“And why to him?” questioned Cuthbert, drawing his brows together in the effort to understand; “why to him rather than to Miriam or any other of the tribe?”

“Verily because he was the one being in the world beloved of Long Robin.  Miriam he trusted not, for that she was a woman, and he held that no woman, however faithful, might be trusted with a secret.  I have heard him say so a hundred times, and have seen her flinch beneath the words, whilst her eyes flashed fire.  Methinks that Long Robin loved gold with the miser’s greed—­loved to hoard and not to spend—­loved to feel it in his power, but desired not to touch it.  Miriam was content so long as vengeance on the Trevlyns had been taken.  She wanted not the gold herself so long as it was hidden from them.  But the secret was one that must not die, and to young Robin it has been intrusted.  And if I mistake me not, he has other notions regarding it, and will not let it lie in its hiding place for ever.  He is sharp and shrewd as Lucifer.  He knows by some instinct that I suspect and that I watch him, and never has he betrayed aught to me.  But sure am I that the secret rests with him; and if thou wouldst find it out, it is Long Robin’s steps that thou must dog and watch.”

“I will watch him till I have tracked him to his lair!” cried Cuthbert, springing to his feet in great excitement.  “I will never rest, day nor night, until the golden secret is mine!”

Chapter 14:  Long Robin.

The gipsy had left him, gliding away in the moonlight like a veritable shadow; and Cuthbert, left alone in the dim cave, buried his face in his hands and sank into a deep reverie.

This, then, was the meaning of it all:  the long-deferred vengeance of the gipsy tribe; the avaricious greed of one amongst their number, who had committed dastardly crimes so as to keep the secret hiding place in his own power alone; the secret passed on (as it seemed) to one who feigned to be what he was not, and was cunningly awaiting time and opportunity to remove the gold, and amass to himself this vast hoard; none beside himself of all the tribe heeding or caring for it, all holding to the story told long ago of the seven men who had disappeared bearing away to foreign lands the stolen treasure.  A generation had well-nigh passed since that treasure had been filched from the grasp of the Trevlyns.  The stalwart fellows who had been bred up amongst the gipsies, or had joined the bands of freebooters with whom they were so closely connected, knew little of and cared nothing for the tradition of the hidden hoard.  They found gold enough in the pockets of the travellers they waylaid to supply their daily needs; the free life of the forest was dear to them, and left them no lingering longings after wealth that might prove a burden instead of a joy to its possessor.