his vision cleared, and he found himself sitting at one side of a rude table opposite the highway chieftain Tyrrel, whose face he well remembered. They were surrounded by a ring of stalwart men, some of whose faces were vaguely familiar to him from having been seen at the old mill a year ago from now.

He noted that Tyrrel's face was pale, and that his head was bandaged. It was plain that he had received recent injuries, and apparently these did not smooth his temper. His face was dark and stern, and the eyes that looked straight at Cuthbert gleamed ominously beneath their heavy brows.

"Well, boy," he said at length, seeing Cuthbert's gaze fasten upon him with inquiry and recognition, "so we meet again."

Cuthbert answered nothing. He did not intend to speak a needless word. He had some inkling now of the motive for his capture, but he was not going to show his hand.

"Cuthbert Trevlyn," said Tyrrel, in brief, terse sentences, "I have not brought thee here to bandy words with thee; I will to the point at once. I will tell thee why thou art here. Thou art in deadly peril from without. There is a vile Popish plot but recently discovered. The perpetrators and conspirators will all be seized upon the morrow. Thou art held to be one of these. Thou wilt be seized amongst others. Innocent or guilty, it matters not. Thou wilt die the traitor's death--the hideous doom of those accused of high treason. Thou wilt be lucky if thou art not racked first to make thee confess what men hold (whether truly or falsely) that thou knowest. I have interposed to save thee from that fate. I have had thee pursued and brought hither to me. I can and I will save thee and hide thee till all pursuit is over. But thou must purchase my protection at a price."

Cuthbert listened as one in a dream. He knew that Tyrrel might be speaking truth. He knew that he had received warnings before telling him he was suspected and watched. He recalled many past moments when he had felt that he had placed himself in a false position and might have laid himself open to misconstruction. But he had never thought himself in actual peril from the arm of the law. Was Tyrrel speaking the truth now, or was he only striving to intimidate him for his own ends?

Fixing his dark eyes full upon the face of the man opposite, he asked:

"And what is that price?"

"The secret of the Trevlyn treasure," was the calm reply--"the secret thou didst learn from Long Robin ere thou didst lay him in his bloody grave, and which now thou holdest alone. Where is the treasure, boy? Speak, and all will be well. For bethink thee, if thou