“I will,” answered Cuthbert.  “I thank thee for thy good counsel.  I will be speedily gone.”

Joanna stood looking reflectively at him.

“Thou wouldst he safest within the walls that shelter the treasure—­with thy kinsfolk of the house of Wyvern.”

“Nay, but I must first go to London,” answered Cuthbert quickly; “I have been long absent.  My kinsfolk there will be looking for news of me.  And perchance my presence in the house of my kinswomen might imperil them.  I would not be a cause of danger to them.”

“Thou art a bold and true-hearted lad,” answered Joanna; “and it may be well that for the nonce thou shouldest keep away from the Cross Way House.  Thy presence there might awaken suspicion; though I scarce believe that any lust of gold would drive our people to attack that house.  Go then to London, and lose thyself there awhile.  Presently thou mayest return and see how thy sister fareth; but not too soon—­not too soon!”

Cuthbert started.

“My sister!” he said; “how knowest thou that?”

Joanna smiled her lofty smile.

“Ask a gipsy how she knoweth what takes place within the limits of her domain!  Tush, boy! thinkest thou that I do not know all that passes in the forest?  Thy sister has done well to find a shelter there.  She is safer at the Cross Way House than in this dell with thee.”

“If she is safe I can well look to myself,” answered Cuthbert, with the confidence of youth and strength.  “To be warned where the peril lies is half the battle.  I will be cautious—­I will be wary; and having naught to keep me in the forest, I will start for London town this very day.”

“Ay, do so, and without an hour’s delay.  Old Miriam is raging like a fury.  Tyrrel may at any moment return, and I trow she will rouse him to bitter enmity towards thee.  Fly, before any strive to stay thee.  And when thou hast reached the city, go once again to Esther.  Tell her that the deed is done, the treasure found, that it lies in the house of the Wyverns, and that the luck has come back to the house, as was always said, through the daughters’ sons.”

“I will,” answered Cuthbert; and bidding a farewell to the gipsy, to whose protection and goodwill he owed so much, he left the dell and made his way rapidly through the forest, till he struck the road which would lead him to London.

He would not turn out of the direct way to go to the Cross Way House, though he would gladly have seen his sister and Kate and his aged kinswomen again.  He did not wish them to know of the peril which might threaten his own path, nor did he desire to draw attention to that house by directing his steps thither in broad daylight.  Plainly his presence in the forest had already excited remark.  He had been seen far oftener than he had known.  If he did not linger, but pursued his way to London without delay, he might reach it by nightfall, and that was no small inducement