"Fool!" cried a hoarse voice, hissing the words in his ears--"fool of a mad boy to trust a treacherous gipsy tale! So thou thoughtest to outwit Long Robin! Thou thoughtest to win back the lost treasure to the house of Trevlyn! Mad boy--fool of a hardy knave! But yet thou shalt have thy wish--thou shalt have thy will. Thou shalt see with thine own eyes that long-lost treasure." There was a cruel sneer in the man's eyes, a mocking inflection in his voice, that sent a thrill of cold horror through Cuthbert's veins. He was absolutely powerless in that merciless clasp. He felt the strength leaving his limbs and his head turning giddy. He only just knew it when he was laid upon the grass, his captor's knee firmly planted on his chest; and then he felt his hands and feet being tightly and securely bound, whilst the stars in the sky seemed to reel and dance before his eyes, and he said to himself, without realizing the import of his own words: "He is going to kill me; he is going to kill me." "Yes, I am going to kill thee, mad boy," said Long Robin coolly, as though he had heard the spoken word. "I am going to kill thee, as I kill all those who dare to thwart my will or cross my path. I shall kill thee; but thou shalt first have the desire of thine eyes and of thine heart. Thou shalt see and thou shalt touch the long-lost treasure! Thou shalt learn the secret ere thou diest, and thy ghost can impart it to thy friends." With a brutal and almost diabolical laugh, Long Robin rose to his feet and leaned over the well. He seemed to be raising from it some heavy weight, and Cuthbert heard a heavy thud fall upon the grass. "Now, thou shalt go to join the lost treasure. The Trevlyns when they find it will find their lost kinsman, too! Ha, ha! they are welcome to that find; they are welcome to it!" and the man stooped to lift the bound and helpless Cuthbert in his strong arms. Cuthbert closed his eyes. He knew well what was coming. A fall, a sullen splash, one brief ineffectual struggle, and then black darkness. He tried to breathe a prayer, but could form no words. He thought of Cherry, of Petronella, and sharp stabs of pain seemed to run through him. One minute more and all would be over. But what an endless minute that was, whilst he felt the grip upon his body growing firmer as the giant prepared to lift him. What was that? "Crack!"--a sudden flash from the dark underwood, and with a loud cry his captor dropped him, and staggered backwards, to fall a few paces farther on, where he lay rigid and motionless. Then from the thicket there came the sound of a quick sharp cry, and a slim figure rushed forward with the gasping question: "Is he dead? Oh, have I killed him?" And Cuthbert, raising his head, and scarce believing aught of this could be anything but a fevered dream, uttered the one word: "Petronella!" Chapter 17: Brother And Sister. "Petronella! thou here!" "Brother--brother mine--art thou hurt?"