Part 33 (2/2)
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 G.o.dly 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 crus.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.s 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, a.s.sisting 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 friends.h.i.+ps 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.
<script>