Culverhouse and he had parted company when the former had escorted towards her home the lady of his choice, to whom his troth had been so solemnly plighted a short while before.  The young Viscount was going to make his way rapidly to London again; but Cuthbert purposed a long stay in the forest.  The search for the lost treasure might be a matter of weeks, possibly of months.  But he was very well resolved not to give it up until the search had been pursued with unabated zeal to the last extremity, and he himself was fully satisfied as to its fate.  Nothing but actual knowledge that it had been dissipated and dispersed should induce him to abandon the quest.

Standing at the mouth of the cave, leaning against the rocky wall, and enjoying the deep solitude of the forest and its tranquil stillness, Cuthbert revolved many matters in his mind, and it seemed more certain than ever that the finding of the treasure alone could save him and many that he loved from manifold difficulties and perplexities.  How that treasure would smooth the path and bring happiness and ease to the Trevlyn family!  Surely it was well worth a more vigorous search than had long been made!  Cuthbert took from his pocket the bit of parchment containing the mystic words of the wise woman, or her familiar spirit, and perused them again and again, albeit he knew them well nigh by heart.

“Thou art here!  It is well.”

Cuthbert started at the sound of the rich, deep tones, and found himself confronted by the queenly-looking gipsy.  He had not heard her approach.  She seemed to have risen from the very ground at his feet.  But he was scarcely surprised.  She had the air of one who could come and go at will even upon the wings of the wind.

“I am here,” answered Cuthbert, making a courteous salutation.  “I thank thee that thou hast not forgotten the tryst.”

“I never forget aught, least of all a promise,” answered Joanna, with her queenly air of dignity.  “I come to strive to do my share to atone a wrong and render restitution where it is due.  What paper is that, boy, that thou studiest with such care?”

Cuthbert handed her the scrap of parchment.  He did not know if she would have learning to decipher it; but the writing appeared to have no difficulties for her.  She read the words in the clear light of the May evening, albeit the sun had set and the crescent moon was hanging like a silver lamp in the sky; and as she did so she started slightly, and fixed a keenly penetrating glance upon Cuthbert.

“Where didst thou get these lines, boy?”

“They were given me by a wise woman, whom I consulted to see if she could aid me in this matter.”

“A wise woman!  And where didst thou find her?”

“In London town, where she practises her arts, and many come unto her by secret.  She is veritably that which she professes, for she told me the object of my quest ere I had told mine errand to her.”