She knew he would gladly do it; knew that he hated and grudged the few meetings and greetings that did pass between them from time to time.  Any excuse would gladly be caught at as a pretext for an absolute prohibition of such small overtures, and what would life be like, she wondered with a little sob, if she were to lose Cuthbert, and never to see Philip?

Her brother was at the trysting place first.  She could not see his face, but could distinguish the slight figure seated upon the crumbling fragment of the wall.  He was very still and quiet, and she paused as she drew near, wondering if he had not heard her light footfall upon the fallen leaves.

“Is that thou, my sister?” asked a familiar voice, though feeble and hollow in its tones.  The girl sprang quickly to his side.

“Yes, Cuthbert, it is I; and I have brought all thou biddest me, and as much beside as I could make shift to carry.  Alack, Cuthbert are you sorely hurt?  I heard that cruel whip!”

“Think no more of that!  I will think no more myself once the smart be past.  Think of the freedom thy brother will enjoy; would that thou couldst share it, sweet sister!  I like not faring thus forth and leaving thee, but for the nonce there be no other way.

“Petronella, I know thou wouldst ask whither I go and what I do.  And that I scarce know myself as yet.  But sitting here in the dark there has come a new purpose, a new thought to my mind.  What if I were to set myself to the discovery of the lost treasure of Trevlyn Chase?”

The girl started in the darkness, and laid her hand on her brother’s arm.

“Ah, Cuthbert, that lost treasure!  Would that thou couldst find it!  But how canst thou hope to do so when so many besides have failed?”

“That is not the fashion in which men think when they mean to triumph, my sister,” said Cuthbert, and she knew by his voice that he was smiling.  “How this thing may be done I know not.  Where the long-lost treasure be hid I know not, nor that I may ever be the one to light on it.  But this I do know, that it is somewhere; that some hand buried it; that even now some living soul may know the secret of the hiding place.  Petronella, hast thou ever thought of it?  Hast thou ever wondered if our father may know aught of it?”

“Our father! nay, Cuthbert; but he would be the first to show the place and claim his share of spoil.”

“I know not that.  He hates Sir Richard.  Methinks he loved not his own brother, the good knight’s father.  He was in the house what time the treasure vanished.  Might he not have had some hand in the mystery?”

The girl shook her head again doubtfully.

“Nay, how can I say?  Yet methinks our father, who sorely laments his poverty and dependence for a home upon Sir Richard’s kindness, would no longer live at the old Gate House had he riches hidden away upon which he might lay his hand.  Nay, Cuthbert, methinks thou art not on the right track in thinking of him.  But I do not rightly know the story of that lost treasure.”