Chapter 8: Cuthbert And Cherry Go Visiting.

All this while Kate's letter to her cousin Lord Culverhouse had lain stowed away in the safe leathern pocket of Cuthbert's riding dress, into which her deft white hands had sewed it for safety, and he had made no attempt to deliver it to its owner, nor to see whether the young Viscount would have will or power to further his own success in life.

The reason for this delay was no lack of goodwill on the part of the youth, but was simply due to the fact that Lord Andover and his family were not in London at this season, but were in their family place in Hampshire, and not expected to reach London much before the Christmas season.

This much Cuthbert had discovered early on in his stay in town; for Kate had described to him the situation of her uncle's house in the Strand, and he had made inquiry at the porter's lodge the very first time he had passed by. But hearing this, and not wishing to entrust the letter into any hands but those of Lord Culverhouse himself, he had gone away again, and the excitements of the new life had speedily driven the thought of Kate's commission out of his mind.

But now the merry Christmas season was close at hand. Mistress Susan was thrice as busy and as sharp tongued as usual, getting forward her preparations for that time of jollity and good cheer, and making the bridge house fairly reek with the mixed flavours of her numerous concoctions and savoury dishes.

Martin Holt's Puritanism, which would prevent his countenancing anything like drunkenness, revelling, or the gross sports and amusements which still held full sway over the people at festive seasons, did not withhold him from keeping a well-spread table at which to ask his friends to sit, still less from sending out to his poorer neighbours portions of the good cheer which has always seemed appropriate to the Christmas season. So he raised no protest against the lavish expenditure in meats and spices, rose water, ambergris, sugar and herbs, nor complained that his sister and daughters seemed transformed for the nonce into scullions, and had scarce time to sit down to take a meal in peace, for fear that some mishap occurred to one of the many stew pans crowding each other upon the stove.

He was used to it, and it appeared the inevitable preliminary to Yuletide; though Cuthbert looked on in amaze, and marvelled how any household could consume the quantities of victuals under preparation, be their hospitality and generosity what it might.

As he walked abroad in the streets he saw much the same sort of thing everywhere going on. Cooks and scullions were scouring the streets and markets for all manner of dainties. Farmers were driving through the streets flocks of young porkers, squealing lustily and jostling the passers by; and cooks and housewives would come rushing out from the houses to secure a pig and carry it off in triumph; whilst here and there a servant in livery might be seen with a basket from which a peacock's tail floated, carrying off this costly prize to adorn the table of some nobleman or wealthy merchant.

Passing by Lord Andover's house in the Strand on the day before the eve of Christmas, Cuthbert saw, by the stir and bustle and liveliness of the courtyard, that the family had plainly returned. On making inquiry he discovered that his surmise was correct, and he walked home resolving to lose no more time in delivering his letter, and wondering if he could contrive to take Cherry with him when he paid the visit, to secure for her a sight of the gay streets and a peep into Lord Andover's big house. The poor child had been regularly mewed up at home the whole of the past week helping her sharp-tongued aunt. It was nothing but fair that she should taste a little enjoyment now; and he determined to try to get his uncle's consent before speaking a word to Cherry herself. Susan Holt never opposed her brother, though she often disapproved of his lenience towards his youngest child, whose love of pleasure she looked upon as a peril and a snare.

When Cuthbert made his modest request to take Cherry out on the morrow to see the sights of the streets, and the houses all decked with holly, the father smiled an indulgent smile and gave a ready assent. If Cuthbert would be careful where he took her, and not let her be witness of any of the vile pastimes of cock fighting, bull or bear baiting, or the hearer of scurrilous or blasphemous language, he might have her companionship and welcome; and it would doubtless amuse her to go into Lord Andover's kitchen, where messengers generally waited who had brought notes or messages for members of the family, being treated to cups of sack and other hospitality; and as he was a good man, his household would be well ordered, and the maid would be treated with due civility and respect.

"The child is kept something strait by her good aunt," said Martin, a smile hovering round the corner of his lips. "We are not all cut to the same pattern, and Cherry takes not as kindly to the gravity of life as did her sisters. A little change will do her no harm. It boots not too far to resist the promptings of nature."

How Cherry's eyes laughed and sparkled, and how her pretty face flushed and dimpled when Cuthbert whispered to her of the pleasure in store for her. She had been looking a little harassed and weary after her long seclusion from the fresh air, striving to please Aunt Susan, who never would be pleased; but this made amends for all. Worthy Susan sniffed and snorted when Martin told her to give the child a holiday on the morrow; but as all her preparations were well-nigh complete, she did not really want the girl, and contented herself with hoping that her indulgent father would not live to rue the day when he thought fit to indulge her wanton love for unhallowed sights and amusements.

Martin did not reply. Perhaps he felt that his sister was more consistent and stanch to the Puritan principles than he was himself in this matter; but he did not rescind his decision. And after a surreptitious meal behind the pantry door together on the morrow, whilst Mistress Susan was engaged upstairs over the weighty matter of the linen to adorn the festal board that evening and on Christmas Day itself, the pair stole quietly off about eleven o'clock, leaving word with Martin in passing out that they would be back before dark.

Cherry danced along as though she had wings to her feet, as they quitted the bridge and plunged into the narrow but bustling and busy streets. She had always been kept rigorously at home on all occasions of public rejoicing and merriment, and it was a perfect delight to her to see the holiday look about the passers by, and exchange friendly good wishes with such acquaintances as she met by the way. She had put on her best gown, and a little ruff round her neck: her aunt would not let her wear such "gewgaws" in a general way, but the girl loved to fabricate them out of odds and ends, in imitation of the ladies she saw passing in the street. She wore the gray cloak and hood she had had on when first Cuthbert had come to her assistance by the river, and her rosy laughing face peeped roguishly out from the warm and becoming head gear. But suddenly, as they were passing a house in East Cheape, she paused and glanced up at Cuthbert with a bewitching little look of pleading.

"Wait but here for me a little five minutes," she said; "I have an errand to my cousin Rachel."

She was gone in a moment, slipping through the open door and leaving Cuthbert outside in the street. He knew the house for her uncle Dyson's, and was in no way alarmed about her. Nor was she long in rejoining him again. But when she came out, laughing, blushing, and dimpling, he scarce knew her for the moment, so transformed was she; and he stood perfectly mute before the radiant young vision his eyes encountered.

The sober black under-petticoat had been replaced by one of vivid scarlet taffeta, quilted with elaboration, and further adorned with embroidery in white silk. The gray upper robe was the same as before, the soft stuff and quiet tone harmonizing and contrasting well with the bright hue of the petticoat. The little feet were encased in the daintiest of strong buckled shoes, and in scarlet hose to match the quilted skirt; whilst the cloak and hood were now of soft white lamb's-wool cloth, such as Abraham Dyson made a specialty of in his business; and the vivid delicate colour upon the girl's laughing face as it peeped out of the snowy hood was set off to the greatest possible advantage by the pure white frame, so suited to the child's infantile style of beauty.

"Why, Cherry, I scarce know thee!" cried Cuthbert, amazed.

"I scarce know myself," answered the laughing girl, blushing and dimpling with mischievous pleasure; "and I trust none else will know me neither if we meet more friends by the way. I will pull my hood well over my face, for I would not have this frolic reach Aunt Susan's ears. She would make a mighty coil anent it. But oh, I have so longed for pretty things such as Rachel wears Why is it wrong to love bright colours and soft fabrics? I will not believe it is. When I am grown to woman's estate, and have a home of my own to regulate, I will wear what I choose and what becomes me best. It is folly to think God loves not beauty and brightness. Has He not made the sky blue, the trees green, the flowers of every hue of the rainbow? Does He not paint the sky with brilliant hues? Why is man alone of his creatures to be dull and sad?"

"Nay, I know not; I am unlearned in these questions. But how got you these fine clothes? Did Mistress Rachel lend them?"

"Rachel has always longed to give this petticoat to me. She is weary of it, and it is something too short for her; but I knew I might never wear it, and that Aunt Susan would chide me roundly for bringing such a thing home. So Rachel said she would lay it by for me when her new robe came home at Christmastide. Then she whispered to me last week that her father had a present for me--a cloak and hood that he thought my father would let me wear, albeit Aunt Susan might ill like it. So passing the house today, methought I might slip in and ask Rachel if I might wear the new cloak and hood to Lord Andover's; and forthwith she had me up to her room and into this scarlet petticoat in a twinkling, and mine uncle brought the white cloak and hood himself and fastened it on me, and Jacob came with the shoes and said he had had them made strong for the muddy streets, but smart with the buckles on the top. And here I be the happiest girl in all London town! Nay, Cuthbert, but I feel as if my feet could dance of themselves all the way!"

Her happiness was infectious. Cuthbert felt more like a light-hearted boy than ever he had done in his life before. His lively little companion, clinging to his arm and chattering like a magpie, effectually drove away all grave thoughts. The sun shone brightly in the steely-blue sky; the frost had made the streets absolutely clean and dry. Walking, even in the most trodden places, was easy and pleasant, and everybody seemed in excellent good humour.

Many admiring glances were levelled at the pair as they passed along--the charming blushing damsel in the white hood, and the distinguished-looking youth with the grave dark face. Cuthbert gratified the little girl's curiosity by taking her up and down Paul's Walk as they passed through St. Paul's Churchyard, and by the time they gained Fleet Street and Temple Bar she had reached the limit of her farthest walk westward.

They spent several minutes before the clock of St. Dunstan's in the West, and watched the bronze figures striking on their bells as the hour of midday sounded forth from many steeples. Then Cherry must needs go down to the river banks between the gentlemen's gardens and see how the river looked from here. She was a little awed by the grandeur of the houses all along the Strand, and wondered mightily what it could feel like to be one of the fine Court dames who drove in and out of the great gates in gilded coaches, or ambled forth upon snow-white palfreys, attended by lackeys afoot and on horseback.

Another hour had passed in delighted watching of the street sights and the fine folks who dwelt in these parts, before Cuthbert led her under the archway of the great courtyard, and told her that this was Lord Andover's house. It was one of the finest in the Strand, and it was plain that some gay festivity was in foot or in preparation; for there was such a to-ing and fro-ing of serving men, lackeys and scullions, such a clatter of voices, such an air of hurry and jollity on every face, that Cherry could have looked and listened for ever, but that Cuthbert hurried her through the crowd towards a big door opening into the courtyard, and whispered in her ear:

"They all be too busy to heed me here. Come to the house, and see what hap we have there. I may deliver this letter to none other save Lord Culverhouse himself."

The great door which stood wide open proved to be that of the kitchen--a vast hall in itself, along the farther side of which were no less than six huge fireplaces. Cooks and scullions stood at each of these, shouting out orders and moving to and fro; while a perfect crowd of menials and servants, messengers and idlers, stood or sat about, chatting, laughing, and even gaming in corners. Huge tankards of ale, hot and strongly spiced, stood upon the table, and every one who passed by appeared permitted to help himself at will.

Busy and noisy as this place was, an air of good fellowship and good humour pervaded it which was reassuring and pleasant; and before the cousins had stood many minutes in their corner, a serving man came up and asked them civilly enough of their business. Cuthbert replied that he had a letter which he had been charged to give into Lord Culverhouse's own hands; and hearing that, the servant gave a keen look at the pair, and apparently satisfied with his inspection, bid them follow him.

He took them up a wide staircase, and brought them out into another large hall, where servants of a different class were gathered together--the liveried footmen and pages and lackeys, and some waiting women, very grandly attired, who speedily beckoned Cherry amongst them, and began making much of her, rather as though she were a little child, feeding her with comfits and cakes and spiced wine, examining her soft white cloak, and asking a host of questions as to where she got it, who was the maker, and if her uncle sold his wares to the public.

Cherry had pretty, dainty little ways of her own, and was not in the least shy where she felt herself liked. She did not even miss Cuthbert when he was summoned away, so happy was she to be talked to by these fine waiting women, who were kind and comfortable souls enough. She learned on her side that there was to be a play given in half-an-hour's time within the house itself, and that all the serving men and women were permitted to witness it. She was pressed to stay and see it herself, and her eyes beamed with delight at the bare thought. To see a play had always been the very height of her youthful ambition, and had not father said that she could get no hurt at Lord Andover's house?

Presently Cuthbert came back, his face aglow with pleasure.

"Cherry," said he, "I have seen Lord Culverhouse, and methinks Kate's letter was like a talisman; for after reading it he bid me welcome as though I were in some sort a kinsman, and said that I must stay and see the mask that is to be played here in a short while, and remain as a guest at the feast which will follow, where the boar's head is to be brought in, and all sorts of revelry are to be held. I told him I could not stay till dark, for that we had promised to be home ere that; but that I would gladly see the play acting an I might. And then I told him of thee, and he bid me go fetch thee. My cousin, said he, must i' faith be in some sort his cousin, since Kate, who was his cousin, also spoke of me as one. I told him nay, but that thou wert cousin only on my mother's side; but he laughed, and would not listen, and bid me fetch thee, that he might place thee well to see the mummery. So come with me, fair cousin, for we must not keep him waiting."

Cherry's cheeks were dyed with bewitching blushes, and her big gray eyes were shining like stars, as she followed her cousin, accompanied by a little murmur of congratulation from the waiting women, who had all fallen in love with the charming child. She looked a perfect picture as she stood before Lord Culverhouse in her scarlet petticoat and snow-white hood, making her pretty quaint reverence to him, hardly daring to raise her eyes, but quite lost in the glamour of the honour done to her in being thus noticed by a real lord and good humouredly dubbed a cousin.

And then her hand was actually taken by this handsome and elegant young gallant, and she felt herself being conducted through rooms the magnificence of which she could not take in in her timid, hasty glances. She had almost begun to think it all a dream from which she must soon awaken, when she heard her companion say in his sweet voice:

"Mother mine, have you room beneath your ample wing for a little city guest--a cousin of Cuthbert Trevlyn, who has brought me a most welcome missive from my dear cousin Kate?"

And then Cherry looked up with a pretty, frightened, trusting glance, to find herself being examined and smiled at by quite a bevy of wonderfully-dressed ladies, who after one good look began to laugh in a very reassuring and kindly way, and made room in their midst for the little city maiden with that ease of true good breeding which has ever been the truest test of the blue blood of the English aristocracy. She looked such a child, in her pretty confusion and bashfulness, that not one of them resented her presence amongst them. Courtesy and kindliness had always been Lady Andover's salient characteristics, and there was a native refinement and quaint simplicity about Cherry that would have gone far to disarm severer critics than the present company round Lady Andover.

"Come, my pretty child," she said; "thou shalt sit beside me, and tell me all about thyself. The name of Trevlyn is well known and well loved in this house. Thou comest under good auspices."

And so Cherry again found herself the plaything and pet of a group of good-humoured people, though this time they were fine ladies in dresses that fairly took away her breath, as she ventured to study them with eager, furtive glances. She answered all their questions with pretty, candid frankness; told of her adventure in the osier beds, and of Cuthbert's timely rescue; told of her life under her father's roof, and her simple daily duties and pleasures. And the grand ladies listened and laughed, and made much of her; and her soft white hood was removed and admired, and passed round almost as it had been amongst the waiting women. Cherry felt quite bashful at sitting amongst those fine ladies with no cover for her head but her own curls; but she noted that the younger ladies present had no adornment beside that, unless it were a bow of ribbon or a few sparkling pins: so she took courage, and her hot cheeks burned less brightly, though she could not help her eyes sparkling and dancing beneath their long lashes as she wondered what in the world her aunt Susan would say could she see her for a moment in her present surroundings.

And then the play began, and Cherry sat entranced from the moment the curtain rose till it fell again. She had never seen anything of the sort before, and was perfectly captivated and carried away, living in the glamour of absolute enchantment, and amusing her fashionable companions almost as much by her artless admiration and enthusiasm as the players did by their mummery and stage tricks.

But time was flying all too fast, and almost as soon as the curtain fell for the last time, Cuthbert came up and carried her away, Lord Culverhouse walking with them once more through the long rooms, and insisting on their partaking of some spiced wine and game pasty before going out into the cold air again.

What with the fumes of the wine, the extraordinary grandeur of the house, and the wonderful nature of the adventure altogether, Cherry hardly knew whether or not she any longer trod on solid ground as she pursued her way along the streets clinging tight to Cuthbert's arm. It was growing dusk now, and Cuthbert was anxious to get his charge home before the early darkness should have fallen upon the city. They hardly spoke as they wended their way. Cherry gave a little gasp from time to time indicative of her unbounded delight, whilst Cuthbert was thinking pleasantly of the kind and cordial reception he had met with from Lord Culverhouse.

Both felt more or less in dreamland till they reached Abraham Dyson's house, where Cherry ran indoors again to rid herself of her finery.

When she emerged once more into the familiar streets of the city, her cheeks had lost a little of their bloom, her eyes some of their star-like brightness; and heaving a great sigh as she took Cuthbert's arm, she said:

"Ah me! it is a hard fate to be a city maid and a Puritan's daughter. I shall never see such lovely sights again! And oh, how happy I should be if only I could be a lady, and live where everything is soft and beautiful and gentle! Oh how I shall dream of it all now! But it will never be anything but a dream!" and a great tear like a diamond sparkled on the thick lashes and rolled down the girl's soft cheek.

Cuthbert had been thinking hard as he stood there in the gathering darkness. He was rather taken out of himself, which was perhaps the reason he forgot all prudence and reserve. Bending suddenly over Cherry, he kissed away the tears on her cheeks, and said in low, passionate tones:

"Nay, sweet Cherry, weep not for that. I will make thee yet a lady, whom none shall dare flout. I have loved thee, sweet cousin, from the day I found thee by the river in hapless plight. And when I have found the lost treasure of Trevlyn, and have brought luck and fortune to each one that bears the old name, then will I come and wed thee, sweet coz; and thou wilt be a Trevlyn then, and none shall dare to scorn thee for thy good father's honest name. My father did wed a Holt, and his son shall do the same. Tell me, Cherry, dost thou love me well enough to be my little wife one day? for by the mass I will have none other; and if thou lovest me not I will go unwed all the days of my life!"

Cherry turned hot and cold, flushed scarlet, and then grew pale as this speech proceeded, till at the last words the red came back in a flood, and hiding her face on Cuthbert's shoulder, she sobbed out:

"Oh, how could I love anybody else? O Cuthbert, how happy thou hast made me! Art sure thou speakest sooth?"

"Sooth! ay, that I do. Thou art the sweetest maid the sun e'er looked on. Thou wert the fairest of all that gay company at my Lord Andover's, and many beside myself said as much. Cherry, thou shalt one day be my own true wife; and if kind fortune do but favour me, thou shalt have gold and jewels and fine robes enow, and shalt hold up thy head with the best of them: see if it be not so!"

A boy and girl wooing certainly, but none the less hearty for that. The love had been growing silently for many weeks, the young folks scarcely knowing what they were learning to be to each other. And now these sudden burning words had revealed all, and Cherry felt more than ever that she trod on air and moved in a dream; only this time there was the pleasant sense that the dream would not vanish away in smoke, but would become more and more a living reality.

But there was something Cuthbert had said which yet required explanation, and presently she looked up and asked:

"What didst thou mean when thou spokest of a lost treasure? What is it, and who has lost it?"

And then Cuthbert forthwith plunged into the story of the lost treasure of Trevlyn, as he had heard it from his cousin Kate; and Cherry listened with parted lips, thinking that it was almost like living in some play to be hearing this strange tale.

When she heard of the gipsies and their vengeful words, she stopped suddenly short and gazed intently at Cuthbert.

"This is the second time thou hast spoken of gipsies," she said, in a whisper. "Thou hast yet to tell me the tale of how thou didst spend a night in the gipsies' cave. Cuthbert, were those gipsies thou didst light upon that night of thy flight the same as have stolen the treasure from Trevlyn?"

"Cherry, I trow that they are," he answered, in a very low voice, bending his head closer over her as he spoke. "Listen, and I will tell thee all. There was an old fierce woman, with hair as white as driven snow, among them, who, when she heard the name of Trevlyn, launched at me a glance of hatred that I never can forget; and I knew well by her looks and her words that, had she had her will, I should have suffered the same fate that her mother had done from the hands of my grandfather. I knew not then that it was her mother who had been burnt by him as a witch; but I saw the evil purposed me, and knew she was my foe. But a stately woman--the old gipsy's daughter, as I later learned--interposed on my behalf, and her all obeyed as queen, even her mother bowing down before her. She protected me, and bid me sit at table with them, saw me served with the best, and at night showed me herself to a ruinous bed chamber where, however, a weary man might comfortably lodge. There she left me, but bid me not to undress; and presently after I had slept, I know not how many hours, I was awakened by her entrance with a dim light, and she bid me rise but speak low, as she had somewhat of moment to say to me. She asked me then of myself and my kindred; and I asked her many things, and to my questions she gave ready response. Last of all, I dared to name the lost treasure, and I saw a new look come upon her face. I said that I had heard enough to make me think it had been stolen and hidden in the forest, and I asked her if in her wanderings there she had heard aught of it. I saw that the question moved her. I saw her flashing glance rest on me again and again, and her lips tremble as though she fain would speak, and yet was half afraid to do so. Every moment I suspected more and more that she knew somewhat; but whether or no she would reveal this I dared not guess. At the last the eager light died out of her eyes. She answered that she had heard somewhat of the story, but that she herself knew naught. The treasure had been lost many years before she had first seen the light, and men had long ceased to look for it, albeit there were many traditions that it would one day be found. As to that she knew naught; but she promised me this thing, that she would ask and strive to learn if any in the forest knew more than she. And she bid me meet her at a certain cave in the heart of the forest upon May Day next, when she said she would speak with me again anent this same matter."

Cherry's lips were parted, her eyes were full of wonder and curiosity. She shivered with excitement and surprise.

"Thinkest thou that she knows the place?"

"That I know not, but I trow well that she knows more than she said then, and that I shall learn more when I seek her again, and we are not in a walled place where eavesdroppers may lurk with itching ears."

"Then thou wilt keep the tryst?"

"Assuredly I will."

"And thou art not afraid that harm will befall thee? Oh beware, Cuthbert, of that wicked, fierce old woman!"

"Oh, I fear her not. Their queen has bidden me. They dare not defy her. I shall go to the forest and keep the tryst. I trow there be much yet for me to know."

Cherry hesitated and trembled, and hesitated again, and finally said in a low whisper:

"Cuthbert, it may be that there is a speedier and a safer way of discovering what thou wouldst know."

"And what way is that, sweet coz?"

Again came the little pause of hesitation, and then Cherry said:

"We might consult the wise woman.

"The wise woman! and who is she?"

"There be many of them," answered Cherry, still speaking in a very low and rapid whisper. "But breathe not a word at home, for father says they be surely in league with the devil, if they be not impostors who deserve whipping at the cart's tail. But Rachel went to one three years back, and the dame told her a husband would come wooing within three short months, and told the colour of his hair and his eyes. And sure enough it all came true, and now she is quickly to be wed. And others have done the like, and the things have all come true. And she is not a wicked woman neither, for she cures agues and fevers, and the leeches themselves ask her simples of her. There may be wicked women plying this trade too; I know not how that may be. But this dame is not wicked; Rachel goes to her still, and she has never deceived her yet. But she liveth very secretly now, as a wise woman must needs to in these times; for the King, they say, is very wroth against all such, and in the country men are going about from him and burning all who practise such arts, and otherwise cruelly maltreating them. So no man speaks openly of them now, though they still ply their trade in secret."

"Hast thou ever been to one thyself, Cherry?"

Her face was all in a glow. She clung closer to Cuthbert's arm.

"Chide me not, and tell not my father; but I went with Rachel once, when she went to have a wart charmed that was causing her much vexation. I asked nothing of the dame myself; but she took my hand and looked into my eyes, and she nodded her head and chuckled and made strange marks upon a bit of paper, which she said was casting my horoscope. And then she told me that I had an ugly lover that I loved not, but that another more gently born should come in time, and that we should love each other well and be faithful through all, and that I should end by being a lady with all I wanted at command."

And there Cherry stopped, blushing and palpitating with happiness and shy joy; whilst Cuthbert, struck by this very remarkable and original specimen of fortune telling, began to think he might do worse than consult this same wise woman who had gauged his sweetheart's case so fairly.

He himself had no scruples. He had a strong belief in necromancy, and had never heard that there was sin in its practice. He was still Romanist enough at heart to look upon the confessional as an easy and pleasant way of getting rid of the burden of an uneasy conscience. His mind was very open to conviction and impression in religious matters. He was no bigot, but he had a constitutionally inherited tendency towards the old faith that was possibly stronger than he knew. Had he seen his father's party in power, persecuting and coercing, he would have had scant sympathy or love for them and their ways; but as the contrary was now the case, and he saw them downtrodden and abused, he felt considerable drawings towards them, and these drawings were not the less strong from the intercourse he was enjoying almost daily with Anthony Cole and his son Walter.

Cuthbert's love of learning and eager wish to improve his scholarship drew him almost daily to the dark little shop in the bridge, wedged in, as it were, between two larger and more imposing structures, where the father and son plied a modest trade and lived somewhat hazardously; for they did not hesitate to circulate pamphlets and leaflets the sale of which had been forbidden, and which might at any time get them into serious trouble with the authorities, and lead to imprisonment, if not to death.

But to return to the pair now closely approaching their home, and lagging somewhat in their walk to prolong the talk for a few minutes. Cherry was in a fever of curiosity and impatience, and longed to hear her lover speak the word.

"It is so long to wait till May Day; and I trow that she could tell us all. Say, Cuthbert, shall we go to her?"

It was sweet to Cuthbert to hear the little word "we" dropping so naturally from Cherry's lips. He pressed the hand that lay upon his arm, and looked down into the upraised eager face.

"Wilt thou go with me an I go?"

"To be sure I will. I should love to be thy companion."

"And brave thy father's wrath should he find out?"

Cherry clung yet closer to his arm.

"I fear nothing when thou art beside me, Cuthbert. I would go with thee to death."

He stooped and kissed her eagerly, passionately.

"Then thy sweet will shall be law," he answered, "and I will go as soon as thou canst make shift to take me."

Cherry uttered a little cry of delight.

"Ah, how pleased I am--how pleased I am! We will go this very week, so soon as the Yuletide stir be past. O Cuthbert, Cuthbert, what a wondrous day this has been! Methinks it must surely be a dream. But thou art no dream; thou art real and true. So long as thou art near me and with me, I shall know that it is all true."