“And why wait till the spring to begin?  Hast forgotten what we spoke of not long since?  The wise woman—­let us go to her!  Thou hast money, and I trow she will be able to tell thee somewhat of the treasure.  Men say that she hath a marvellous gift.”

Waiting was slow work, and Cuthbert was by no means averse to testing the skill of the old sorceress.  He had a certain amount of faith in the divinations of magic, and at least it could do no harm to see what the beldam would say.  He would but have to risk a gold or silver piece, and it would satisfy Cherry that he was not loitering and half hearted.

“I will go gladly an thou canst come with me.  But when shall it be?  I have heard that these witches and diviners only exercise their skill at night, and how couldst thou be abroad with me then?  There would be a pretty coil if it were discovered that we were not within doors.”

But Cherry was full of invention, and had all a woman’s wit and readiness of resource.  She was a true daughter of Eve, this little rosy-cheeked maiden; and when her heart was set on a thing, she, could generally find the means to carry it out.

“Listen!” she said, after pausing a few moments to think the thing out.  “Any time after dark will do for the wise woman.  It matters not for it to be late in the night, so long as the sun be down and the world wrapped in gloom.  That happens early enow in these winter days.  Now do thou listen and heed me, Cuthbert.  Thou hast heard of good Master Harlow, hast thou not?”

“Ay, verily!  I have heard of little else these many days!” answered Cuthbert, with a touch of impatience in his voice.  “I am well nigh weary of the sound of his name.  He is a notable Puritan preacher, is he not?”

“Ay, verily, most notable and most wearisome!” answered Cherry, with a delightful little grimace.  “Thou speakest of being weary of the sound of his name.  Thou wouldst be tenfold more weary of the sound of his voice didst thou but attend one of his preachings.  I have known him discourse for four hours at a time—­all men hanging on his words as if they were those of God Himself, and only poor little me well nigh dead from weariness and hunger”

“I marvel not at that,” answered Cuthbert.  “Four hours would tax the patience of the most ardent disciple.”

“Nay, but thou little knowest.  There be those amongst my father’s sect who call it all too short, who would listen, I verily believe, till they dropped from their benches with starvation.  But however that may be, this Master Harlow is one of the hunted martyrs of the cause, and he is not allowed to exercise his gifts save by stealth; and the preaching, of which thou hast heard these many whispers, is to be held by night, and in some obscure cellar underground, where they who go will be safe from all molestation from spies and foes.”

“Ah!” said Cuthbert, looking quickly at her, “and thou thinkest that this will be our chance?”