The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder PlotEverett-Green, Evelyn
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The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot
Everett-Green, Evelyn
Gunpowder Plot, 1605 -- Juvenile fiction
He was certain of it; there could be no manner of mistake. Dress,
air, everything corresponded with Joanna's description. For a
moment a sick fear crossed his mind lest he should have left upon
the table the fragment of parchment with the mystic words upon it,
for he had had no idea that the cave would be invaded that night.
But no; the habit of caution had been strong within him, and he had
put the paper away before retiring to his corner. Plainly the man
before him had no suspicion that any living soul was near. The deep
shadows of the cave hid Cuthbert completely from view, and the
secret entrance to the inner cave was doubtless known to very few.
None would suspect the presence of a hidden stranger there.
As Cuthbert watched as if fascinated, Robin ceased eating, and
pushed back his stool, rising to his feet quickly, and showing the
grand proportions of his tall figure, which certainly deserved the
epithet of "long." He stretched his arms, and swung them backwards
and forwards with a gesture strangely unlike that of age; and
throwing back his broad shoulders, he began pacing to and fro in
the cave with a firm, elastic tread seldom seen after the meridian
of life is passed.
"Joanna is right," thought Cuthbert, crouching closer against the
wall and into the shadows; for he had no wish to be discovered by
this giant, who would probably have scant mercy upon an observer
who might have taken his measure and discovered his secret now that
he was off his guard. "In all truth this man is not old; he can
scarce be above forty years. It is by some clever artifice that he
whitens his beard to that snow-like hue. He himself is young and
strong. He shows it in every movement."
He certainly did, pacing to and fro with rapid strides; and
presently he began to mutter words and phrases to himself, Cuthbert
listening with all his ears.
"A curse upon the women!" he said more than once; "they are the
very plague of my life! Miriam's besotted love, Joanna's suspicions
and her accursed watch upon me, both hinder my plans. If the twain
were in league together, it could not be worse. Miriam implores me
with tears and lamentations to wait till she be laid in the tomb
for the fulfilment of my cherished dream. And if I thwart her too
far, there is no telling what she may not say or do. Love and hate
in jealous natures such as hers are terribly near akin, and the
love may change to burning hatred if once I provoke her too far.
She knows not all, but she knows too much. She could spoil my hand
full well if she did but tell all she knows. And that jade Joanna,
how I hate her! She has been well drilled by that witch Esther, who
ought long ere this to have been hanged or burned. I would I could
set the King's officers on her now, but if I did I should have the
whole tribe at my throat like bloodhounds, and not even my great
age would serve to save me from their fury.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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