“Methinks he would dare anything he wished; but he let himself be satisfied with that pledge.  Only he kept me many days in that dim place of terror, and gave me but scant prisoner’s fare the while.  Cuthbert, as thou art free and thou art nigh, wilt thou to Trevlyn Chase for me ere thou goest back into the forest, and tell Philip what has befallen me, and that I may no more hope to meet him in our favourite haunts?  Tell him all I have told to thee, and bid him keep himself from this house.  It is an ill place! an ill place!  Ah, Cuthbert, were I but a man like thee, I would fare forth as thou hast done.  I would not stay beneath yon roof to be starved in soul and body and spirit.  O father, father!”

The cry was one of exceeding bitterness, and yet in it spoke a patience that moved Cuthbert strangely.

“Sister, my sister!” he cried, in accents of suppressed agitation, “I know not how to leave thee here.  Petronella, why not forth with me to the forest?  Sure I could protect thee there and give thee a better home beneath the greenwood trees than our father does beneath yon grim walls.  And, sister, I could take thee to our uncle, Martin Holt.  Sure he would give thee asylum with him, as he gave to me.  Thou wouldst have Cherry for a sister.  Thou—­”

But Petronella shrank away a little, and looked scared at the thought.  Hers was one of those timid natures that find it easier to endure even a terrible wrong than to take a bold step to escape from it.  The life of the forest might have attracted her, for she loved the freedom of the woodlands, and had no fears of loneliness or privation.  But she had heard from Cuthbert of the bands of outlaws and gipsies, of Long Robin and his murderous hatred; and of other perils which she felt she had scarce courage to face.  She feared that if she let Cuthbert carry her off she would but prove a burden and a care, whilst the thought of London and the strange relations there filled her with distaste and dread.

“Nay, nay, my brother; I have borne much—­I will bear a little more.  I love the old Gate House as thou hast never loved it; and perchance after this storm there may be a lull of quiet peace.  I should but hamper thee, and hold thee back from that great purpose; and—­”

“But Martin Holt, he would welcome thee; and once beneath his roof—­”

“Nay, Cuthbert, it might well be that our father would guess whither I had fled, and would come and drag me back.  I am not of an age to resist him.  And I am a helpless woman, not a man.  I have thought many times of flight, but I fear me it would but lead to worse.”

“I know not that,” answered Cuthbert thoughtfully.  “Our uncle Martin is a good man; and, Petronella, remember that whether or no thy brother finds the lost treasure, he holds in his keeping a dowry for thee that will make thee no unworthy mate for Philip Trevlyn when the day comes for him to claim thee as his bride.  Nay, hide not thy face, sister.”