"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 a.s.sured 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 though a qualm of fear had smitten her.

"But, Jacob, if he were to come hither when I be gone, thou wouldst not hinder him from finding me; thou wouldst not do him any ill turn that we might be kept apart? That would not be fair; it would be an ill thing. It would be--"

She stopped suddenly short, for Jacob had risen, and seemed to stand towering above her, with something majestic in his air that she had certainly never observed there before.

"Cherry! for what dost thou take me?" he asked, his voice quivering with an emotion that showed him to be deeply moved. "Hast thou so vile an opinion of the man thou mayest some day call thy husband, the man who bears the name of thy dead mother, that thou canst think such evil thoughts of him? No, Cherry, I will not hinder him from finding thee. I will in no wise stand between you. I will aid him with all that is in my power to find thee. If peril should menace him and I could stand betwixt him and it, I would do so gladly. I would lay down my life for him, if by so doing thou and he might one day be happy. Dost think that I prize my life so high, since I may not win the crown that would make its happiness? If I may not live for thee, Cherry, methinks I would sooner die for thee, if by so doing I might win thee happiness and love. I love thee and I love Cuthbert. I ask nothing better than that I may in some sort serve and save you twain."

And with a gesture of rugged dignity of which Cherry was keenly aware, and which raised Jacob to an altogether different level in her mind, he held out his hand as if to seal the compact, and without waiting for her broken words of explanation and apology, turned and walked out of the room.

Two days later Cherry started forth upon her travels. Her father went part of the way with her, and left her but seven miles from the end of her journey. She was escorted by a body of merchants and their servants, who were transporting some merchandise to Southampton, and were a goodly company in themselves for fear of a.s.sault from the robbers of the road. As they had quant.i.ties of valuables with them, they intended to travel only during the daylight hours, and after leaving Cherry at the Cross Way House, would put up for the night at the nearest town on the southern side of the forest.

How Cherry's heart beat as her fellow travellers pointed out the wall and chimneys of her destination, and the whole party reined up at the door! The Cross Way House was well known to travellers as being one of the regular landmarks along the road. It was a hospitable mansion for any wayfarers in distress, and its mistress was held in high repute, and had never yet been molested or threatened by the highway bands, who might have been troublesome to the members of any household whose walls ab.u.t.ted so close upon the road. Lady Humbert was reaping the reward for the renowned kindness of heart of the whole Wyvern family towards all the lowly, the unfortunate, and the oppressed; and though many a fugitive fleeing from the robbers had found shelter within her walls, these had proved as safe shelter as the walls of any ancient sanctuary; for once within Lady Humbert's gates and not even the most hated and hunted foe need fear further molestation.

Cherry had heard some such words as these as the party had jogged onwards together; and now she found herself standing timidly at the back entrance of the house, her box beside her, and one of her uncle's friends at her side. When the door was opened and her guardian spoke her name and errand, she was quickly made welcome to enter, and after saying a hasty goodbye to the kindly merchant, found herself traversing several long stone pa.s.sages, till she was finally ushered into a low parlour, where an elderly woman sat brewing over the fire some concoction which looked like one of Mistress Susan's compounds of berries and spice.

"Sure it is my good aunt, Prudence Dyson," said Cherry, as the woman looked quickly round. "Methinks I should have guessed that anywhere, thou art so like to my uncle."

The woman came forward and saluted her niece gravely and kindly.

"Thou art Martin Holt's daughter? What is thy name, child? I could scarce make it out from Susan's letter, for she is no scholar, as she ofttimes says. I am right glad to welcome thee, and I trust thou comest to us with a willing heart?"

"A right willing heart," answered the girl, smiling bravely, despite the strangeness of her surroundings; for there was something home-like and comforting in the aspect of her aunt and in the sound of her voice. "I was glad my father's choice lighted on me, and I will strive to please in all I do. My name is Cherry--at least that is how I am always called. And who are the ladies upon whom I am to wait?"

"The one whom thou wilt chiefly serve is Mistress Kate Trevlyn, a daughter of Sir Richard Trevlyn of the Chase. I know not if thou knowest aught of the family, but most like thou art aware that thy aunt Bridget made a luckless marriage with one Nicholas Trevlyn, whereby she cast herself adrift from all her family. Why, child, what a colour thou hast! What dost thou know of this matter?"

"I know my cousin Cuthbert Trevlyn," answered Cherry, trying to speak naturally, though her heart beat wildly all the while. "He came to us a year ago, and remained beneath my father's roof till the summer had well-nigh come. From him we learned much of the family; and right glad am I to think that I may serve Mistress Kate, who was a kind friend to him in times past. My cousin Cuthbert was much beloved by all our house whilst he remained beneath our roof. We have not heard of him this many a day. Dost thou know aught of him, my aunt?"

Prudence Dyson gave her niece a quick, sharp glance, and then answered a little evasively:

"Thou must ask that question of Mistress Kate, my dear, if she will please to talk with thee. She may have had news of him belike. As for us of this household, we hear but little of what happens in the world beyond. We are all growing old together."

Had it not been for the earnestness with which they were talking, the aunt and niece might have heard a light footfall down the pa.s.sage. The door was softly pushed open, and a clear voice asked:

"Is Mistress Dowsabel's hot posset ready, Dyson? she has asked for it more than once."

Both women started and turned round, and Cherry uttered a little involuntary cry, whilst the name "Cuthbert" sprang to her lips so fast that she was not sure that she had not uttered it aloud. Her eyes were fixed upon the face of the dark-eyed girl who had brought the message.

"I will take it at once," said Dyson, hastily lifting it from the fire. "I crave my lady's pardon for being late with it; but my niece from London has but just arrived, and I was hindered for the moment.

"Cherry, wait here till I return, and then I will speak more with thee."

Dyson hurried away with the posset, and the two girls stood gazing at each other, a light of welcome and amaze in both their eyes.

"Cherry! did she call thee Cherry? and from London, too? And Kate bath ofttimes said that--Oh, why waste words?" cried the girl, breaking off quickly. "Tell me, art thou Martin Holt's daughter? art thou my brother Cuthbert's Cherry?"

"Thy brother? then thou art Petronella!" cried Cherry, in a maze of bewilderment; and even as she spoke the name she felt Petronella's arms about her, and they were laughing and kissing, questioning and exclaiming, all in the most incoherent fashion, yet contriving to make each other understand some fragments of their respective stories, till at last Petronella drew herself away and laid her hand on Cherry's arm, saying as she did so:

"But remember that here I am Ellen Wyvern, and not even good Dyson knows more than that. Be on thy guard, good coz, and only speak familiarly to me in secret. O Cherry, how I have longed to see thee--Cuthbert's Cherry, of whom I have heard so much! And how comest thou hither? Has he sent thee?"

"He? I have not seen him these six months past. Petronella, sweet cousin, give me good news of him."

"Why, so I can--the very best. He has found the treasure. It is safely lodged here. And he has gone forth into the forest again, first to tell the tale to the gipsy queen, who has been his friend through all, and then to return to London to thy father's house to seek his Cherry once again, and claim her hand before all the world."

Chapter 21: The Gipsy's Warning.

"Thy task is done, and it is well done. But now get thee from the forest with all speed, for there is peril to thee here."

So said Joanna, standing before Cuthbert in the pixies' dell, her hand upon the low stone wall, her tall figure drawn up to its full height. She had been looking thoughtfully down into the sparkling water, which was now filling the well as of old, whilst Cuthbert told his tale with graphic power. An expression of calm triumph was on her face as she heard how the long-lost h.o.a.rd was lying safely stored within the house of the Wyverns--a house sacred to the gipsies and safe from any raids of robbers, such was the esteem in which that name was held. She looked like one whose task is done, who feels a heavy load lifted from the mind; but the glance fixed upon Cuthbert's eager face was also one of gravity and meaning.

"The forest is no place for thee now," she said; "get thee hence as fast as thou canst."