Cuthbert answered nothing.  He did not intend to speak a needless word.  He had some inkling now of the motive for his capture, but he was not going to show his hand.

“Cuthbert Trevlyn,” said Tyrrel, in brief, terse sentences, “I have not brought thee here to bandy words with thee; I will to the point at once.  I will tell thee why thou art here.  Thou art in deadly peril from without.  There is a vile Popish plot but recently discovered.  The perpetrators and conspirators will all be seized upon the morrow.  Thou art held to be one of these.  Thou wilt be seized amongst others.  Innocent or guilty, it matters not.  Thou wilt die the traitor’s death—­the hideous doom of those accused of high treason.  Thou wilt be lucky if thou art not racked first to make thee confess what men hold (whether truly or falsely) that thou knowest.  I have interposed to save thee from that fate.  I have had thee pursued and brought hither to me.  I can and I will save thee and hide thee till all pursuit is over.  But thou must purchase my protection at a price.”

Cuthbert listened as one in a dream.  He knew that Tyrrel might be speaking truth.  He knew that he had received warnings before telling him he was suspected and watched.  He recalled many past moments when he had felt that he had placed himself in a false position and might have laid himself open to misconstruction.  But he had never thought himself in actual peril from the arm of the law.  Was Tyrrel speaking the truth now, or was he only striving to intimidate him for his own ends?

Fixing his dark eyes full upon the face of the man opposite, he asked: 

“And what is that price?”

“The secret of the Trevlyn treasure,” was the calm reply—­“the secret thou didst learn from Long Robin ere thou didst lay him in his bloody grave, and which now thou holdest alone.  Where is the treasure, boy?  Speak, and all will be well.  For bethink thee, if thou holdest thy peace I give thee up on the morrow to the myrmidons of the law, and the golden secret will perish with thee, none profiting thereby.  Tell it but to me, and by that honour which I have ever held sacred, thou shalt be released and placed in a secure hiding place till all hue and cry be past.  Speak, then, for thy silence can aid none—­least of all thyself.  Tell the whole story and guide us to the treasure, and all will be well.”

Cuthbert sat silent and motionless, turning the matter rapidly over in his mind.  What should he do?  Would it be a lasting disgrace to yield to thoughts of personal peril, and reveal all he knew?  That revelation would not place the treasure in Tyrrel’s hands.  He might fear to assail the Cross Way House; and now that house might be so well guarded that it could defy attack.

Should he risk it?  Should he tell all?  For a moment he was half disposed to do so; but another thought followed, and the words were checked ere they had reached his lips.