“And how long shall I be away, father?”

“Nay, child, that I know not.  Prudence makes no mention of that.  Haply, I take it, a matter of three months or so, since had the ladies been leaving shortly she would scarce have sent so urgently for thee.  Thou wilt not be home for thy Christmas, I fear; but thou wilt be in a good and a godly house, with thine own aunt to watch over thee; and I trow that thou wilt so act and comport thyself as to bring credit and not disgrace upon the name thou bearest.”

“I will try, good father,” answered Cherry with great meekness; and her father kissed her and bid her begone, for that he was about to go forth and talk to Abraham Dyson on this matter.

Cherry went up to her room feeling bewildered, half frightened, and yet elated and pleased.  Something had come to break at last the long monotony of the life which she felt was crushing the spirit out of her.  She was going to a place where it seemed that she must surely have news of Cuthbert, and where, if she did not pass him on the road, she would certainly be nearer to him.

Her sisters, greatly astonished, could scarcely believe their ears when told that Cherry was really going away; and Keziah hung over her with wistful eyes, assisting her to get her clothes ready, and wondering what the house would seem like without its rebellious and most attractive member.

“Methinks it will be duller than ever,” she said.  “Jacob will scarce care to come if thou art gone.”

“Jacob! why, I trow he will but come the more,” answered Cherry, with a saucy gleam in her eye as she looked in Kezzie’s grave face.  “He will come to thee for comfort, my sister, and I trow that thou wilt give it him in full measure.”

Keziah’s grave face lighted up somewhat.

“Thinkest thou that?  Indeed I would gladly try.  Jacob is a good lad and a kind one.  I marvel thou dost not treat him better, Cherry.”

“I like Jacob; he is very good.  We are great friends,” answered Cherry hastily, “but—­”

There she broke off and busied herself over her trunk, saying as she leaned so far into it that her face could not be seen, “Kezzie, if Cuthbert should come back, thou wilt tell him where I have gone.  Tell him I am with his kinsfolk, and ask him if he goes that way to pay a visit to them.”

“I will,” answered Keziah, who had her own ideas about Cuthbert’s sudden and entire disappearance; “but I fear me we shall see Cuthbert no more.  He—­”

“Why sayest thou so?  What dost thou know?  What dost thou mean, Keziah?  Hast thou heard aught of him?”

“Bless the child—­no—­” answered Keziah hastily “How should I know aught of him?  But, Cherry, my sweet sister, be not angry with me if I say it.  Cuthbert is a Trevlyn, for all that our aunt was his mother.  He is of rank above ours.  He may have made friends in his own walk in life.  He may repent him of the friendships he made at the bridge house.  Be not wroth with me for saying it, but men before him have gone forth and returned not to those who looked for them.  But if he comes I will tell him—­I will tell him all.  Only do not too greatly count upon it.  I grieve so lest thou shouldest be disappointed.”